Read The Douchebag Bible Online
Authors: TJ Kirk
cupcakes. Dieting isn’t worth being miserable. Food
is supposed to give pleasure and life, not be a
substance you fear and dread.
When someone sees you eating bacon and says,
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a diet?” then say back
to them, “Aren’t you supposed to be minding your
own fucking business?”
Trust me. I’ve actually lost weight. Most people
who give diet advice are people who have always
been skinny and don’t know what the fuck they’re
talking about.
My diet is that I try to eat less shitty than I want
to eat. For instance, I want to eat fried chicken
slathered in gravy with a side of mac and cheese and
some cake for dessert; wash it all down with a coke.
Maybe I overhaul the whole meal and get
grilled chicken, steamed broccoli and water. Not
likely though! I’ll usually get at least one of the
things I actually want. I’ll get the grilled chicken, but
still do the mac and cheese. Or I’ll get the grilled
chicken and steamed broccoli but still treat myself
to dessert.
The one thing I certainly don't try to do is
believe in myself. Believing in yourself is too damn
hard. I try, instead, to believe in the science of what
a diet is. I can believe that lowering my intake of fats
and carbohydrates will make me a thinner person. I
can believe that with stretching and exercise, I can
make myself healthier and more desirable to many
people. I believe all of that, because there are facts
behind it. There are verifiable results as I discover
that I weigh a little bit less each week.
But I can’t believe in myself. I know that I am
weak-willed. I know that I am going to feel like I
could conquer the world one minute and feel like a
worm on a hook the next. I know that I can’t rely on
my own willpower, because it will falter.
Granted, my bullshit zen is a form of will-
power, but it’s not derived from total self-reliance. It
is instead derived from reliance on the external facts
that are true regardless of how I think or feel about
them.
9. THE UNBEATABLE
I have strong opinions, and strong opinions create
strong backlash. And since I don’t take anyone’s side
completely, everyone feels like I’m against them. I’m
not accepted on the left or the right, by the feminists
or the MRAs (that's Men's Rights Activists, and yes,
they exist), by the active or the apathetic. I’m just the
subhuman schmuck who calls everyone on their
bullshit, and no one can call me on mine because I
preemptively call myself on it.
They can’t beat me, because I’m not even
playing the same game they are. So, they lash out
with as much vitriol as they can, trying to demean
me, to tarnish whatever reputation they think I have.
I don’t let it bother me on a personal level, but
I wish that they would be more open-minded to my
perspective for their own sake—because they’re
making themselves look bad, not me. They’ve shown
that truth means nothing to them. They’re hacks
wearing their ideological bias on their sleeves.
And perhaps someone could turn that around
on me. Perhaps to someone else's view I am a drone
too and a hypocrite to boot. Well, so what if I’m
hypocritical? I think that puts me on even footing
with the other seven billion hypocrites on planet
earth. Do you think you’re not a hypocrite? Do you
honestly believe that your thoughts and feelings
conform 100% to some cockamamie notion of
rational consistency that you’ve cooked up?
Not only am I a hypocrite—I am proud of my
hypocrisy. I am proud that my passions are powerful
enough to overwhelm me and create those
interesting instances of cognitive dissonance that
are really the things that make a person interesting,
complex and vital.
Why should I care if I seem hypocritical or
unlikable in the eyes of people who have no
comprehension of my words and view everything on
a superficial, surface level, never looking at the
subtext, never reading between the lines, never
doing anything but reacting to their buttons being
pushed. I love to mock those who are pitifully
predictable, and coerce them into making my points
for me—all while lacking awareness that they’re
being played like a cheap fiddle in the hands of a
master musician. Do you think I’m unaware that I
often come across as brash and arrogant? Do you
imagine that I am incapable of feigning humility the
second it suits my agenda?
Am I revealing my true feelings now, or am I
leading you deeper into the mire of some grand
deception? I am too clumsy to perform sleight of
hand, but I can use the principles of magic to
misdirect you with one idea while actually espousing
another. It’s all a game for me.
Or is it?
I suppose I come across as a bit egotistical here.
I should probably contextualize it a bit. You see, no
one ever thought of me as intelligent when I was
growing up. I was always primarily considered weird,
and it was a distinction I reveled in and an identity I
heartily embraced. I never had to dress weird. My
behavior and esoteric interests were enough to
brand me indelibly as “that weirdo.” At some point,
I engaged in strategic propaganda, designed to
enhance this reputation. I’d do things like stand up
in the middle of class and shout, “I AM A VAMPIRE!
YOU ARE ALL BENEATH ME!”
That behavior is ultimately what led to my