Does Ed Hardy Make Scrubs?
Coffee Shop: Irvine Starbucks @ Campus & California
One of the problems with eavesdropping is that the circumstances aren’t always optimal. Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can only pick up bits and pieces of a conversation. Most of the time that makes the conversation unpostable (such as one story about a lapdance, to which I never heard the conclusion). Sometimes, however, the pieces are all you need.
This was the case with a table full of douchebags. I really don’t want to keep using that phrase, but I am at a complete lack for any better terms. They all seemed to be in med school, with some of them teaching classes. King Douche was facing away from me.
King Douche: I talked to this fucking class… They were retarded fucking special olympics type… and they would email us fucking underwear “in good condition” with pictures and shit and want us to sell them… I emailed back the cocksuckers… We’re not your fucking slaves…
That was all from one conversation. I didn’t catch why he was talking to the class, but I’m not sure I even want to know.
King Douche’s Less Douchey Friend (LDF) then changed the topic to discuss bathroom location…
LDF: Man, I gotta take a dump but its too close to that guy in the corner for when I walk out. Maybe I’ll go to Albertson’s.
Albertson’s, it’s your store.
A bit later, a guy that looked to have some sort of disability walked up to King Douche to ask him a question. I’m not sure if this person was one of the “special olympics type” that King Douche was referring to earlier, or a fellow med student, but this is how part of their conversation went…
King Douche: I’m going to smash him in the face.
Guy: Why?
King Douche: Because it makes me feel good. Preemptively smash him in the face. Just to hear him scream.
Guy: <awkward laughter>
The guy returned to his seat at a less douchey table.
The topic of conversation then turned to a yearbook that they were apparently working with, or had some input on. I don’t know. I didn’t hear all of the details, but I did hear this…
Douchey Minion: I don’t want to be on page 64. I want to be on page 69.
Some bro-laughs followed. Douchey Minion then looked at something on his computer and said…
Douchey Minion: There’s a picture of us naked?
King Douche: We have no choice. They do what they want to do.
Apparently yearbook committees have diplomatic immunity.
The conversation then moved on to an article on the internet (hopefully unrelated to the naked yearbook pictures)…
King Douche: There are pictures on yahoo dot com.
Minion checks out his computer for a moment, but seems to come up empty.
Douchey Minion: Yahoo dot com, you said?
King Douche: No, yahoo dot fuckingbananafuck.
In case you were wondering, that domain extension is owned by the small island nation of Fuckingbananafuck. There isn’t a lot of tourism.
Now back to retards…
King Douche: That retard, I remember, for his fucking interview showed up with a rubix cube. “Hey, you wanna see this fucking guy do a rubix cube in a minute?” He said he was the fucking rubix cube champion or some shit.
And that retard was Will Smith, pursuing happyness.
As King Douche finally rose from his throne to leave, he gave everyone fistbumps and high fives. He even snapped his fingers a few times. I kid you not, skeptical readers.
Now if all of that wasn’t enough to secure his place in the feminine hygiene isle, let me add that he was using Internet Explorer.
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