The Sounds of Douchebag America

I don’t know why my friends always want to talk about people, or politics, or even give advice or discuss the weather.  Conversation should be funnier than that, you know?  It should have an original edge to it, like, you know, real creative and edgy.  So, when my friends are like, “Let’s talk about our plans for the evening,” I’m like “There’s a sweet Family Guy where they try to make plans, and Homer Peter does something selfish but Marge Lois forgives him.”  Or when my girlfriend’s like, “I want to talk about how empty our relationship is,” I’m just like, “That’s cliche talk.  Let’s talk Family Guy.”

It’s just such a good show.  Like the episode where Santa’s Little Helper Brian runs onto the dog racing track.  That’s one of my favorites.  Another good one is when Marge Lois stumbles into a casino and develops a gambling problem.  I can’t get enough.  Thank God it’s in syndication virtually everywhere all the time, or I wouldn’t know what I’d do with myself.  I brought it up with my co-workers down at Home Depot, and they were like, “Don’t you have anything better to talk about?” and I said, “No.  What, do you want me to talk about how my girlfriend thinks I’m suffocating her?  Is that what you want?  Didn’t think so.”

Ugh.  She says things like, “Being with you is worse than being waterboarded.  I feel trapped.”  I said, “Woah, that joke’s edgy.  You should write for Family Guy.”  It’s good to know Peter Griffin gets away with how negligent he is.  Certainly makes me feel better about myself, that’s for sure.

Fuggin, I’m devastated, man, cuz I was totally like, putting my dick in this bitch, right, and I got her bent over my bed and we’re like fuckin’, right, I’m totally doin’ her from behind, and she’s like “don’t stop, don’t stop,” and I’m goin’ like hella hard, right, and then, bam, I’m thrustin’ in and out harder and harder, and then, fuggin, she lets out this whimper, and I’m thinkin’ oh shit, I got her spot, but instead she was like “I think you just put it in my butt,” and I was like oh God, like…now, I’m a total fag.

She’s a hot bitch, too…great, tight pussy, nice tits, and she’s kinda smart and all which I know doesn’t matter, but it just pisses me off that like, there’s a pussy and an ass, and they’re like an inch or so apart from each other or whatever, so like, when I’m fucking a girl’s pussy I’m a total hetero, but if I slip an inch away, it’s gay.  I’m always one inch away from being a total fag.  Dick in butt is gay, it’s totally homo, no matter what.  See, fags don’t have to worry about this, because if you fuck an ass, it’s gay, but there’s like…there’s no confusion there, I guess, because you can’t put your dick into another dick.  Like, you don’t slip into someone’s balls by accident and go like “Oh, what if I’m straight now?”  I mean…yeah, I’m kind of jealous that they don’t have to worry about that, you know, like, they know what they want.  I mean, I don’t want to be gay and all…I just…I…

Fuckin’ fags.

Dude, I buy everything at Spencer’s.  All 5 of my “Why so serious?” Joker posters, all 6 of my pro-marijuana T-shirts, and all 8 of my pink, furry sex dice were proudly purchased at Spencer’s Gifts. 

The sex dice are totally awesome, too.  I was bringing this girl back to my parent’s basement, and she was totally enchanted my custom-made all Spencer’s bachelor pad.  I had all my studded belts, faux-leather whips, and spiked collars on the walls.  She asked me if I was “into pain,” and I was like, “No, baby.  Spencer’s is pure pleasure.”  I mean, we didn’t end up hooking up because I showed her this joke jar of anal lube, and she freaked out and left. 

Then there was this other girl who came over, and was impressed with all the beer posters I had.  I even have one that shows you how to make different shots.  She asked me to make her one, but I was like, “Sorry baby, I’m not 21 yet.”  I thought I could make it up to her by showing her the collection of  talking dildos I have in my nightstand.  She freaked out and left, too.  I mean, they’re pretty sweet.  You can change the chips inside so that when you turn it on it sounds like Spongebob Squarepants.  Or Al Gore.  They even have a few that glow in the dark.

Man, Spencer’s is so awesome.

I don’t see what the big hang-up is with straight people, you know?  Like, why it’s such a big deal for them to just make out with someone of the same sex.  I know I don’t have a problem with it.  I mean, it’s just a set of lips.  Whether or not that set of lips comes with a mustache, a beard, a pair of tits, or an infection shouldn’t matter.  Especially since girls can have mustaches too.

Well, I don’t know if I would call myself bisexual, because that’s a label and I try to avoid labels, but I will say that I love making out with big, butch lesbians.  That’s the other thing: why do people need to call themselves “straight” or “gay.”  Like, I was trying to make out with this girl, and she goes, “No, thank you,” and I said, “Why?” and then she goes, “Because I’m straight.”  It’s so maddening when people have to identify their innate, most fundamentally natural preferences.  

Usually when I try to make out with girls, the guy I was dating or the guy I wanted to make jealous gets really mad.  ”You’re just doing that to get revenge because you’re pissed at me for no reason!”  ”Oh yeah?” I think to myself, “Maybe for our anniversary you shouldn’t have taken me to that craptastic restaurant that had no vegetarian options.”  Then I’ll make out with that chick some more.  But I wouldn’t have sex with a woman, or like, go down on one.  I just like making out.  All that other chick-on-chick stuff is disgusting.

You know, the words “creepy stalker” get thrown around a lot these days, especially in reference to me.  I understand the stigma: I got those pamphlets in college during freshman orientation, and I took health classes in high school.  But let me defend myself.

I really like this girl.  In fact, I like her so much that I want to see her.  Here’s the thing, though: she does not want to see me.  So, I figure, the only way we can get what we both want is if I see her without her being able to see me. Ergo, I should stalk.  This way, no one gets the short end of the stick.  “You should respect her privacy,” they say.  Well, I am, so far as she knows.

I know it sounds weird that I’m obsessing over a woman with whom I’ve never really conversed, but I can’t just suppress that feeling.  When people suppress their feelings, they start doing weird, creepy things and picking up eerie habits or unhealthy preoccupations.  I can’t be that guy.

So, I pose this situation to you: what solution do you have to this problem?  A guy who wants to see a girl, but she doesn’t want to see him.  Any ideas?  No?  Stalking it is, then.