Don't make your loved ones Digital Douche Bags this holiday season

I avoided mentioning the Digital Douche Bag in Prêt-à-Porter Douche (May, 2008). And to my audience I am sorry for failing you. However I can no longer take it. Maybe I’m in the Christmas spirit of giving, or maybe I just miss baseball season…

The other night I really wanted to take a pipe up the side of the head of a Digital Douche Bag. And I know you’ve seen him or her; usually it’s him, sometimes her… Okay, close to never a “her,” but sooner or later you’ll see a lesbian who you’d swear was a man and call her a Douche Bag thinking she was a dude. I’m just saying, but you know exactly what and who the fuck I am talking about.

Short hair, taped boobies, men’s clothing…I digress…back to business.

Back in the mid-1990s the Digital Douche Bag was training for the new millennium. It was the kid who walked around the campus of your school wearing headphones connected to their portable CD player all the goddamn time. Typically it was a Sony Discman, and they were pretty cool I suppose, but these kids never unplugged it seemed, anti-social pricks.

That same asshole now seems to go everywhere with a Bluetooth headset on his ear. Bothering me and everyone else around him with a little flashing blue light pulsing from the side of head, fooling us into thinking he is shit-house crazy when we see him talking into thin air. That guy grew up to be part of or society’s downfall, with his illuminated skull beacon announcing he is indeed a Digital Douche Bag for all to see and fear.

This past weekend I accompanied my girlfriend to her company’s holiday party. It was held at any typical resort, she looked as stunning as ever in her black dress, I in black on black suit without tie. We took the time to look good, but like any company party there are going to be a few people who just don’t try.

At least three individuals, each dressed okay, decent, and little bit better locked and loaded with Bluetooth in ear (this is the part I mentioned where I wanted to take a pipe up the side of someone’s head), sitting there, eating prime rib (possibly chicken), talking with friends and coworkers, hopefully having a good time, but for some reason or other they decided to sit there looking like a retarded person from a lame-ass sci-fi film.

Seriously Neo, is there any event, much less a time of the day when you can unplug from The Matrix?

Today the Digital Douche Bags of tomorrow are training on iPods while on family trips to the mall or movie theater. Sometimes this new generation will be traveling in packs and every one of these little assholes is wearing headphones. Making the rest of us wonder how the fuck these kids communicate with one another when apparently they’re all listening to music?

Oh yeah, the text message.

Which brings me to “close to never” for women in the role of Digital Douche Bag. Ladies, look, we boys had our Nintendo’s, Game Boy’s, and Sega Genesis’ alike in the late 80s early 90s. I can’t remember any girls ever playing video games during those awesome days.

So it’s very fitting women have adopted the Blackberry as their source of entertainment and cellular device in the post 2000 era. Just texting away like they’re writing the next great American novel.

But please, put that motherfucker away for five minutes when you’re in polite situations. You don’t need to be sending text messages every five seconds when you’re at a restaurant or bar. It’s that behavior that has given you digital douche bag paranoia, where although the phone has not vibrated or rang, you incessantly pick it up and look at it for your next message. Stop it!

So whether you’re on a date, out with a mixed group of people, or with the girls drinking Cosmo’s in your gold jumpsuit, fake n’ bake tan, and pretending you’re on a dead TV show, put that son of a bitch down; leave it in your car, in your purse, or up your ass. Because like any male wearing a Bluetooth headset in the same type of situation, you too will end up looking like a Douche Bag, digital or otherwise.

I myself am victim of Bluetooth usage. However I live in California and by law I have to be “hands free” while driving. Supposedly it makes the roads safer, reducing the driver’s distraction behind the wheel. I say it makes it easier to light a smoke, stir your coffee, eat a cheeseburger, and fuck with your radio.

I will say Bluetooth headsets have improved the likelihood that my phone conversations will not suddenly end. I simply put the phone in part of home where I actually have reception, and then carelessly wander my home talking away like a character on Star Trek.

But if you ever see me outside of my home or car talking on one, feel free to shoot me in the head. And let it be known I was killed in order to never be known as a Digital Douche Bag. Thank you for saving my dignity, and bear in mind I too am probably packing a gun.

Some new stuff

So after a long time away a new blog is here. However it is a piece of fiction as opposed to my usual bullshit. I’ll be getting back to the normal stuff soon enough, otherwise Danger my attorney in Europe is likely to come back to the states and fuck me up.

Sorry Danger, I will fix your lack of Snakebite Report soon enough.

So without further ado part one of an ongoing story.

-Snake

A Bedtime Story for You

There used to be a man who would tell you about your soul. Part I


It was similar to palm reading or even tarot cards. As bullshit as those methods might seem, this one took the cake for bullshit, at least in terms of method.

You’d enter through his shop which contained nothing special, just knick-knacks, bamboo plants, and cheap knives. After you gave him an envelope of cash he’d bring you to the back of the shop, pour you a hot cup of tea, and you’d simply sit there. He’d sit silent, sip his tea, and just look at you. At this point you felt pretty stupid sitting across an old table from this guy with a cup of hot tea in hand while he just looked at you. Some people were afraid to drink the tea. Thinking you’d hallucinate if you drank it or something else of the sort. But you didn’t; just very strong Earl Gray. He put too many bags for the amount of water. Yet you would continue to sit there, not knowing what was going on. Tension ran through you every time he would let out a sigh or take a deep breath.

The room smelled of Earl Gray and fresh lemon zest, it was actually quite pleasant come to think of it. The sound of traffic from the outside street would break the uncomfortable silence every now and again. Maybe a car horn or some screeching tires.

The only light in the room came from the front of the shop and through the frosted glass of the door to the alley. There were two small lamps in the room, but neither was ever turned on. One had the word “Montana” across a mountain backdrop in light blue.

Usually after half his tea was gone, he’d close his eyes. This usually made anyone across from the man a touch nervous. This however was followed by feeling a bit silly. After all you were there to see a man who told you about your soul.

Broken patches of green felt were stuck to the table, obviously a past card table. The flimsy aluminum legs looked as though they had seen better days, better games, and other times. A few crusty cigarette burns adorned the old felt where the green had turned white and worn.

On the wall were old calendars of years past and posters advertising everything from car cleaning products like Carnauba wax to power tools. The ones with power tools featured women who were probably now well past their prime. One poster mentioned the new revolutionary cordless drill! It was no wonder that this back room was seldom used, unless that is, to have a stranger tell you about you soul.

The metal folding chair you sat in would give any member of Alcoholic’s Anonymous a feeling of nostalgia. The man sat in a much nicer chair than yours. It was a red and green plaid easy-chair, with a flannel finish. The kind of chair you’d find your old uncle Mike in, dead from a heroin overdose with the needle still hanging out of his arm with rubber tubing still wrapped around his bicep as a tourniquet, with an overflowing ashtray of cigarette butts next to him… maybe that’s just me.

There really isn’t anything better than having your mother call you in a panic and ask you to go to the bad part of town to check on her degenerate brother to make sure he’s okay. Furthermore it’s even worse to find him dead from a needle full of Smack in his arm with Jeopardy showing on the television and a buzz of an old stove timer droning through the apartment. Maybe old uncle Mike needed to be sitting in this room right now, well maybe he’s should have three months ago.

To be continued

The ramblings of a madman

New stuff is on the way. I promise.


-Snake

Vote Atheist 2008

"Historically, as a class, atheists cannot claim that the public's prejudice against them is as widespread, harsh or blatant as that experienced by racial minorities and women, but the distorted and irrational prejudice against atheists nonetheless runs deep and has a price. By exalting religiosity and scorning non belief, the public and the media help to validate the religious right and its agenda."

-David A. Niose

Thanks to previous drug use, criminal records in two states, and the number or women I have slept with, I have no doubt in my mind of ever holding the office of President of the United States of America…oh one more I’m an atheist.

Sometime before Easter weekend 2008, I was walking in some retail establishment or other. A kid about 10 or 11 years old walked up to me and asked for some money for a charity with the promise of a box of candy in return for my support. He was holding a clipboard with a piece of blue paper describing what I could only guess was a description of the group who was asking us strangers for money.

I took a quick glance at it and noticed the top of the sheet was adorned with crucifixes. Not one, but three. I wasn’t rude to the kid when I declined, I simply said, “no thank you, atheist.” He only needed to hear no thank you, and he was on his way to hit up some one else who might give a shit. No harm done.

It was his mother chaperoning him who took issue with me.

“What did you just say to him?” she growled to me.

“I told him I was an atheist when he asked me for money.”

“Well what the hell does that have to do with giving money to charity? You tell me!”

“Well madam,” [always throw in a madam when you want to piss off a woman] “I simply don’t believe in giving money to the cross when I don’t believe in it.”

He tone was now harsher, though lowered, “You! Its assholes like you who are ruining this country!”

Like me?

“Well its assholes like you who re-elected Bush and are fucking up this country.”

At that point she was as red as a human being could get and I could sense violence (like most people of faith, in the name of Christianity) towards me was a very real thing. I hurried into the store. A man in his 50s came up to and asked what that was all about? I assumed he was going to add to the harping, however I learned he was shocked not by my response to the kid, but to the attack from the mother. “Some sense of Christian values,” he told me. You got that right pal.

I seldom catch any shit from Jews or even friends who are Jewish when they learn I’m an atheist. A Jewish friend told me once, “After the shit we’re been through over the last two-thousand years…and especially in the last sixty years. We don’t have the time to judge atheists for free thinking.” Not bad my friend, not bad.

Even recently I was shocked when Time magazine had an article discussing who the American public would/would not vote for based on the candidate’s religious faith and race. The highest percentage said no fucking way to an atheist running for president with about 87% feeling that way.

Pew Research Center did their poll “Clinton and Giuliani Seen as Not Highly Religious; Romney’s Religion Raises Concern,” (based on answers from 3,002 adults conducted over the telephone between August 1 to 18, 2007) to determine who Americans would be less likely to vote for in November 2008 if he/she were:

Atheist: 61%, Muslim: 45%, Mormon: 25%, Evangelical Christian: 16%, Hispanic: 15%, A woman: 12%, Jewish: 11%, Catholic: 7%, Black: 6%

In a similar poll taken by Zogby, parents were asked if their child began dating some outside their own faith, which religious group would cause the most alarm:

Muslim: 42%, Atheist/Realist/Humanist: 17%, Mormon: 14%, Protestant/other Christian group: 3%, Roman Catholic: 2%, Jewish: 1%

My ex-girlfriend’s mother in a similar regard was no help either. She was a religious person and undoubtedly knowing I was an atheist was just more icing on the cake of dislike. The very first time I met her and her husband, he was quick to point out my atheism as dinner was being prepared by the ex and mom. I could tell mom was listening to my answer in that I’m not really paying attention to this conversation but I am sort of way.

Unfortunately at the time I felt guilty. Now thinking back to it I should not have felt that way. Especially when you put into thought one of the teachings of Jesus Christ called love and this woman was pretty much ashamed of the fact her son was gay, so I was to be punished for my sins as it seemed.

And there I was feeling guilty because I was in love with her daughter and wanted to impress her as much as I could. No breaks were to be caught by me that evening, and neither was for the teachings of Christ.

My father was a college professor and atheist. I was lucky on several occasions to attend one of his many lectures on religion. One such time the topic of prayer in schools came up. Though many were thought provoked in his classes, others got quite angry.

A young woman said to him, “as long as there are tests in school, there will be prayer in schools.” No bullshit. I picked the right day to attend.

My dad was fast with his words, “Oh yes, I’ve seen the bumper sticker too.” Oh shit, I thought, he was going to get really tuned up here in a second. My friend from high school, Leather Balls was a student in that class, and with me being there as well I knew a good time was coming.

“Okay,” he began. “I’ll throw a hand grenade into the classroom and you pray it doesn’t go off.”

The young woman was appalled by this idea. “Well I was referring to actual exams and prayer.”

Another student interjected, “what if it’s a dud?”

“Fine,” my dad continued, “I’ll throw in two hand grenades and yell pop quiz!”

Some of his students were offended, others shell shocked by the comment, I was laughing with the rest. I learned a lot about free thinking, searching for fact as opposed to truth, religion, and what to expect from people as an atheist from my dad, but that’s a whole other story altogether.

When my father died I was told by several people they were praying for him. I heard that quite a bit but I was never angered or put off by it, we all mourn in our own ways, if that was your way then thank you for the gesture. Nevertheless one person told me she was praying for him so he wouldn’t do to hell because he was an atheist. Alright dad, I get it now.

So what really can an atheist aspire to? Not the President of the United States, and probably most political offices. Relationships are a tricky one; I’ve had a few where her parents didn’t approve of me for that reason alone. Generally they were more concerned for their possible grandchildren going to hell. If only they knew what their daughters and I were up to.

Since aspirations of holding a political office are in the shit house (by the way ask Sen. Obama what religion did to his campaign), than what about meeting new people? Most people of faith are very put off, not so much by that you don’t believe what they do, but that you don’t believe at all. Looks of disgust are usually followed by a tightening of the shoulders, like we’re going to steal a handbag off them.

Most will default with the hell thing. You’re gonna burn in hell, you’re going to hell, blah, blah. I actually kind of like it when that happens because there is nothing better than an atheist reminding a religious person its time for a refresher course in their own faith because they obviously do not know the set values of their specific sect. That probably burns more than anything.

I tried the online dating thing as well, and was contacted by more women who wanted to tell me I was going to hell, than women who wanted a relationship or at the very least get some action. However I did meet an atheist and fell head over heals for her and not because she was like me, but that’s a whole different story altogether.

I basically see it one way, if a supposed god created man in his own image; He has to be an atheist. After all who would god pray to? He’s fucking god! The chairman of the board who reports to no one, ever!

If god and heaven does exist, then atheists are going to get the royal treatment, my friend. I’m talking about the best jobs, best food, blow jobs, whiskey, places to shop, places to live, etc. Just for being a freethinker who is without a doubt what god is. And what a pat on the back it would be for staying home on Sundays.

“Atheism is a conclusion, not a decision.”

-FMB, my father.

Prêt-à-Porter Douche

I fucking hate douche bags.

Military captains are identified by two metal parallel bars, fire trucks are usually red, and police typically drive black and white cars. The douche bag’s representation changes every fashion season.

Fuck I hate the mall. If it wasn’t for losing a ton of weight and needing to try on clothes before I buy them I’d never go to the mall. I’d buy everything on the internet just to avoid the mall. I actually already buy all my athletic shoes online because I always buy the same brand and the length of my foot will not change with weight loss. At least I hope not, I just got a pretty sweet pair of trail running shoes.

For those of you know me personally, you for sure know I wear and own a lot of polo shirts. For the most part they are black or dark blue. I’m very comfortable in them; they look good with jeans, make my arms look more muscular than they already are and of course make me a more modest person.

However lately it seems the prêt-à-porter douche bags who continually monopolize the polo shirt have taken to perverting their polo’s by wearing two at the same time, both different colors, one over the other so the collar of the inner shirt is overlaid the top shirt’s collar.

Go to any Banana Republic or American Eagle Outfitters and you’ll see what I mean. Mannequins, store adverts, company website, or the douche bag kid working one of those places are all good examples if you want to see this ridiculous trend in play. Or just live in southern California or walk the campus of any NCAA school. Frat houses too.

You know the Douche Bag, you’ve seen him: Pink polo shirt with a flipped up collar with a logo of a little animal on the breast accompanied by plaid shorts and some flip-flops. The kind of guy you can tell just by looking at him that he has to put drugs in a woman’s drink just to have borderline corpse sex with her (On a side note, I don’t care if it’s your brother or your best friend, if they wear flip-flops with jeans at any time they are automatically a douche bag. If they go back inside and put on normal shoes then they’re ok. Living near the beach is not an exception or excuse.).

Last year it seems we were all treated to the a revisit of the 1980s, where the Douche Bag once again took the collar of his polo shirt and flipped it up like he was auditioning for a remake of Silver Spoons along with his douche bag friends. Flipped up collars on polo shirts, Reaganomics, and bands like Winger and Poison need to be left in the fucking 80s where they died not so long ago.

Even fat guys are becoming douche bags. Yes I said it, fat guys.

Long gone are the days of fat kids dressing up as their favorite Star Wars character ruining my memory of what Jedi Knights are supposed to look like on film.

The other night some portly 19 year old college student was interviewed on the local news about his involvement with a new non-surgical medical procedure to lose weight. I can’t remember what the procedure was exactly, probably because I eat healthy and go to the gym; you know, the correct way to lose weight.

At any rate as he’s slamming three chili dogs down his throat I noticed he too was wearing the double polo shirt. And you could see this kid was sweating. It was over 100 degrees most of that week and wearing an additional shirt wasn’t helping this kid. He’s gushing sweat, and crying to the news why he just doesn’t understand why he can’t lose weight. How about lose the chili dogs and run somewhere? Anywhere.

Where had this guy’s Star Wars shirt gone? His jean shorts? I’ll tell you, it was the douche bag new friends he made when he got to college. Or he was rejected from every fraternity and now thinks dressing himself this way will impress the ladies, much like the frat douche bags who must have impressed him or made him think people dress that way. Just go back to the Star Wars convention kid; at least there your people skills never fail you and you know you’re among friends.

It has to be the worst fashion trend since pegging your jeans. Shit, I did that but was sure to leave it in the 90s, and honestly it had no business in that era either.

Douche bags come in all shapes, colors, and behaviors. Be wary or you local douche bag and his double collar. I will however continue to wear my single layer, single collar polo shirts. It’s almost a trademark of mine. However if you see me on the street, or maybe even at a party, and I’m wearing the double collar, go to your car* and shoot me in the fucking head. Make sure I’m dead and shoot me in the chest for a second time.

But if you go to a party and your local douche bag is wearing the double collar, his jeans are pegged and he’s got on flip-flops, then make sure you not only kill him but make sure to go after his family. It’s the only way to end the douche bag bloodline.

*If you’re in Arizona this is a very real possibility as you most likely have a gun in your car. Anywhere else you borrow one from your dad.

The Over Hang of Drinking

When I was sixteen years old I had an amazing ability. I felt like nerdy Peter Parker walking around my high school campus knowing full well I was Spider-man. However my ability was not the super strength, the aptitude to stick to walls, nor any spider sense associated with him, I was able to walk into the local Circle K convenience store and buy booze. No I.D., no argument with the clerk, I couldn’t even grow facial hair to look older than I was. It was a very special time to say the least.

So it was at a somewhat young age when my friends and I began to learn what amount of booze made you throw up, what a hangover was really all about, and what came with it from getting shit-faced at sixteen years old. Subconsciously we knew it could be bad.

My father was a bad example for hangovers, because he never seemed to get them. A quart of single malt scotch at a family dinner, me using a tiny suction cup to pluck the contact lens’ from his eyes, and back at it early in the morning for some Earl Gray. Now that’s the measure of a man.

I’ve never had the dreaded morning headache that come from a night of hard drinking, however I am pretty much useless the following morning with what can only be explained as cold and flu symptoms. Inevitably this has gotten worse with age; luckily the frequency has diminished because I no longer drink cheap beer but expensive scotch, bourbon or vodka. Cheap domestic beer will take me down like a sick fucking animal.

I presented an idea to Mr.Vex just the other night. He has long been a good friend and we have shared many benders together. I told him when I was younger I thought puking your guts out and hangovers would go away the more you aged and drank. Just one day your body would say, “Drink whatever my friend, this shit is taken care of because we are finally numb to the affects of alcohol, I got no reason to lie to you.”

Over time it seems all the body does is just raising the bar for itself (that’s a pun if you want it to be). At some point in your life you go out and have three or four glasses of the Macallan and everything is fine; you wake up and go to the adult book shop as planned. The next time, knowing what you can handle, you go for five or six and you end up vomiting $80 worth of scotch plus the $8 you spent on Mexican food at 2:41 in the morning at Los Betos. But eventually you’re drinking six or seven with no problem; you figure you’re good to go at least for the time being.

I’m always impressed by what Mr. Vex and Danger, my attorney in Europe, manage to get down their gullets without getting sick. On one delightful evening, the three of us managed to drink a bar’s worth of liquor at Mr.Vex’s home, just three champion gladiators in the arena waiting to see who will tire first.

I for some reason or other can maintain a semblance of sober when I am piss drunk. But unlike my close friends, I seem to manage under such guise until I pass out in the hallway between a bedroom and a bathroom. I did such on that night. Mr. Vex will go from zero to shit faced in about ten seconds, however the man can still put away more martini’s than James Bond on his best day. Danger seems to lose his ability to form words and speaks in a language all his own with lots of odd screams and random tongue movement. I simply lie where I fall. Endurance seems to improve with time; hopefully it’ll treat us all well.

At some point or other we were all witness to our parents not acting their usual selves after coming home late from whatever dinner party they had gone to on whatever Saturday night. There may have been something you noticed about mom on the following Sunday morning when you expected pancakes and apple juice for breakfast. She just seemed a little off, didn’t she? Maybe it had something to do with the faint smell of cigarette smoke coming off the overcoats she and dad wore to the party wafting through the house. And wasn’t dad and you supposed to be cleaning the garage this morning, why is he still in bed at 11 a.m.?

Time it seems is fairer to us in some ways more than others. Unfortunately it sometimes is fair in the unhealthiest of ways. Getting sick form drinking and hangovers will never go away, unless you’re my dad. I still wish I knew how he was able to do it.

I guess I need more practice…