Karma

I've decided that I would like to assist in fulfilling peoples karma. What more noble a calling can you have then to be the deliverance of someones karmic debt. But in order for me to do this, I will need YOUR help.

I've decided, for now, that I'd like to start paying karmic debt to all those people who ignorantly and flippantly say "that's so gay." in regards to something that is stupid or ugly.

I will begin this quest by gathering names of those who use such phrases, and begin to use their name instead.

"That's so gay," now becomes "that's so Jessica." I also thought about using racial profiling since most of the people I know that say dumbass things of this nature are white teenage males that don't know what it's like to be a minority. So what would it be then? "That's so cracker?" "That's so prepubescent teen?" I'm working with the logistics here, but you get the idea.

Next week I think I will do George W. Bush supporters karma where a member of you household will be tortured.

Oh, too soon?

Okay, Glenn Beck, and Sean Hannity supporters then. We will force you to listen to the ramblings of paranoid schizo's that have delusions of being a real reporter, and I'll make sure that one of the paranoid schizo's has loose tear ducts to make it fair.

Oh wait, you're already doing that. Silly me. I'll think of something more karmically legit for that one.

Submission:

A couple weeks back, I attended a concert... It wasn't a decent sized venue and the turn out was pretty good, until.... The Douche Band started to play... by play I mean make noise at decibel levels so high that it wouldn't surprise me to learn that lawsuits were pending against these noise loving jack-holes.

Maybe it's just me but when I shell out my hard earned cash to go see a band in concert - I actually want to be able to HEAR the music - and not my ears ringing. I was tempted to post the name of the local douche band I'm referring to in this post... but I've forgotten their name - I'll let you decide if that's a fortunate or unfortunate fact.

Now, I love music - all sorts, so don't think this is a genre thing... actually I'm not sure what genre these guys were - is there a genre called Assorted Rock Instruments in a Trash Compactor - Amplified?

You just know these guys have issues with their daddy's... And I'm gonna go ahead and side with their dads on this one... whatever the issue is... quit your noise making and go get a real job - not that being a musician isn't a real job - but it is a job that requires a skill you obviously don't possess... maybe you've heard of it... it's called talent. Coming straight from a fight with dad, who I'm sure prays nightly that his son will come to his senses and do something beneficial with his life before he damages his hearing and or chemically fries his last few remaining brain cells - and really just wants his garage back...

The Douche Band started their sound check... which unlike the other bands that played that evening had nothing to do with ensuring that their instruments were tuned or at harmonizing volume levels to each other. It was all just: more, more, more, higher, higher, a bit more... a little louder, keep it coming, higher, higher if you got it... Then the lead screamer said something like I want it to roar like a T-Rex... and blow people's ear drums... he didn't say that last part, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was after. I know the saying - If it's too loud... and I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of loud, but when a quarter of the audience consisting primarily of 16 - 25 year old's, (and a few straggling old-guys who are there with their teen aged daughters - poor bastards) flee the venue to escape the pain induced by your music and the ones that do remain plug their ears and scream at you to turn it down... that's not enthusiasm for your "music"... it's because your "music" is too loud. Did you hear me? I said... IT'S TOO FRICKEN LOUD!!!!!!! you over modulated douche bag a-holes!

So, mid-way through The Douche Band's set, the drummer of the band we'd come to see came across me and my SO in the lobby with our fingers in our ears and offered us earplugs. (By the way this guy is one of the nicest, sweetest, most dedicated people I've ever met and is one hell of a musician to boot - no noise - just pure talent.) Even with ear plugs it was still too loud to return to the theater, but it was dulled just enough for me to discover what I had suspected from the very beginning - I mean besides these guys having daddy issues... the one benefit of playing so freaking loud... because you suck.

P.S. When the headlining band apologizes for you playing, thanks the audience for sticking around despite you and further, expresses they hope the audience is still be able to hear them play - that's not a good thing. Listen to your poor deaf daddy... give him back his garage and go get a job you're better suited for - like demolition, or something at at gun range maybe... I think you'd like that, guns are pretty loud.

-Douche Anony

Just a short note referring to my last post. My douche friend that was getting weird about the boob job offered me some advice concerning my skin eruption encouraging me to try Apple Cider Vinegar on it, which did the trick! And he has no idea that earlier that day I was douching the crap out of him. I love you douche blog.

a douche of epic porportions

where do I begin?

First lets point out that I have some serious, gross, ever growing infection on my face. This isn't one of those "bad breakouts" that I got when I was a young little lady. No this is something more horrific entirely that's lasted the past several weeks and is swelling so much that it's actually made my eyes puffy. WTF?

My ever sensitive daddy keeps telling me that it's because I eat chocolate. A lifetime of eating chocolate and only now do I suddenly have an infectious, inflamed growth on my face.

Which, of course, every time he says this I want to have a freakout of epic proportions but instead shove my mouth full of chocolate (spooning it into my mouth as I write this post).

It's so bad in fact I've had several people ask me what happened to my face. If it were normal acne, people wouldn't ask, they'd just stare when they thought I wasn't looking. But this is something else entirely, I've been asked several times if I'd gotten bruised or burned.

I'm starting to have visions of Spaceballs and the alien that jumped out of the guys stomach and began tap dancing. It feels like that's what's happening to my face.

And of course every time I put make-up on it, it gets inflamed even more so I have to expose the alien race for all to see.

So granted I wasn't in the best of moods when my husband informed me that he had found out that a married male friend of mine was making up lame excuses to feel-up a stripper.

Let me explain...

His wife, who's boobs have inevitably gone the way of the after-baby-sag, wants to get a boob job. My male friend says "you wouldn't pay for a car without test driving it, and since I'm paying for her to get a boob job I should be able to test it out to see if I will even like what I'm paying for."

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

Until you have morphed your body into something unrecognizable to carry YOUR child for 9 months, only to have to breast feed that baby in the middle of the night with your nipples screaming and straight up sobbing, only to have your boob's deflate when your milk dries up, YOU have no fricken right to stand on your self-righteous high horse and say "Well I'm paying for it..."

Nevermind that its not your body and has nothing to do with you, you don't get the right to say it's something your paying for, and therefore get to "test drive it."

Let me put it another way. Lets say you were to pay your wife for everything that she does. Pay her for childcare, laundry (starching your stupid white shirts just right), cleaning the house so it's immaculate, oh and doing all your college course work (no lie). Calculate that! And when you do you will realize that your wife is making more money than your stupid sorry ass, and therefore can use the money you make at your pathetic and meaningless job to do whatever the hell she wants. Got it?

I feel slightly better. But the chocolate wasn't satisfying enough.

Dammit!

Kanye. Oh Kanye.

So about two weeks ago a friend of mine was mercilessly making fun of me for not knowing who Kanye West was.

Now, after seeing Kanye completely ruin Taylor Swifts speech at the VMA's last night and another gem that I googled today with Kanye talking about Hurricane Katrina, I've realized I am grateful that he has stayed off my radar for so long. Because frankly he is one of the biggest douche's I have ever had the privilege to douche. Wow.

After this post I'm going to try my best to forget him. Just like I've almost forgotten Paris Hilton. Almost.

If you didn't see Kanye make a total ass of himself at the VMA's click on the link below.

http://www.comcast.net/video/kanye-west-s-vma-outburst/1252443416/Comcast/1252800479/

If you would like to see the hilarious and sad Hurricane Katrina video. Check out the toolbar.

Take The Hint, Get A Clue & STFU!

Submitted Story:

My wife and I had friends visiting from out of state, while they were here we took them out to dinner at my favorite restaurant/pub. We'd just finished dinner and were chatting, when some guy who looked vaguely, distantly familiar - as in didn't I see you at a stop light last week? familiar - who has been sitting at the table next to us for most of our meal says my name.

I had no idea who this guy was.

Days later, I'm still not sure but I think he might have been an acquaintance from back when I was trying on church - like ten years ago. I didn't even remember this guys name, I had to ask. Seeing as how I know the waiters better than I know this guy, I was hoping to go for a quick exchange of cordial greetings and then back to my dinner guest - my friends I haven't seen in months, invited out to dinner and whose conversation was just interrupted by a practical stranger.

A stranger who just couldn't take the hint....

Attempt #1 to end the conversation: Well it was nice to see you again, I hope your family is well.

By the way, I hope you're family is well is not an invitation to tell me all about your family, or your wife - what's her name OR to engage me in a lengthy conversation about what I do for a living. (All of which he did.)

Attempt #2 to end the conversation: Introducing my out of town friends, and stressing the fact that they are from out of town, are here for a very short while and I haven't seen them in months!

By the way. this is not a segue to ask me all about my job, my family and what I've been up to for the past decade. (Thank god my friends have a sense of humor. They found the whole situation highly amusing and were concealing their laughter behind bright red faces, huddled together as if sharing some private - and hilarious - conversation)

Attempt #3 to end the conversation: Completely fed up at this point, (wishing I drank more) and much to the delight of fellow pub patrons, the wait staff, my wife and my friends - who all get that I'm trying and failing to end this conversation, the guy who apparently knows me and my family SO well asks: "How's your mom?"

My mom died over five years ago, a prominent member of our community, more than one local paper wrote articles (not standard obits) about her life/death. The city where she worked built and dedicated a walking trail in her name, and police and fire services shut down roads for her funeral motorcade....

So I replied, "My mom?"

Douchebag: "Yeah, you're mom. I haven't seen her in a while. How's she doing? How's her health?" (now, from time to time, despite my mother being so well known, I do run into people who didn't hear about her untimely death. It's a sensitive issue that I usually tackle with a velvet glove because it's always a bit of a shock for someone receiving the news for the first time. but I was completely fed up with this guy.)

So I replied, "she's dead! " With absolutely NO attempts to sugar-coat or soften the blow. So as neighboring tables erupted into laughter including one guy who shot his mouthful of Guinness all over three of his dinner companions, and one of mine, the douchbag (finally) showed appropriate response by gasping and clutching his hand to his chest.

(P.S. My mom died of a massive heart attack - you've just got to love the irony in that.)

Much to my chagrin, death is not a conversation ender. In response to his shock he stuttered "What? When?" (I guess they were really close or something) I continued with my dead mother assault: "It's been a few years now."

"Six," my wife offered.

"Five and a half," I did the math.

Sensing the next, in a line of questioning I've become quite familiar with, I decided to take the initiative to answer before the question was asked and said, "But my dad's doing great!"

Attempt #4 to end the conversation: (The one that succeeded.) I decided to take the 'out of sight, out of mind' approach, before the conversation that wouldn't end somehow found its way to politics, or worse - religion. And so, after neglecting my friends and entertaining the masses for well over fifteen minutes, I stood and said, "Well, we were just leaving." My friend quickly finished his black and tan, while our wives gathered their purses and we left, continuing OUR conversation in the parking lot of the restaurant.

So now, days later, the story has made the rounds and far away friends are texting me to ask: How's your mom? (Whom I'm sure is also having a good laugh, where ever she is... ) To which I respond: She's dead! (she finally gave up the goat.)

Until the next douche,

How's your mom? How's her health?

Wow. I just got douched....

I'm douching you for not douching the douches who spam douche blogs with there douche bag porn douchings. Douche


Thanks for the submission. Humbling indeed to be douched by a complete stranger...

Aye Douche

So I have some good news. It wasn't my brother with his child on his lap reading my posts and leaving strange comments.

I started to realize this once the comments were left in Japanese rather than just a random button being pushed.

Then someone had to point out to me that I didn't have a word verification so I was getting spammed by porn sites. Yipee. So with that being said now you have to do a word verification to leave a comment so I don't get absurd comments from Japanese peeps selling porn.

Good day