Douchebag Bingo

Jul 12th, 2010 | By | Category: Columns

Greetings viewers! Yes, I realize that this is indeed in print, so I should’ve addressed you as readers, but I figured you’d more than likely stick around to read this journalistic masterpiece to judge me for my apparent “botched” opening, but alas, I have tricked you. Now that you’ve taken the bait, you have no choice but to continue reading, especially after that well played case of shenanigans. You will also come to love the use of parentheses and ellipses as I have.

Back in the final month of the Vernal Equinox (new word for me), some friends and I decided to visit the City of Sin…no, no… not Sodom (but close!),  Las Vegas. Ahh, Vegas, a land where day laborers stand along the strip and hand out cards and pamphlets advertising illicit affairs with various women to anyone who passes by. By slapping these cards on their wrist, the innocent bystander will glance around to discover the noise, then, when their eyes lock with the flesh peddler’s, they have no choice to either take the boobie card or awkwardly pretend like they were looking at something behind the human version of a pop-up ad.

Based on the way the ground looked 20-30ft past these gentle souls, it becomes obvious that people opted for the former, probably hoping to partake…were it not for their significant other glaring at them, forcing the holder to comment on how crude it is that they hand those out with children present, as they toss it to the ground, longingly looking back at it. It’s a place where your cab  drivers will tell you where you can go to get a “little extra” for “a little more” from various clubs in the area. Sadly, he wouldn’t elaborate if any of these ladies would accept my challenge to a game of Connect Four (the curse still remains!).

In our group’s 3 ½ day adventure, I came to the conclusion that Las Vegas had a very high DoD  (that’s Density of Douchebags for those following along at home),more so than I have ever seen in my life. It’s a place where any sort of common sense and courtesy can be likened to that of sound in space, unable to penetrate the vacuum of complete douchery and asshattery. It’s because of that, that I fear the vacuum in Vegas is so great, that it’ll eventually be sucked up its own asshole, and rob humanity of such wonders as the $25 Surf & Turf buffet, the Pinball Museum, and lycra.

People watching is a national past time, and, if it were an Olympic event, I’d be disqualified for taking performance enhancing drugs and my life would then spiral out of control. I’d be forced to rob Good Will stores to make ends meet, be involved in a police stand-off at a local Chic-Fil-A, jailed, interviewed by 60 Minutes, and have Ving Rhames  play me in a “Made for TV” movie..yes, I am indeed that damn good. As I said earlier, Vegas has an extremely high DoD, and with the variety of douchebag flavors, it hit me that I could turn this into a game. Thus, on Las Vegas Boulevard, outside of “The Flamingo” Douchebag Bingo was born.


  1. First rule of Douchebag Bingo…you don’t talk about Douchebag Bingo. Okay, I got that cliche, overused phrase out of the way

The one and only rule of Douchebag Bingo is that, upon completion of a row, the winner MUST yell out “Douchebag!” The purpose of this is for those passing by to think the comment is about them, this will trigger their inner monologue where they question a doucebaggey trait they have, how a perfect stranger was able to pick up on this trait. As a result, they will strive to cleanse of the douchebag taint, or the victor will just be punched in the face, but, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

“But Chris? How will I know when I see a douchebag??” Oh, it’s quite simple my dear friend, I use this quote when people were getting all riled up after seeing boobies and other dangly parts in their art and likened it to “pornography. Amongst this, someone was asked to explain the difference between the two, the response? “I can’t explain what pornography is, but I know it when I see it.” It’s impossible to explain why “risque” art isn’t necessarily porn, but when one spots porn, they KNOW it’s porn, same with spotting douchebags. Douchebags just have this aura about them, something about them that screams to the world “I’m a monumental tool and women wish to bear my children!” Now, while it’s impossible to categorize every type of douchebag in existence, there are some rather common traits that are easily distinguishably between them and the common rabble. Here are a few examples, but remember, these are just the tip of the doucheberg:

  • Sunglasses in the club-douchebag. It’s dark, and the place has the same amount of light as a basement whose only light source is the 2x2ft window, the catch being that in the club it’s randomly swirled about the room. Why the hell would you need to wear sunglasses? Now, it’s quite possible he has a severe sensitivity to light, but we all know the sunglasses are in play so he can ogle young women without giving away the fact he’s moved out of the realm of “douchebag” into straight into “creep-ass”. Pro-tip for these gentlemen: You aren’t fooling anyone.
  • Shirt is two sizes too small-douchebag. Hey, you go to the gym, that’s phenomenal, good for you, really, but is it written somewhere that you have to do your clothes shopping in the Young Boys section? This type of bag is in serious effect when the guy DOESN’T work out and still parades around as if he has to beat women off of him with an $1,500 Louis Vuitton stick. Here’s a self-check, raise your arms over your head, if your shirt just ripped at the shoulders, it’s too f@$%ing small! It’s time to make the switch to adult clothing, check out the women’s section; I just suggest you stay away from blouses unless you wish to look like an effeminate pirate.
  • Spear tipped hair-douchebag. These types of douchebags can and usually do fall under the “Shirt is two sizes too small-douchebag” as both traits are apparently inherent of each other. My optimistic side is hoping that the hair is used a self-defense mechanism akin to that of the Stegosaurus*.  Possibly even used in courtship when two males take a fancy to the same female, the situation could be resolved by ramming their heads together, winner being determined by either who’s still conscious, or who’s hair maintained its hold and fabulous sheen.
  • Wearing a cowboy hat and/or boots in the city-douchebag. Really…do I actually have to explain WHY this is a douchebaggy move? Seriously? If you don’t understand why it is, you’re probably the type of douchebag who does this. Let me fill you in here cowpoke, this is Washington DC, there are no cattle drives nor rustlers to rustle. If you walk into any establishment within a 50 mile radius, people are first going to check to see if it October really did sneak up them. When they realize it’s June, they’re going to either laugh in your face, or ask if you’re part of a Village People Tribute band. I suggest you hitch up your leather chaps and mosey your ass down to the nearest Foot Locker and pick up a pair of Nikes.
  • Talking incredibly loud on the cell in a crowded area-douchebag. Being a douchebag isn’t just relegated to one’s physical appearance, there are also actions to take into account. We’ve all seen these bags walking the streets, their loud, obnoxious voice cutting through the peace and quiet just so they can tell their friend that the chick they bedded last night gave them a serious case of crabs. Nobody gives a flying f@#& what your conversation is, however, these douchenozzles’ egos are so inflated; they feel that everyone within a 30-foot radius is dying to know every insignificant detail about their amazingly lame life. It takes every ounce of self restraint I have to stop myself from ripping the phone out of their hands, pushing the offender into oncoming traffic, then apologizing to the person on the other end, stating that their friend had to “catch a bus” (queue up 7:50 of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” here).
  • I could go on, and on about the different types of douchebags, as I’m the type of person who hates all people equally, and will make it my business to find something about them that bugs me and harp on that, but I’m  extremely lazy. I’m sure sometime in the distant future I’ll petition for a federal grant under the guise of “Detrimental Human Behavior”, then using my findings to justify their eradication.


    * Science be damned! I don’t care if it’s come out that the plates on their back were used for body cooling or courtship, from now, until the end of time, I say they were always used for stabbing T-Rexes in the face….ALWAYS! I still haven’t forgiven the Scientific community for stripping away Pluto’s planet status…I won’t let them tarnish the glorious Stegosaurus legacy.

    Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica”  as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance  most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

    When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.

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