Siddharta 'Bag
There comes a time in every ‘bag’s life when he must choose. To take that next step. To reach that higher level of Buddhist consciousness through the act of full commitment to The Holy Grieco. Body, soul, spirit and grillz. Combining and permuting together in waves of perfect synchronic harmony. Transcendent awareness of the self. And by self, I mean douche.
It takes a special level of greased focusing consciousness to reach such a hallowed and rarefied plateau. A triumph of choad, if you will. A wealth of wigga. A trancendence of tribal tat.
Those legendary few who raise their game to this plateau eclipse mere skeeze, mere fratbaggery, mere low level amateur ‘baggedness involving tongue and hand gesturing. For these enlightened scrotes, such physical gesture is simply unnecessary. Their leptons, muons, protons, electrons and hairy nutsack all vibrate with transcendent harmony. For they have reached what I like to term, “douche plateau.” A privileged place of consciousness that only the chosen few can drink from. With tag bodyshots, inappropriate tattoo, and requisite sexy Miami hoohas by one’s side, Jonathan Livingston Seagull opens his enlightened wings and flies off into the setting sun of spiritual awakening. A setting sun, that is, of douche.
