Normally, we don’t really take “guest posts,” however this one came through the pipeline this evening and I couldn’t help myself. Granted, it was a little bit twisted (certainly not the normal, nice reviews we post on the site) but something about this appealed to me so I’m publishing it.
Question. Why is it that bar crawling on any given night throughout this city I hold so dear, can at times feel like a grand tour in doucheville? A sentiment that I am sure I share with many of you, my children of nighttime debauchery and drunken judgmental observations. The douche bag is multiplying at a rate of cockroach proportions, and spreading faster than a heaping case of the herp at a frat house game of beer pong. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Exhibit A: The Hill staffer douche. Navy blue blazer – with pink polo to boot – waved his Senate credit card repeatedly in the air at a bartender who was in the process of mixing and shaking four Martinis for four other douche bags at a full bar. Turned to his buddy, oh, excuse me I mean his side douche, and said, “Can you believe this fucking cunt?” My first thought was to repeatedly
introduce his face to the long and narrow in the name of instant karma. Sadly I did not. Instead I watched on, laughing my face off, as the bartender continued on taking other drink orders, and completely ignored the pink polo asshole, as he continued to wave his card. Is it too much to ask for an acme anvil to fall from the sky, crashing upon their worldly sized heads on sight? I think not.
Alas dreams do not always come true. However, nightmares do occur in my most sacred of drinking holes, as I sit with my beer and shot of whiskey, cringing at the very presence of such fuck holes.
Exhibit B: The Hipster Douche. Sighting. D.C. local hotspot restaurant/lounge in midtown. Ok, where do I start with this guy? First of all, he’s a fucking hipster!!! Imagine a Euro-trash version of John Holmes circa 1979. Then again with pants that tight, I’d probably be an asshole too. Anyway, I was at one of my favorite restaurants, waiting to order, and this guy in glasses was at an adjacent table having dinner with three of his other friends who fall victim to the same tragic sense of style. Uber tight, skinny jeans? Check. Dirty pair of Chuck Taylors? Check. Neon Graphic deep V tees a la’ American Apparel, or Urban Outfitters? Check. Scarves. Check. And our main douche, with Black rimmed Buddy Holly esque’ glasses. So this guy looks at everyone at he table in disgust and says, “This place is kinda’ Ghett’. Last time I was here they only had three bottles of Cris’, so don’t get your hopes up”. Are you fucking kidding me? Douchery my good people. The scourge of the land.
Exhibit C: Howard Law Alum douche. A $3,000 suit, endlessly pulling on an unlit cigar butt, while drunkenly babbling about the wonders, and awesomeness it is to be him. A female collegue of his just let him ramble on. Interjecting two word responses which was the only time allotted in between his rambling, and deep breaths. This poor woman had the unfortunate pleasure of being the one who walked the asshole in. He’s talking to her, but completely ignoring her at the same time. He then notices a couple not far away from him, and decides to interrupt. Then proceeds to try to pick up the girl in front of the other guy. The couple at this point are awestruck, as this douche continues to blatently hit on the girl. Then stops himself, throwing his hands up, and sarcastically says, “Oh, are you with this guy?” Then proceeds to tell her she’s selling herself short cause he’s “very, very rich”, and an attorney, and Howard Alum. Says his CL Mercedes is parked right across the street. I’m watching this in disbelief as well. The guy was douchery of evil genius proportions. Vaudeville Villain if you will. Of course they tell the guy to get lost. And he did. Only he did it slowly. All the while still talking about how successful he was, and how she was “fucking up”. I’m serious. Anyway, I say all that to say this. The city is full of douche bags. Don’t be another one. Tell a friend. Until the next installment of district debauchery, this is Mark Darrk. Welcome to Darrk City.