Douché my friend, Douché.

My best friend Stevo (I’ve changed his name from Steve Jeter to protect his anonymity) is a total douchebag. And to make matters worse, he married my sister.

Her name is Chrissy. She’s not really my sister, but she’s the closest thing I have - with the exception, of course, of my actual sister Vanessa. Who, technically, really is the closest thing because - well because she is my sister. But if I had another one, one who I grew up with, it would be Chrissy. My, not technically-but-in-all-the-ways-that-matter, sister.

More on her another time, but the main thing you need to know is that my best friend, let’s call him, Douchario Dawson, married my sister. I can’t believe the nerve of this guy. I know he’s loving every minute of it, too.

It’s like when you’re tying your shoe and you don’t have anything to put your foot on, so you balance on one foot while you lift the other and tie the shoe. Except you don’t really finish without losing your balance, do you? You know why?


that’s why.

massive jerk - I hate this guy. He’s like a box of Summer’s Steve. Did I mention he works for a Christian radio station?

I know, right?

That makes absolutely no sense. How did he even get hired considering right there on his drivers license it shows he’s the devil? Purgatory’s HR department was, obviously, filling in that day. Wicked little DoucheJockey playing the hits. Can’t you see he’s actually trying to get you people to feel encouraged? It’s fully disgusting. You’re playing right into his hands. His redeemed little tattooed hands.

This deuced (yes, I just combined douche and dude) is pretty much the worst best friend a guy could have. Please do yourself a favor, and despise him with me.

And if the word douche offends you - it does me too.

it does me, too.


disclaimer: Stevo, for the most part, is not really a d-bag. quite the opposite, actually. but that other part - the part that is not “most”, however small it may be, is legitimately… douche.

and I love him.