Honorary Douchebag of the Month: Brett Favre
If we define the douchebag as the preening narcissist who turns himself into a spectacle to attract attention, than who better to earn an honorary Douchebag of the Month than the clown prince of football, Brett Favre?
This oafish yoyo has come out of retirement yet again, simply to see headlines about himself coming out of retirement yet again.
Whether you’re a fan of football or not, this self-important preening narcissist spends the better part of each year making sure his ass is suitably kissed by football fans, talk show hosts and media the world over.
He has retired and unretired more times than a porn star late on car payments, proving not only that his massive ego needs constant placation, but that the sport itself is secondary to the desire to see his name endlessly trumpeted on TV and radio.
Since personifying the faux-humble jockbag that Mary dated in There’s Something About Mary in 1998, Favre hasn’t just forced us to reverse the “r” and “v” when we pronounce his name. He’s forced us to pay attention to his unquenchable need to be talked about. Constantly. To have the world kiss his ass on a yearly basis with “will he or won’t he” stories for almost a decade straight.
“Attention Whore” doesn’t begin to cover it. He makes Perez Hilton look like J.D. Salinger.
Suck it, Favre. You lead the douche league in interceptions, stubbley chin hair and self worship. Even when your father died, you turned it into a spectacle about yourself playing a freaking game rather than mourning with your family. This makes you a massive pile of douche water.
Take your Levis and your chin hair and your false small-town good ole’ boy performances and stuff ’em up your ass. The fact I have to listen to another year about your sorry ass “retiring” makes me want to throw an interception made out of monkey feces and spittle.
Get the hell off my teevee and never come back.
Patrick Bugman
Patrick Bugman’s grandparents shortened his last name from “Bugmintzsky” after arriving at Ellis Island in the 1920s.
Where the presiding immigration officer proclaimed the family “incredibly Eurodouchey.”
Ask DB1: Are all Tatts Douchey?
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my humble narrator-
love your site. i myself work in a d-bag haven, a motorcycle shop. there’s enough affliction and ed hardy in there to choke a horse. but i digress.
my question is why do tattoos deserve douchebag status?
while many people have regrettable tattoos, myself included, there are many great tattoos and tattoo artists that deserve recognition for their artwork. do all tattoos denote douche? or are some acceptable? i have some of my full sleeves done and i looked at many artist’s online portfolios, reviews and shops before deciding who to use. it’s been a great experience and i know for a fact i’m not a douchebag or dress like one.
— american bagger
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Good question, A.B. This brings us back to the conceptual tagging of adouchrements as we saw in last week’s car discussion. How abstract can we go in conceptually placing a category or item as douche?
My first instinct is to resist too broad a douchal categorization. For it is in the specific use of iconography, myth, signifier and item that douchery is created. Therefore tatts are not inherently douchey, by definition.
But the overt display of tatts, done as masculine proving ground and predicated on the notion of spectacle to attract the boobie hottie, always is.
Caption This Pic
Coach Hardy: “Ladies? Get out there… and win one for my zipper.”
Boba's Fête
Impressive: Carrying a cutie like a sack of potatoes
Most impressive: Making the “Kissy Lips” while carrying a cutie like a sack of potatoes
But you are not a Jedi yet: Being unable to levitate the Ubiquitous Red Cup while making the “Kissy Lips” while carrying a cutie like a sack of potatoes
Boba’s Fête
Impressive: Carrying a cutie like a sack of potatoes
Most impressive: Making the “Kissy Lips” while carrying a cutie like a sack of potatoes
But you are not a Jedi yet: Being unable to levitate the Ubiquitous Red Cup while making the “Kissy Lips” while carrying a cutie like a sack of potatoes
HCwDB After Dark
Come on in!! It’s HCwDB After Dark. The water’s fine.
Grab a Heineken. And one of those tasty mini quiches I had my ‘tard servant, Mongo, cook up in the solar fryer.
The ladies are in sexy black bikinis and, to honor Mongo, are practicing their own version of ‘Tard Face. Judging by my peeper reaction, natural selection prefers boobies to brains.
It’s HCwDB After Dark.
Where the hotts are confused and the douches suffer from “Young Keith Richards Face.”
Caleb and Courtney's Ass Pear
We don’t usually feature a lot of the southern redneck bar-crawling girl branding douchebags on the site. It’s time we do.
Branding your girl’s ass with your name? In cursive? Especially a southern peach whose plums are nectarinely tangelloed? Who’s ass is peared?
Redneck douche.
Laugh it up, Oldbag. She’s still cheating on you with the kitchen help.
And stop using the Aids Quilt as pants.
Caleb and Courtney’s Ass Pear
We don’t usually feature a lot of the southern redneck bar-crawling girl branding douchebags on the site. It’s time we do.
Branding your girl’s ass with your name? In cursive? Especially a southern peach whose plums are nectarinely tangelloed? Who’s ass is peared?
Redneck douche.
Laugh it up, Oldbag. She’s still cheating on you with the kitchen help.
And stop using the Aids Quilt as pants.
Rufus Veinwright
Rufus is such a happy ‘bag, I almost want to give him a nottadouche. Almost.
But then I smacked myself in the face with a fungal covered coosh ball for even considering such a ludicrous notion.
Douche.
For his faux and ‘tude and Jesus bling and wristdanna are markers of schroad too ubershlorty to ignore. Yeah, I just wrote “markers of schroad too ubershlorty to ignore.” Suck on that, Homi Bhabha.
Blondie is trashy, Bleethy and unrecoverably douchebaguette. But it’s Monday, and she’s gnawable in all the right places, so I’m going with it.
