You’re a Douchebag

So I’m checking out the latest features from style.com via RSS when an interesting one comes through proclaiming: You’re a douchebag. Sounds interesting, a lil low-end chuckle. Until they describe me essentially to the letter:

I’m waiting for a friend at a wine bar and I see that the guy a couple of stools down from me keeps ostentatiously checking the late-model smartphone that lies before him on the granite countertop. He has the all-black Samsung BlackJack, which happens to be the coolest-looking smartphone there is—at least until the iPhone comes out—and he’s wearing jeans that look like they cost $400, and his haircut was probably half that. I also notice that he’s got an expensive- looking European leather briefcase at his feet that he no doubt calls an attaché.

So I skim that article thoughtfully learning about the douchebag culture of which I’ve apparently joined, when I discover something even more unusual near the end:

Seems like a strange topic for what could ostensibly be called a gay pub. This piece includes such greats as:

Dessert arrives—a wedge of German-chocolate cake—and when that’s gone, Rivera lifts his fleshy stomach and proudly flops several inches of it onto the table. On his way home from the diner, he plans to stop at McDonald’s for two double cheeseburgers and an order of 10 Chicken McNuggets.

I’d call this one a two-fer.

Douchebag Central [style.com]
Super-size Me [details]

Fred Thompson’s campaign carries a culture of “douchebag”

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Uncle Nader Doesn’t Like Uncle Toms

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