Ask DB1: Are “Nice Guys” the new Douchebag?
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DB1 –
I’m assuming that you’ve seen this Tumblr.
Yes, I enjoy the mocking on a superficial level, but upon deeper reflection this phenomenon poses serious questions for ‘Bag Hunters/tresses – Can you be so anti-douche that you become autodouche?
I feel this is the fate that befell the Herpsters – they wanted to be so non-Grieco they succeeded in transcending Greico. Then they bought “portable” turntables (sorry just spent some time in Brooklyn and I still feel unclean). Same with Goth’bags – they wanted to distance themselves so far from jock assholes, they became their own subset of asshole.
Nearly every one of the guys pictured in the blog makes some anti-douchebag reference, and how they (enlightened as they are) are SO NOT douchebags. Yet the evidence doesn’t lie – douches, one and all. I propose a new “nice guy” class of Bag – the Fedorabag. Possibly the Sadsack’bag (I leave that to your editorial discretion). Just like your garden variety Vegas pool’bag, they try so hard not to suck but wind up sucking because of it. Instead of bling and tatts, they sport an “aw shucks” smile and affected self deprecation. And fedoras, apparently.
Are these guys in douche denial? Or have they run so far down the Douche ladder, they wound up at the top in some cosmic Moebius Strip of asshattery? Much like the shrinking middle class, are honest-to-god-non-douches becoming extinct?
Douche Wayne
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Remember Grasshopper, in one model of the universe, the shortest distance between two points is a line in the opposite direction.
EDIT: Link to “Nice Guys of OK Cupid” fixed as tumblr was taken down.
Bags n' Alpacas
‘Bags.
Alpacas.
Pear.
Thesis + Anthesis = Synthesis.
Discuss.
Wallnuts After Dark
You know, as Sinatra used to say, “A good tune is a good tune no matter who does it.” He was right about that. It don’t matter who sings a song, if it’s a good song, with a good band and a good arrangement, it sounds good.
The Beatles was a good example a this, too. Frank used to say, “People think they are bunch a long hairs, but they write great tunes.” Sure, not every tune is gold, but even DiMaggio made an out now and then. Na mean?
Take this Paul Anka fella. He wrote some great songs, and he wrote “My Way,” a song that Frank sung the shit out a and kinda made an anthem out of. A theme song, so to speak. Anka’s still workin’ and makin’ music, and not just the old stuff. He appreciates a good tune whether it be rock or a standard from the old days.
Some of this crap today like Muldoon 5 or that broad with the black hair and big knockers that sang that song about kissin’ another broad and likin’ it who was married to that half-a-Finnoch Brit, or Brandy Spears, and most a the songs you hear on the radio that sounds like a computer sung it, you can all just flush it down the John. It’s worse than disposable. Sure there was crap music in the old days, but the crap is worse now a days.
One thing I always have appreciated – whether I liked ’em or not – is the singer or band that goes out there and plays their stuff and sings and don’t hide behind gimmicks and the nonsense. There’s that bald, sunglasses wearin’ guy who looks like this guy Pep Zazarra who was one a Frank’s old Hoboken goons and he does the Bud Light commercials, some kinda dog name I forget. Come on, what is that nonsense? So anyways…
Funny about this “Smells Like Teen Spirit” tune, but I never could figure out what that Nirvana character was singin’. I remember sayin’ to Jilly Rizzo, “Jilly, I dig this tune but I don’t know what the f@#k this kid is sayin. You know what I’m sayin’?” Jilly wasn’t much into rock so he’d just lean over and change the station or shove a Sinatra tape into the 8-track player. I had the last 8-track player GM ever installed in a Coup de Ville. I can still get any album on 8-track tape. It pays to have Union ties. Ya mean?
Anyways, it was a good tune, I just needed to hear it better and Anka laid it down – for me – in a way I could unnnerstand. Kinda like when a skell owed the Scarfos the Vig on top a the loss and Skinny D’Amato had to explain to ’em that if they didn’t pay up they’d get punched in the ass. Especially the line about the Mulatto. Am I right when I say that, Reverend Chad?
So I guess you can say that Paul Anka helped me “get” “Teen Spirit” like it was the threat a gettin’ an Ass Punch.
Ask DB1: NBAbags?
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Hey,
Just wanted to start off by letting you know what a fantastic job I think you’re doing and I check your website several times a day, so thanks a lot!
With that being said, I think there is an entire demographic here being overlooked. As an avid basketball player and fan, I have watched the NBA nearly all my life, so I have had the misfortune of watching the players, on and off the court, degenerate into uber-soft, uber-whiney, dare I say, douchebags.
I watch an NBA game nearly every day and shake my head and curl my lip in disgust when presented with a postgame interview of yet another self absorbed, overpaid player! I generally hate the overuse of exclamation punctuation, but I feel it is necessary here as it befits my overall rage and disgust as our culture becomes more flashy and fake with each passing moment.
Would there were more people like you in the world with sophisticated edge and a quality outlook on people in general, that I have come to appreciate. I will continue to follow your site and recommend it to others and for it, I salute you.
Thanks,
Michael
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It all began in the 1990s with these two, and it got far worse in the 00s, but it’s recently gotten a lot better. The NBA is still filled with sportsdouchery, but humility and passion seems to be replacing preening and spectacle, so I’d argue that there is hope.
Shminky and the Boozer Chicks of Cell Block 9
Now that’s a 1980s b-movie I’d watch on Cinemax at 2am.
Which brings up the whole question of at what point slutty bar ladies cross-over from sexy, trashy, carnal hott party girls who get overly excited when Guns n’ Roses plays on the jukebox into boozy, hoarse, chain-smoking, leathery skinned moms who juggle restraining orders like popcorn.
I’d say the dividing line occurs somewhere in their early 30s. And is best signified by the 2am switch from beer to Jack Daniels.
The Lurking Shmegtaint Within Us All
As Rashi taught us, we must always be vigilant.
If we are humble, and virtuous, and study the Torah, and kick douchewanks in the taint, then we may live virtuous lives.
If not, Shmegtaint Bob will fondle Hott Alyssa.
And all will grow Satanic in the ecotone.
Breaking: Seal Team Six Insists That "Zero Dark Thirty" Inaccurately Portrays Them as Douchebags
The Duffelblog breaks the story:
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VIRGINIA BEACH, VA- An anonymous Public Affairs Officer (PAO) for Seal Team Six says the movie “Zero Dark Thirty” is factually inaccurate, portraying Seal Team Six members like the douchebags from Seal Team Two.
“At one point Joel Edgarton’s character wears a polo shirt with a popped collar,” the PAO said. “Team Six doesn’t do that. We’re the baddest motherf@#kers on the planet. We don’t wear shit like Tapout shirts, Ed Hardy jeans, or fedoras. That’s Team Two.”
The members of Seal Team Two, who the rest of the Special Warfare community calls “very special operators,” gained their reputation in the last decade as the Navy’s demand for SEALs skyrocketed. Not enough sailors were passing Basic Underwater Demolition/Seal (BUD/S) training, so SEAL Team Two began recruiting civilians from local tanning salons and UFC parties. Actual SEALs in Team Two were transferred to other units, including the illustrious Team 11.
“Team Two is a joke,” the PAO from SEAL Team Six said. “Their PT uniform is a sleeveless t-shirt with slits down the side so people can check out their rib tats. On their last deployment they petitioned the White House to open a Hooters in Afghanistan. A few years ago they spent their entire training budget to make a calendar,” the PAO paused. “What’s up with that guy second from the right?”
Captain David Witten, Commanding Officer of Seal Team Two, said he was too busy to be interviewed because he was at the gym “getting swoll” but told The Duffel Blog he could bench three hundred and twenty five pounds.
He said he would be willing to do an interview afterwards but it would have to be quick because he was going to “pound brewskis with his bros.”
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Kisseus Vomitorious Gets Old
Rachel knows not the spikey-flab of which she commisserates in cohabitation. For it is the odious K.V.
And the baby Ganesh took a dump on the Tebus.
Yeah, I got nothin’. Monday morning and I lost my socks under the bed. And you know what that means. At least two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios before I crawl under there to investigate.
"Okay Prime, How Long is My Scarf?"
I have seen the (retro)future.
And it is glorious.
EDIT: Had a premature Saturday epublication. I hate it when that happens.
Reader Mail: Ed Hardy Heading to the Trash heap of History
Ed Hardy Har Har! writes in with a report from the front:
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Subject: Hardy Trash Heap!
My offices are located in the warehouse part of downtown Vegas (i.e. where all the strip clubs are). Story was the adjacent warehouse was rented by the fine folks from Christian Audigier.
Not too much went on there, except once a month or so, you’d hear the sound of a large mosquito or a small lawnmower outside the warehouse and some piece of crap Honda would pull up and a Circus AssClown Car would pull up and unload a DoucheSquad who would rustle around and then take off a few minutes later.
Then on New Year’s Eve, a helluva racket out in the parking lot. Looked out and the DoucheGaggle were throwing mannequins and “Hardly” paraphenelia across the parking lot in the general direction of the garbage can.
When there was finally silence, I went out to investigate. I knew I had to capture the scene for HCwDB. I’m pretty sure that picture #2 is a still life destined for the Guggenheim.
Best moment? When the local homeless guy who pushes his shopping cart around the neighborhood trash pickin’ rolled up, and says “What is this stuff?” And leaves without taking ANYTHING!
Ed Hardy Har Har
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We are winning.
