Alexander the Douche Bag

Thank God I got this movie from a street entrepreneur vending bootlegs at my bus stop, rather than paying full price. Still, I ended up with two turkeys this year for Thanksgiving. At least I can make sandwiches with the Butterball.

Opening in sixth place, this Unisom pill of a film offers little to support Alexander's lofty nickname. There's ten minutes of the battles that supposedly made Alexander the head cheese, and 170 minutes of man-ogling that made him a fancy boy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But the gayness that was supposed to be the controversial tootsie roll at the center of this sucker was so ungay. Alexander hugs some guy named Isosceles twice. I think Isosceles strokes Alexander’s Leif Garrett hair as Alex compliments Isosceles eyes. Later, Alexander kisses Macedonia’s version of RuPaul. There's a bit more man-love at the end, but I think I saw twice as much same-sex intimacy between Shrek and Donkey than with Alexander and his toga buddies.

The rest of the movie is babble. Everybody babbles. Anthony Hopkins plays a babbling narrator. Colin Farrell babbles as both a young and slighty older Alexander, the only real difference being a sweet mullet. Angelina Jolie plays Alexander’s mother, who accessorizes with snakes and for some odd reason babbles alone in a Transylvanian accent.

There are some good points to the film. The battle scenes are pretty gory and Rosario Dawson's boobs are so much bigger than I imagined. And there are no songs by Elton John, not even in the credits.

So as a Thanksgiving after-dinner treat, everything about this movie qualifies it as a holiday douche bag. Everything, that is, except that sweet mullet.

Oven Roasted Douche Bag

Too...much...turkey...sleepy...now...douche...burp...bag.

Pass Me A Tissue, Douche Bag

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I only cry during Rudy. Period. I can sit through weddings, funerals and painful S&M sessions with nary a thought about tearing up. But pop my well-watched copy of Rudy into the ol’ VCR and you’ve just blown open the dam, mister.

Only Rudy could do that to me. Rudy was special. Until now.

Ty Pennington and ABC’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition have created a one-hour crybaby-fest. The show finds families with the hardest luck and juices up their lives Mtv Cribs style.


These folks have had the worst things in the world happen – one girl was allergic to light and next week’s show features a boy without bones. To an uplifting soundtrack of pan flutes and violins, the Makeover crew rebuilds the families homes from the ground up and fills the rooms full of plasma TVs, sub-zeros, whirlpools, cars and planes. At the end of the show, a country singer comes out to sing about families and angels and growing corn. The show takes your manhood away before the first commercial and doesn’t give it back until Law & Order comes on.

It is very commercialized, with Ford and Sears stamped on everything that goes inside. But I’m crying to hard to complain. Just like porn, it follows a simple formula and ends in lots of wet tissues.

So damn you Ty and your perfect hair. And damn your perfect show. And damn my wife for calling out your name during sex. How can I hunker down to watch Sunday Night Football all puffy eyed and runny nosed. You’ve turned me into a Sunday night wuss, you big…sniff…douche bag.

A Couple of Plano Douche Bags

Hiram Sasser is a lawyer, but that’s not what makes him a douche bag. Hiram represents Delana Davies, mother of a 9-year-old son and a 4-year-old daughter who attend Spurger Elementary School near Plano, TX. Each year, the little students of Spurger participate in a school spirit day called TWIRP – The Woman Is Required To Pay. The day resembles a Sadie Hawkins affair where boys and girls exchange roles for the day. And clothes.

Boys dress like girls. Girls dress like boys. Nothing new in metrosexual cliques found in larger cities around the nation (those with populations over 12). But in Delana’s neck of the woods, that’s a precursor to Boy Scout circle jerks and hot girl-on-girl slumber party action.

"It might be fun today to dress up like a little girl -- kids think it's cute and things like that. And you start playing around with it and, like drugs, you do a little here and there (and) eventually it gets you," Davies said. "You just keep playing with it and it becomes customary.”

So she called Hiram, head of the Liberty Legal Institute, a couple of lawyers prosecuting on behalf of Jesus. Loyal to God and the American dollar, Hiram jumped on the case, chastising the school and labeling TWIRP Day as a promotion for homosexuality. He claimed the that the event was a terrible experiment to grow little homosexuals. Hiram coupled years and years of legal know-how with a spritz of holy water and a little talking in tongues to bring Delana a major victory – an excused absence for her kids.

But even with an excused absence slip in hand, Hiram wasn’t finished. He continued his fight against cross-dressing four-year-olds until he persuaded the Spurger Elementary to change TWIRP Day to Camouflage Day. Homosexuality…out. Dressing like a tree to sneak up on animals and shoot them dead…in!

Hiram and Delana worried that dressing 4-year-olds like the opposite sex would confuse them. If I were a 4-year-old, the confusing part would be the story where wearing lipstick makes you hot for boys and condemns you to Hellfire for all eternity. The school had never received a complaint about the long-standing tradition until Delana and her lawyer (God’s lawyer) came forward. Hiram and Delana prove that everything really is bigger in Texas. Especially the douche bags.

Beer Wastin' Douche Bag

I’m tired of this story. You’re tired of this story. But if there’s one thing I cannot tolerate, that’s wasting beer. Detroit bumpkin John Green tosses a $15 Coors Light and now I’ve got Matt Lauer telling me that the world will never be the same. Honestly, why all the fuss? White guys in Detroit get their asses kicked by black guys everyday.

The worst part is that this guy throws the beer and then lets some skinny kid take the ass-kicking. John Green, you're a redneck, a pussy, a beer-waster and, of course, a douche bag.

A Confederacy of Douche Bags

Douche Bag of the Day launches with not just one, but an entire fleet of douche bags, captained by the chairman of a sinking FCC, Michael Powell.

Colin’s son tops off a ridiculous week of coverage concerning a considerably tame (if not lame) promo for Monday Night Football and one of ABC’s most popular shows, Desperate Housewives. In the promo, DH hottie Nicollette Sheridan drops towel and pounces on Philly baller Terrell Owens. Controversy ensues before Hank Williams, Jr. can slur “are you ready for some football!” While no one can provide an official number of complaints, apparently a K-Mart’s-load of real life desperate housewives (the ones who don’t have Marcia Cross’ perfectly tinted red locks or Terri Hatcher’s sweet rack) called in to complain about their husbands eyeballing Sheridan’s bare shoulder blades.

With John Kerry no longer windsurfing or killing ducks, and Scott Peterson well on his way to being pimped out by the Aryan Nation for cigs and shoelaces, the media had no choice but lube this story up and drive it home. And drive it they did. ABC apologized. The NFL apologized. The Eagles apologized. Owens kinda apologized. The coaches apologized. Coaches from other teams apologized. Indianapolis Colts’ head coach Tony Dungy called the promo racist (Owens black, Sheridan white). Pittsburg Steelers’ owner Dan Rooney called the promo “disgraceful,” apparently forgetting that his Steelers decided to go all Mike Tyson on the fifty-yard line with the Cleveland Browns just a few days earlier. Two guys beating the hell out of each during a coin toss is ok for the kids to see, but three seconds of naked backbone is a disgrace.

And then comes Powell. The chairman tossed the FCC in the mix by admonishing ABC for airing the promo. “I wonder if Walt Disney would be proud,” sobbed the sanctimonious Powell. We could always thaw him out and ask, I suppose. But as I sit here, the cable box I rent for $90 a month has lost its signal again, the radio station has played 43 minutes of continuous commercials between the same Ashlee Simpson song, my answering machine is loaded with telemarketing calls, my cell phone cost $1.00 but my bill this month is $324.10, all my emails start with “du yuo likee hot gurls wit aminals?”, and the MPAA wants to arrest me for downloading Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen (I was just looking for a few pics of Lindsay Lohan, not a whole damn movie). Powell should be directing the FCC to look out for consumer interests. Instead, he’s turned the FCC into his own soapbox, to shout over the majority, levy obscene fines against shows that rank to low on his self-made scale of purity, and basically trample all over the freedom of speech.

And so…

Michael Powell has rendered the FCC useless. His personal agenda now comes before all else. He hates boobies and the F-word, two of the greatest things ever. It was just a woman’s back, Powell. No boobs. Not even any ass cleavage. Just her back. Common sense has no influence on him. Michael Powell, you are one out of control douche bag.

And not the only one this time.

Dan Rooney, your Steelers got themselves ejected from last week’s game before the first play was made. Was that not a disgrace? Where was your letter to the editor apologizing for your sluggers? Next time, keep your mouth shut douche bag.

Tony Dungy, what the hell are you talking about? Racist? According to the BET Video Code, all successful black men deserve three things – a Bentley, a bottle of Cristal and a skinny white girl. Don't mess with the code douche bag.

ABC, why would you apologize for the airing the promo? You shot it. You knew when it was going to air. If you feel the need to apologize for something, you should apologize for the American Music Awards. I guarantee more kids saw a completely wasted Anna Nicole Smith jiggle her plastic boobies than Nicollette Sheridan in a towel. Thanks for giving this skank 15 more minutes, douche bags.

And Terrell Owens, you have to be included as well. It took you forty takes to get the promo right, which means you are either really dumb or you’re just a big pervert. But that’s not why you made the list. You hooked up with quarterback Donovan McNabb for three touchdowns and killed my fantasy football team. You lost me $50 douche bag.