Saturday, July 19, 2008

Douche vaginale, if you'll pardon my French

Got home at 3 a.m. to find a bunch of douchebags. That's it. A pile of old douchebags. I live behind a Walgreens, and they're always throwing out great stuff.

No, no, no. That's not what happened. The douchebags were, like Soylent Green, people. College kids, I assume. Or some other species of retard. These particular douchebags were shooting off fireworks in the apartment complex parking lot. I can't believe no one called the cops. I didn't because some of the fireworks looked cool, and I remembered back to my younger days of being a pyromaniacal douchebag. But they could have caught the whole place on fire. Especially if a spark hit one of those alcohol-soaked douchbags and he ran screaming into his apartment and exploded like a Molotov cocktail.

But nothing bad happened. And this morning, I saw only a few remnants of the night's festivities, so the douchebags did a decent job of cleaning up after themselves.

But the whole parking lot smelled of vinegar.

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