The Douchebag Bible (44 page)

instance, I always get a giddy little thrill out of doing

something that is (I believe) unethical, yet still

socially acceptable, such as eating veal. I love the

fact that I’m eating something that never got a

chance to live its life at all. Something that my fellow

man butchered in its infancy. It feels wrong, and I

like that. I like to debase myself by feeling like an evil

scumfuck exploiting the moral sluggishness of my

own species.

As boring as I am now, I used to be even more

so. I never showed emotion. I kept everything inside.

I was tranquil and reserved (read:boring) on the

surface, even though I was a torrent of extremes

within. My emotions were a dull but deep thrum

inside of me, hidden behind an impenetrable outer

shell of aloofness. This is a sorry state of being, and

I have worked, over the years, to rectify it.

The catch-22 of my rehumanization has been

that as I have connected with my emotions and

learned to express myself, my rage has come to the

forefront, and I have found it difficult to

constructively cope with. Every single day, it courses

through my body like red electric hellfire—

compromising my control, affecting my judgment,

and eroding my rationality. This came to the fore on

a recent trip to Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida.

I was vacationing with my wife, Holly, my

brother, Scotty, and his girlfriend, Monica. The plan

was to do three days and Disney World and then two

days at Universal Studios. Disney World advertises

itself as the most wonderful place on earth, but it's

oddly comparable to a fascist country. It even has its

own secret police.

We started late on our second day at Universal,

leaving the hotel at 11:30am and eating a tasty lunch

at
Bubba Gump's
in the Universal Citiwalk before

making our way to the park. We decided to hit up

some shops to buy Monica a pair of sandals. In front

of the first store we went to, there was a small crowd

of very trashy, rude-looking Cuban people blocking

the entrance. Scotty said, “Excuse me.” but they

didn’t move. Scotty isn't the kind of person to repeat

himself, so when they failed to move he simply

decided to go around them. In the process, he lightly

brushed the shoulder of the group's leader—a

wannabe 'gangsta' in a blue sports jersey. I don’t

know what his name was, so I will refer to him

hereafter affectionlessly as Douchey.

Douchey was immediately incensed that

someone would dare brush against him and began

to accost my brother. “Don’t touch me bro. You don’t

need to be touchin’ me!”

I turned to Douchey and said, “Do you have a

problem?”

Douchey looked at me with the inept rage of a

Neanderthal and said something. I don’t remember

what he said. I just know that the tone seemed

threatening, so I pushed him. He flew back—no

surprise: I'm big and he was small. He actually hit

and knocked down a stroller on his way to the

ground and I was scared for a moment that there

was a baby inside (I was honestly less concerned for

the baby's safety and more concerned with what the

consequences would be for me if I contributed to the

harming of some random bystanders brat)--but

thankfully the stroller was empty. Douchey, shocked

from being pushed, got up and got back in my face,

“WANNA PUSH ME AGAIN, NIGGA!? YOU A

BITCH! YOU A BITCH!”

At this point, I too was filled with Neanderthal

rage, but Holly, Scotty and Monica were all working

to calm me and assure me that an altercation wasn’t

in my best interest. Their arguments seemed cogent,

and so I relented and turned my back on Douchey.

Holly said to him, “This is Universal. Just enjoy your

day. Stop being an asshole.” Douchey seemed not to

hear her. He simply continued to posture as if he

were some sort of badass, and my group decided to

just go into the store and put the incident behind us.

I knew in my gut, however, that it wasn’t over.

I knew that Douchey was too embarrassed by our

previous encounter to let sleeping dogs lie. I knew

that at any moment he would return and attempt to

exact his revenge. And sure enough, he did. Barely

two minutes had passed before I saw Douchey barge

into the store, full of piss and vinegar, looking for a

fight.

Security had already arrived at this point and a

large, black mountain of a man wearing a security

badge blocked Douchey's path to me, but Douchey

exploited the layout of the store to find a way around

the gigantic security person. Douchey stopped

inches from me and proclaimed loud enough for all

to hear, “YOU WANNA PUSH ME AGAIN, BITCH?”

“Yes,” I said. And I punched him right in his

stupid fucking face. The thrill of impact was

invigorating—better than anything I've experienced

before or since. He reeled back into a shelf, swinging

wildly and to no avail. I was calm. I systematically

began to work his body. I am not a trained fighter

and I'm sure that if I had been, his injuries would

have been more severe.

Suddenly, I felt a tremendous force pull me

backwards. It wasn't security, as I thought, but Holly.

She had used all of her body weight to fling me off of

Douchey, losing her own balance in the process. I

fell backwards with her and Douchey used the

opportunity to kick me several times in the head and

ribs—but his kicks were too weak to do any harm.

Unfortunately, after security finally grabbed