Douche Fumes, Part II

Newborn fawns--

I had a Tuesday Trollop post all lined up and ready to go, but the air was so thick with douche fumes that I had to roll down the windows so that we could all breathe a little more clearly.

Boys and girls, if we were to meet these d-bags in person, I'm pretty sure they would say hello with (as my sweet, innocent sister would say), "Allow me to introdouche myself."

So there I was. At the meat counter (I know, right?). And this dick was getting a hard salami AND talkin' on his TOOF (bluetooth). It's a special breed of dick who'll use a TOOF anywhere besides a car, you know?

Note the keys on the belt loop. I don't know why this bothers me, but it kills. What is he, a janitor? Why can't he just put his keys in his pockets like everyone else? DAMN.

Get an eyefull of this hot piece. TOOFin' it up like a champ AT FULL CONVERSATION VOLUME, hittin' up the baking aisle.

And because there is simply no place better than your license plate to announce to the world that you are indeed as douchetastic as they come, I present to you the Greatest License Plate Ever:

BALLS. DEEP. And a Bronze Star. Oh my little lord sweet baby Jesus. It's times like these I think to myself, "Finally. A peer."

And here's a self-absorbed douche (is there any other kind?) for you:

I'll be honest: I don't get it. Is this code for "I can't stop masturbating"? Whatever. It could say MEEDOUCHE and it would mean exactly the same thing.

Have you hugged or humped or encountered a douche today?