The blog of the wandering douche

For recognition of the inhumane, thoughtless, greedy, and the negligent. And douchebags.

Joe Blow Douche

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I’m generally a glass-half-full kinda guy, a pragmatic optimist at the very least. This page is really about giving me a place to vent spleen when I see people detracting from the world by their actions, and generally, these people are the sort you read about in the paper, on the intertube, the idiot box, etc. Not so for todays post.

Today, I was being a good man, sneaking off to the supermarket to get my very hungover missus a wee pick-me-up, and also, some bog wipe. It’s Saturday, so the supermarket carpark was full of guys out to get their weekend quota of chores done so they could fuck off out to their golf club, fishing boat, beach-house at piha etc, before they have to head back to their weekday jobs herding powerpoint presentations across projectors and giving rimjobs to their bosses. Generally these guys are a little uptight, possibly because the know they’re dead souls, boring demographic archetypes unable to see beyond the immediate horizon of their materialistic purgatory. Maybe I generalise a tad too much, but this is not a blog for moderation or self-censorship. Can you tell that I don’t like people like that? I really don’t like people like that.

Anyways, I find a parking space, next to a little BMW liftback. I do my shopping, stagger back out to the car under the weight of many bags, and see a black Subaru WRX (not STi) hatchback, the new one, now parked next to me in place of the bimmer. And this was a very new car, very shiny, and might I add at this juncture – not a scratch on it. My own car is a very fun little beast, I’m very fond of it, and it happens to need new tyres – I’m in the middle of shopping around for a new set of rubber for it. I happen to glance at the rubber on the Subaru, because it has some nice tyres on it – Yokohama, 205/50/R17. About the same size as my car, I note. I hop in my car, taking pointed care to not ding the Subaru with my door, and back out just as the Subaru owner finishes loading his own car up with groceries. I pop my car in first and start to pull away – then, there’s an abrupt BANG BANG BANG on the side of my car. I look around, and the Sube owner has run after my car – I hit the brakes, thinking that I must have left groceries behind or something, and that maybe he’s trying to do a good samaritan thing for me. Instead, he rips open my passenger door, his mid-forties cheeks red, and saggy like an old womans tits. “Did you leave that big scratch down the side of my car?” he yells at me, his voice high and strained – “I saw you looking at the side of my car, did you run your door into it mate?”

“Suck my dick, communist.” I said.

No, actually I just give him a “What? No, definitely not.” He repeats his main evidence: “I saw you looking at the side of my car before you pulled away, did you leave a scratch in it?” I shake my head, and he turns away, slamming my door. I yell after him: “Dude, I was just looking at your wheels!” – but he’s setting sail, no doubt to write down my license plate or something.

So, notice that he went from accusing me of a scratch, to asking me if there was actually a scratch at all? He was too busy being prissy to have checked the fucking car. Fuck him. I didn’t make contact with his car, I have nothing to worry about. He, however, has to worry about being a precious, needle-dicked douchebag. YOU HEAR ME SUBARU OWNER? YOU ARE A NEEDLESSLY GRACELESS, PARANOID AND WHINY LITTLE BITCH. GO CRY OVER SOMETHING THAT ACTUALLY MATTERS.

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Written by thewanderingdouche

March 20, 2010 at 7:18 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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