The following blog post is dedicated to my lovely friend Tessa and her hilarious story!
Dear Mr. Douchebag,
I was very happy the other night when we all went out for drinks. You remember? You, me, …. and your girlfriend. We all have gone to University together and know each other well, so I thought it would be no hassle to stay the night on your couch while I was visiting the city.
You seemed to be very happy with your girlfriend. Laughing at her jokes and holding her hand. I was just thankful to finally be around a perfectly normal and romantic couple. She even volunteered to be the designated driver for the night so that you and I could have some drinks. She was perfectly lovely.That is why I was completely traumatized by what events occurred later that night.
I waved good-bye to your girlfriend as you kissed and thanked her for the drive home. We then stayed up to watch a bit of TV and eat our Poutini’s fries when you tried to put your arm around me. I thought I was having a drunk hallucination, so decided that it was time for me to go to bed.
As I started to doze off in the spare bedroom, you came in and rested yourself beside me in the bed. I looked at you and said, “Are you kidding me?” And then I was waving down a taxi to take me to another friends place.
So here I am writing you a letter to let you know that you have surpassed the level of ‘asshole’ and that maybe you should reconsider dating your girlfriend.
This past weekend a few friends and I decided to go to Sunnyside Beach to catch some sun. I headed to the beach with all the essentials: towels, sunscreen, my Burberry glasses, and a flask of vodka. After walking the boardwalk for ten minutes we finally found the perfect beach spot. We set the towels out, put on some sunscreen and took a sip from our flask of vodka. Everything was going as planned until I started to hear the annoying mating sounds of The Beach Douche.
That’s right, that one type of person who always seems to make your blood boil at the beach; the notorious Beach Douche. And this guy was a prime example of this dirty annoyance. The bright yellow flourescent speedo really stood out on this man’s dark Persian skin. Yes, his body was toned and hot, but why he couldn’t just wear normal trunks like the other guys at the beach would be beyond me. It probably would go against his Beach Douche values of flaunting his manhood. To accentuate his beach body, the Beach Douche was also plastered with gaudy tattoos. His back spine was lined with some sort of scripture and a giant snake was slithering down his overly worked quad muscle.
Now normally you would ignore annoying people in public, but with the Beach Douche it’s like watching a car accident; you want to look away but you just can’t stop watching. It would make my skin itch when he would stop mid conversation to jam out to the Euro Pop on his iPod and run his hand through his overly gelled hair. Or he would make me want to puke when he would yell out the first thing that came to his mind on the topic that was being discussed by his group, whether he was part of the conversation or not.
I am sorry, but how can you enjoy the sun with a Beach Douche that close to you? Why couldn’t he just wear a normal bathing suit that didn’t over emphasize his package? How could anyone think those tattoos would EVER look good on them? Why must he always put his two cents into every conversation even though he has no educated argument. And why does any Beach Douche think it makes them attractive to other woman when they talk about the dirty things they do during sex? I don’t know if anyone gave him the memo, but that is not the way to get into a woman’s pants. But, then my annoyance started to simmer as I realized another commonly known element of the Beach Douche; he probably hasn’t gotten laid in a year.