Back in 2009 when I started this rambling shitfest of bloggery (which I didn’t anticipate careening into the 3rd decade of this questionable century), I had all sorts of ideas. All sorts of laughable, graceless missteps and shameless (clueless) eruptions of brainstorm-ism. And they pretty much have turned all to shit. It’s been a good run, however. Can’t complain; only laugh.
Something rekindled these thoughts the other day. I was thinking of a broad I work with. She is the most vile, sloppy, grotesque female I have ever known. I was trying to think of the perfect term to define her, one which would capture her despicable essence and aural degradation. What is it, I pondered.
Then yesterday, it struck!
She is a…douchebag. A fucking douchebag sow.
Eats so much and has such a startling paunch that she can barely walk to the restroom without getting audibly winded. But beyond these repulsive physical travails, she has the most repulsive XX personality known to mankind. She is loud, foul, manipulative, dishonest, disingenuous, ignorant and grating to the point of auto-asphyxia.
She is a female douchebag.
Ah, and this is where I faltered. The word took so long to occur to me because it seems a natural conflict, mutational, to call a female such a thing as this.
Back to my original point. When I started this blog, I thought it would be cool to write a series of posts which highlighted and gave free publicity (as in 2 additional readers) to all privileged members of my signature-class blogroll. And this mission I obeyed, for a while. One of those early “blogroll additions” was one I wrote about a website called “Hot Chicks with Douchebags,” a vastly perambulating traipse into that netherworld where seedy, tattooed Alpha-boys find their immature, clownish extravagances humored by bimbos and empty-headed T&A shells of every sort. I was further astounded to learn that this site is still alive. It has been updated, the theme upgraded, modernized, but the subject matter has persistently remained true to form, while the accompanying witty editorial and observational tete a tete remains, even bolder now.
As I scrolled, it occurred to me why I never thought of this sow I work with in the context of “douchebag.”
It’s because no one else does.
If women are not qualified to be douchebags, perhaps it’s time to think of a term that can encompass this swelling corner of the female market. There are many female douchebags and the numbers are growing exponentially. As we are to apparently imply by the lack of douchebag appellations consciously applied across the female population. Maybe it’s time to designate a female corollary to this type of man:
The phrase “female douchebag” might, in the greater context of modern femininity, straddle the line of redundancy, but still, I would like to presume that the majority of women are not douchebags. Unfortunately, observation tends to inform me that female douchebagger is increasingly the case with most young girls.
Female douchebags are loud and shrill. They use volume as a tool of control and subversion. They have no scruples, no honor, no sense of right or wrong. Since they are vastly unappealing to most men, they do not need to sieve their sexual appeal against the innate female instinct which favors unprincipled and utilitarian rationalization.
The female douchebag has nothing to lose (for in the sexual marketplace, she has already lost) so she displays her wanton behavior promiscuously and flagrantly. She acts like a mass of unrestrained flesh and mind; the weak gravitate to her, and there are enough weak men in 21st century Western society to ward off her innate boredom. She is gluttonous in all respects and will ricochet from post to post until she is fed thoroughly and abundantly.
The female douchebag needs to be fed in all aspects of her repulsive existence.
The female douchebag, like her male counterpart, live entirely outside their skin. Hers is a world of external justification and validation. There is no inner world, no inner mind; no soul. The female douchebag is thus only a shell of an existence and script that is molded continuously by a society she slithers though, serpentine-like, constantly learning to manifest the affectations of sincere minds and souls.
The female douchebag can be spotted by her vacant stare; her shifty eyes fail to embrace that which is you, or me. For we are all merely props on her extended self-serving stage.
She is not douchebag.
She is the female psychopath.