Once A Douche Bag...

God bless Tivo….I almost missed this one.

Rosie O’Donnell recently starred in the latest Hallmark weeper Riding the Bus With My Sister. Of course, it’s easy to be the star when you’re also the producer, but for now, we’re bypassing the fact that the anti-everything behemoth bought her role.

The travesty was the acting.

Rosie O'Donell as a mentally handicapped woman was about as believable as Rosie O’Donell as a pole-vaulter. Rosie was able to step out of her own bipolar, obsessive-compulsive, schizophrenic, manic-depression to grace us with a performance that was…well, quite honestly…retarded.

To prep for her return, Rosie purchased a book on how to mock the handicap and parlayed every stereotype imaginable into the character. Rosie makes the handicapped out to be loud people who grin all the time and refuse to wear anything that isn’t yellow. It was an insulting performance, even for an attention-whore like Rosie.

And it’s not like there aren’t handicapped actors out there. Marlee Matlin. That kid who played Corky on Life Goes On. Jessica Simpson. Plenty of people out there that can portray the handicapped without making them look goofy. But Rosie has always been a douche bag who demands that it’s her way or no way. And since it’s her money, then she gets to play the special kid on the bus.

The good news is that 10 million more people decided to watch Desperate Housewives instead of Rosie’s self-aggrandizing. And a Hallmark movie is like the Super Bowl. You only watch it for the commercials. So hopefully, Rosie’s damage was limited to several million ladies over 80. Still, if I bore any handicap other than marriage, red hair and a flat ass, then I’d want to run her over in a mini-bus.

Air Douche Bags

Who knew that Nike was the Jimmy Choos of running shoes. So haughty is the swoosh that they’ve cancelled a contract with Sears allowing the department store to carry their brand.

Nike was never thrilled about their sneakers winding up on the blue-collar feet of Sears shoppers. But they were petrified of the true blue-collar shoppers at K-Mart getting their po, dirty hands on the latest Air Force Ones.

Sears recently purchased K-Mart and is helping the old chain get back on its feet by supplying stores with higher end merchandise from known companies like Craftsman and Kenmore. Nike has no such desire to affiliate it's brand with the unwashed masses. Though made in Korean sweatshops by children paid pennies by the day, the douche bags at Nike think their shoes are too good to be sold under a flashing blue light.

But where else but K-Mart would you expect to find shoes like this?

Runaway Douche Bag

John Mason looked to be May’s Scott Peterson.

His fiancée went out for a jog. She never came back. He called the police five hours later.

This guy had guilt written all over him.

Turns out that John Mason’s not such a bad guy. It’s the fiancée that’s a total douche bag.

Jennifer Wilbanks did go out for a jog. And she jogged straight to the bus stop, where she climbed aboard a bus and took off, leaving her husband-to-be and her family and friends without a word. Hours later, alerts went out and hundreds of volunteers began searching for the missing woman. Volunteers even crawled through sewer drains hoping to find something.

A few days later, Wilbanks turns up in New Mexico, broke and upset, claiming that she had been kidnapped. But her story quickly fell apart and she admitted that she left her groom due to the stress of the wedding and to have some time alone.

Her audacious affair was to feature 14 bridesmaids, 14 groomsmen and over 600 guests. It was a pompous event from the start and no one should feel sorry for Wilbanks. No husband to be ever said, "You know what? I think we need more bridesmaids." Or, "I don’t think 200 people are enough for the guest list. Let’s make it 600."

No, Jennifer Wilbanks had no more stress on her than any other bride-to-be. My wife planed a beautiful wedding that came with plenty of stressful moments. But when she got stressed out, she didn’t disappear. She just added more things to the gift registry.

And if Wilbanks thinks life was stressful before, she’s in for a helluva surprise. Charges are being strongly considered and the wedding is off for now. And those volunteers who crawled through sewage aren’t going to forgive the stressed out bride anytime soon. They were quick to stand up on camera and claim that Wilbanks was as selfish and self-centered as they come.

And if this douche bag still needs a moment alone, then a little jail time would be perfect.

Dawson's Douche Bag

Per my wife, Katie Holmes is a douche bag.

The former princess of prude who teased all the boys of Dawson’s Creek is now giving it up to all the boys of Hollywood. Katie broke off her engagement with American Pie’s Chris Klein so that she could hook up with Pearl Harbor’s Josh Hartnett. Then she moved on up to the pinnacle of celebrity boyfriends – TOM CRUISE.

So far she has snagged three of the five men on my wife’s “wish list.” Should Holmes claim the black guy from CSI and Ben Affleck (circa 1998), then my wife will have no one left to think about during sex but me.

The House of Douche Bags

My wife has a few special talents – hors d'ouvers, bowling, Kama Sutra pages 23, 77, 92 and 140. She’s also great at balancing the checkbook and picking out things like shams and valances (which may be styles of shoes but I honestly have no idea). But she’s not an actress. No movies. No TV. No infomercials.

She played Dorothy in the elementary school's production of the Wizard of Oz, and my God can she bring on the drama over forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning. But can she act? No. So should I ever write a screenplay and make a movie, I would love to have her mental and financial support. But I would never put her in the picture. It would be downright cruel, both to viewers and to my wife alike, to expose such a weakness.

David Duchovny isn’t so nice.

Duchovny is married to actress Tea Leoni and Tea Leoni is a bore to watch. Her voice is weak and exasperated and she always looks like she just smelled a fart. She’s sexy, if you're into the meth addict look. She brings a level of excitement to her movies so low that you’d prefer her role be filled by a fish. A dead fish.

The good news is that the number of movies she’s been in is pretty low. After enduring a horribly horrible leading lady performance by Tea in Spanglish this weekend, I toned down my frustration by convincing myself that this would be the last of her sleepy acts. The bad news is that her husband now considers himself a director. A director of a movie that he also wrote. And who does the douche bag cast as the star of his new movie The House of D? Tea Leoni as the bereaved single mother.

It’s great to throw someone you love a bone, but the interesting cast that makes up this movie is now stuck with Tea. Rupaul would have been more convincing as a bereaved single mom, but apparently Duchovny’s wedding vows pomised to love, honor and employ. I can’t say I enjoy seeing Hollywood couples break up, but the sooner this guy sleeps with Angelina Jolie, the better.

You're Fired....and Under Arrest.

He’s a little bit hot-headed. As a matter of fact, every conversation with The Apprentice candidate Chris Shelton has gone something like this….

Donald Trump: Chris, you can’t be a bankrupt gabillionaire like me if you keep losing your temper. Do you think you have an anger problem?

Chris: NO I DON’T HAVE A FRIGGIN’ ANGER PROBLEM! GOD! I HATE ALL OF YOU! STOP LOOKING AT ME! I’M NOT YELLING!

Chris is still on the show but his days are officially numbered. Apparently, he’s temperamental off-camera as well, getting thrown in the slammer this weekend for flipping out at a hotel bar. A real estate millionaire, Chris went postal about a $20 cover charge at the bar.

A millionaire. Pissed about $20 bucks.

Cops tried to calm Chris down, but he shouted and cursed until he was cuffed, booked and jailed for disorderly conduct. Trump clearly has no plans to hire this douche bag but his outbursts were entertaining. But going postal every episode got old and he's quickly become the guy everyone wants to see get knocked the hell out. I can't say he's the worst Apprentice ever, but even Omarosa managed to stay out of jail.

Douche Bag Fingered!

I go to Wendy’s more than I go to church, and until the good Lord comes up with a better spicy chicken sandwich, it’s going to stay that way. But I almost lost faith when I heard that a San Jose woman, Anna Ayala, discovered a fingertip in her bowl of Wendy’s chili.

O me of little faith. With millions of shady characters dropping thousands of silly lawsuits, I should have known better than to doubt the sacrament that is enjoying a bowl of Wendy’s chili. Turns out Anna Ayala has a knack for finding, or more like creating, trouble.

The douche bag has about half a dozen lawsuits under her belt. She’s sued her boss for sexual harassment, a used car lot after her wheel “just fell off” her car, and surprise, a Mexican restaurant after, she claims, her daughter got food poisoning (who doesn’t get food poisoning after eating Mexican food).

All finger tips at Wendy’s are attached and accounted for. And after learning about Ayala’s love of lawsuits, the police have now shifted their focus to the skank with bad hair, searching through Ayala’s home for other fingertips. I pray to Wendy’s that they discover a whole body under this woman’s house. To sue is human. But to make me question my faith in Wendy’s chili? Unforgivable!

Desperate Douche Bags

Marcia Cross’ last job came about ten years ago when the world’s largest forehead played a crazy on Melrose Place. Anna Nicole Smith wanna-be, Nicollete Sheridan, had her last big gig several decades ago when she played a ho on Knots Landing. Eva Longoria played a chihuahua on The Young and the Restless. Terri Hatcher’s last job goes back to the early 90’s, when she played Lois Lane on Lois and Clark. And the only major role Felicity Huffman has snagged is as the real-life wife of William H. Macy.

You would think that for such a motley crue of out-of-work actresses, they would be elated that not only can they afford to eat again, but that they are part of this year’s biggest television hit. Desperate Housewives dominated the media before the new television season started, and has stayed at the top of the ratings chart since it aired. And rightfully so. It’s well written, the cliffhanger endings are great and each episode features one of the leading ladies in a bra or bikini, earning it the top spot on the Tivo list. Life is great again for these girls, and they should totally be in love with one another for their combined success (and by "be in love", I mean that they should totally have a pillow fight and then make out in a hot tub).

But the ladies of Wisteria Lane got caught up in the hype, obviously forgetting they were unemployed for a majority of the last ten years. As soon as the credits rolled after the first show, the housewives got catty, bitching about lines and who got to wear what on (and off) the show. The infighting came to a head recently during a cover photo shoot for Vanity Fair magazine. Hatcher, professionally punctual, arrived at wardrobe and got dressed for the shoot. Cross and Longoria, arriving later with their publicists and assistants, pitched a ridiculous fit when they found out that Hatcher got her outfit first. Lots of screaming, lots of crying. In the end, they all smiled long enough for the camera to click, but it’s obvious that these neighbors aren’t going to get along.

Whether the other girls like it or not, Hatcher is the star of the show. Her name is the most recognized out of the bunch. She’s a hottie. And she fucked Superman! The rest are co-stars, and they can yell and scream all they want, but they shouldn’t let their egos get out of control. Hell, for a couple of ladies who haven’t had jobs in awhile, these douche bags shouldn’t have egos to begin with. On Eva’s last soap opera job, writers sent here away to prison for life. Marcia Cross’ writers gave her a brain tumor. So learn to get along ladies, cause it's along way back to Melrose Place, and Heather Locklear could easily have your job next season.

Forever Your Douche Bag

I don’t think anybody cares who wins the third season of American Idol. The big bet is when will Paula Abdul enter rehab.

The Lakers cheerleader turned 80’s pop singer turned hit-and-run driver is making it pretty evident that her on-screen sappiness with Idol contestants and fellow judges Simon Cowell and Randy Jackson is chemically fueled. In the past few years, her odd behavior was reserved for appearances on talk shows, where she slurred and slept her way through interviews with Jay Leno and MSNBC.

But lately, she’s maintained her buzz right through American Idol tapings. Three weeks ago, perhaps on a hit or two of ecstasy, she licked, kissed and drooled all over Simon during judging. A week later, it appeared that she was on a mixture of margaritas and No Doz, as she lap danced Randy and performed her old cheerleading routines during performances.

But last night’s performance showed Paula at her sloppy worst, with eyes half shut and barely an audible word uttered. Cutting off the other judges, Paula, now sounding like a mixture of valium and Guinness beer, shouted "brilliant!" after every performance, though it sounded more like, "Bilyant! Absolut…ely bilyant!"

Various spokespeople claim that Paula has had the flu for over two years now. Others claim that the eight weeks American Idol is on makes for a hectic work year. Whatever the excuse, she’s been too stoned to hear it. And worse, too stoned to hear the wanna-be Idols, claiming that off-key covers of Janis Joplin, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Stevie Wonder and Barabara Streisand were better than the originals! That alone makes Paula a straight up douche bag.

Rev. Douche Bag

If nothing else, the Schiavo circus has given the unemployed (and the unemployable) something to do. Case and point: Jesse Jackson.

The preaching and philandering Jackson came rushing to dying Schiavo’s side….13 days after her feeding tube was removed and 15 years after this whole mess started. Arriving in a stretch limo, Jackson joined the throngs of nuts, wackos and zealots outside the hospice housing Schiavo, to call for the feeding tube to be replaced. Jackson even went so far as to call black legislators to try and rekindle congressional interference in the Schiavo case.

But even one of the main congressional douche bags who led Congress’ disgusting attempt at playing God wondered what the Hell took Rev. Jackson so long. "If he could sway votes - and I'm certain he may be able to - it would have been helpful if he had done that a little earlier" said Daniel Webster, a Republican. "We're running out of time. To do it now is not as timely as a couple of weeks ago would have been."

Perhaps Jesse’s limo had a flat. Or maybe he was running from a child support lawsuit. Jesse badly needs a cause, even if it’s a white girl. But 15 years and 13 days is a little too long to wait. Get back in the limo douche bag, and take the rest of the freaks with you.

The No Good, the Sad and the Ugly

The ban on awarding members of Congress and other politicos the Douche Bag of the Day blue ribbon has officially been lifted, as a small troop of elected numb-nuts have gone out of their way to prove they are worthy of such belittling distinction.

Topping the list – Congressmen Henry Waxman and Tom Davis.

From the Island of Dr. Moreau comes the hard-on-the-eyes Henry Waxman. He’s joined by a Virginia’s grumpy Tom Davis. Together, they sit atop the Committee on GOVERNMENT Reform. That’s GOVERNMENT reform. They are tasked with looking at how to make the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT better. And how do they propose to make GOVERNMENT better. By telling Major League Baseball how to run their business.

In an attempt to get their odd looking mugs on camera, and score some sweet autographs, Waxman and Davis hauled in baseballs top dogs – Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro – for a congressional hearing on steroid use in pro baseball. The hearing was as boring as baseball itself and accomplished nothing. Waxman and Davis claim that kids will follow in the paths of their baseball idols, shooting up whatever is necessary to hit a ball out of the park. They insisted that this hearing would reach out to kids and make them aware that steroids will drive you crazy and make your pee pee small. But Waxman and Davis are the ones on drugs if they think any 12 year old is sitting at home watching congressional testimony. If they wanted an autographed baseball from Sosa, they should have just logged onto Ebay like everybody else.



And while Waxman has an ass for a face, Davis clearly has shit for brains. Continuing to put the Committee on Government Reform to no good use, Davis called for another congressional hearing on the long-term care of incapacitated adults. As their main witness, they’ve subpoenaed Terri Schiavo, a woman who’s been in a vegetative state since 1990. Terri’s husband has been trying to remove a feeding tube that keeps his wife barely alive, and the courts recently gave him the go ahead to end this sad story once and for all. But like a lot of thoughtless, nosey bastards who have never met Schiavo, Davis jumped in with a trick both brilliant and disgusting. As long as Terri is listed as a witness to a federal hearing, she can’t be harmed in any way. It’s a great strategy, but it still makes Davis a major douche bag for keeping the Government Reform Committee off-track and prolonging this sad story.

But leave it to Texas to put us back on a lighter, though equally absurd, note. State Rep. Al Edwards is quick to prove his worthiness as a future major policy maker, filing one of the most important pieces of legislation in the Texas capitol. Edwards has filed a bill to stop excess gyration among high school cheerleaders. "It's just too sexually oriented, you know, the way they're shaking their behinds and going on, breaking it down," says Edwards. His bill would prevent breaking it down and would cut funds to schools with cheerleaders who refuse to stop breaking it down. Whether the anti-breaking it down bill becomes law or not, Edwards is a douche bag clearly aiming for great things. Perhaps a spot on the Committee for Government Reform?

Eskimo Disses

Calling a congressman a douche bag is a redundant waste of time. Granted, Congress provides plenty of great douche bag material, and, had I the drive to update Douche Bag of the Day on an actual daily basis, I could write my fingers bloody. But there’s half a kajillion sites where you can read about politicians and the silly results of their affairs. There are lots of other douche bags out there that I wanted to write about. I vowed long ago that I would leave politicians alone.

Unless that guy does something really stupid.

May I introduce to you Senator Ted Stevens.

Senator Stevens, still stunned by Janet Jackson’s televised nipple flash tow-years ago has announced plans to introduce legislation calling for the same indecency standards that regulate boring public broadcasts to be applied to cable and satellite programs. That means no more Sopranos, no more Stern, no more South Park, Sex and the City, and Talk Sex with Dr. Sue Johanson.

And no Cinemax Late Nite.

The dweeby Senator is from Alaska, a place where good late night near-porn is needed the most. He states that "Cable is a much greater violator in the indecency area," and, "I think we have the same power to deal with cable as over-the-air broadcasts." What this little Eskimo forgets is that public broadcasts are free. The endless supply of Seinfeld reruns, the Wheel of Fortune and Law and Order: SUV don’t cost a thing. The boobies I see on Cinemax are bought and paid for. The cable company pimps out 270 channels of whatever I want to see for $100 a month. Sometimes it’s Shark Week. Sometimes it’s Trading Spaces. Most of the time it’s boobies.

The Senator can regulate TGIF and Must See TV all he wants. I get that for free with a clothes hanger and some tin foil. But Stevens crosses the line when he tries to regulate programming that people have paid out the ass to receive (plus the cost for cable boxes and creepy installation guys).

President Bush said that viewers should use their own judgement and if they don't want to see somehting, they should just "turn it off." So not only does Stevens want to trample all over individual freedoms, but now he's got the President sounding like the smart one. Way to go, douche bag.

Cell Out

When I give my number to hot, filthy rich models, I expect them to keep it on the down low. I am married for Christ’s sake! So like Lindsay Lohan, Eminem, Ashlee Simpson, DJ AM , Jay Z, other celebrities and Pauly Shore, I too am so pissed that Paris Hilton basically downloaded all our numbers to the common folk. Her T-Mobile Sidekick was hacked, and now I’m getting thousands of calls from teenage girls asking if I’m really me. Now my wife knows that I sleep with models. That’s not hot, douche bag.

And they better not find out about the video tape.

Gotta Go Go

George Michael is tired of all the media attention. He’s tired of being a celebrity.

So he called a press conference.

To announce he's going to disappear.

And to announce his new movie.

A movie entirely about him.

The co-creator of Wham! and the only man to successfully pair jelly bracelets with a five o’clock shadow, is quitting the biz that actually quit him about ten years ago. "It's never suited me very well, the business of media and celebrity," Michael said AT HIS PRESS CONFERENCE. "Now I just find it unbearable."

Michael also blames the popularity of pop bands who churn out silly hooks and too many songs about sex as the reason for his distaste for celebrity. "Nobody want to hear about politics, or any kind of strong ideas in pop any more," whined the singer who’s list of hits includes Wake Me Up Before You Go Go and I Want Your Sex.

Michael’s last run in the spotlight came after being caught on the wrong side of a glory hole in a public restroom. After lots of Letterman jokes and a few headlines in the National Enquirer, he did disappear from the media’s spotlight. Ten years later, the douche bag comes back from obscurity…standing before the media…to tell them that he doesn’t want anymore attention…except for his movie about himself…and the musical he hopes to write and make into a major motion picture. Other than that, no more attention. None. He’s disappearing. For good this time. Again. No one is sure if he really means it this time. But you gotta have faith.

30 Years Too Late

Hey Hey Hey. Sounds like Bill Cosby can’t keep his Fat Albert under control. Two women have come forward with claims that the Cos drugged them with a super-powerful decongestant and then went straight for the pudding.

But Dr. Huxtable won’t be wearing prison-stripped sweaters anytime soon. While Cosby has become an unbearable puss in his twilight years, and while he probably does indeed lace his Actifed with a little rohypnol to bypass the small talk, the claims against Cosby are about as solid as his 70 year old wiener. The strongest and most recent of the two claims comes from a basketball coach who said Cosby slipped her a couple of pills that made her a little loopy, then copped at feel a little later that evening.

She claims that the incident happened one year ago. She can’t say why she waited 12 months to press charges.

The second charge is identically bogus. Model-turned-lawyer, Tamara Green, says Cosby gave her a couple of decongestants at a luncheon that caused her to become incapacitated. Cosby took Green back to her place to demonstrate his stand up routine, but the incapacitated Green somehow managed to fight off the comedian with a lamp. Cosby tossed her $200.

This was 30 years ago.

Thirty. Three-Oh.

Three decades.

15 million days.

Why women’s rights groups and victims’ advocates aren’t running this model-turned-lawyer-turned douche bag out of town is beyond me. Her ridiculous claim is too hard to ever believe, and that makes it more difficult for those who have actually been assaulted by old farts like Cosby. If a 30-year delay in calling the police didn’t kill her credibility, then her legal troubles might. Green was hit with a 13-count bar association complaint for mishandling money and skipping town on three clients. She’s also a not-so-proud member of a program for lawyers with substance abuse and mental health problems.

And when was this woman ever a model! Take 30 years off her chins and cankles and Cosby still paid about $195 too much.

Booty Shakes

There is nothing I love more than getting a lap dance whilst enjoying a delicious nutrition shake. Why anyone would want to deny such a common pleasure is beyond me. But the 15-member strong Citizens Against Nude Juicebars is doing their best to separate the ginseng and the ding-a-ling.

Racehorses Gentlemen’s Club owner Bob Rieger was the first to blend the love of g-strings and implants (yummm....implants) with a healthy dose of glucuronolactone and vitamin B12 (yummm...B12). After a group of fellow South Dakotans...South Dakotites…South Dakotars…snow-covered hicks protested Rieger’s adult establishment and forced the city of Salem to create a no titty-bar law, Rieger changed his club into a juice bar, keeping the butt-naked dancers and adding a menu of protein enriched shakes (protein…hehehe). And the all-nude juice bar was created. And it was good.

Definitely not health nuts, the small band of protesters stepped up their efforts and formed the Citizens Against Nude Juicebars. While Racehorces Gentlemen’s Juice Bar is still open, growth in the pole dancing/power shake industry has taken a huge blow. Now I'll never lose this beer gut.

Paranoia Will Destroya

The typical extracurricular activities of the Colorado native tend to leave them a little paranoid…and with a major case of the munchies. But mostly paranoid, as over-demonstrated by a real life cookie monster, Wanita Renea Young.

A 49-year old mental case, Wanita won $900 in a lawsuit against two young girls living in her neighborhood. On one particular evening, the girls, tired of going to school functions that promoted foul language, dry humping and Ashlee Simpson songs, decided to stay home and bake cookies for their neighbors. The little Martha Stewarts went door-to-door, leaving the cookies and little heart-shaped notes on the steps. One of their last stops was at 10:30 p.m….at half-baked Wanita’s house.

One of the many voices in Wanita’s head convinced her that the footsteps she heard on her front porch were Satan’s minions coming to take her back. Another told her it was the DEA. The girls knock on the door caused Wanita to flip out. She claims to have had an anxiety attack, and, eighteen hours later, decided to go see a doctor. The douche bag sued the girls for the cost of her visit, plus loss of a day’s wages from her job as a Wal-Mart cashier and the cost of a motion sensitive front porch light (which doubled as a mosquito zapper).

The judge, likely an old stoner himself, agreed to portions of Wanita’s delirium, saying that 10:30 was too late for the girls to be outside doing nice things for their neighbors. The judge felt that if the girls were going to stay out that late, they should be at a school function, cussing, dry humping and listening to Ashlee Simpson songs.

The girls still plan on practicing random acts of kindness. Thousands of dollars in donations have been sent in to pay off the $900 fine. And either cookie maker or porn star, Otis Spunkmeyer, has offered the girls their own business. Wanita, who had run-ins with neighbors and aliens before, is staying with relatives until girl scout cookie-season is over.

Diamonds Aren't Forever

Minnesota Viking’s star quarterback Daunte Culpepper is quick to give out the bling bling. He’s even quicker to take it back back.

At a recent press conference, Daunte gave two of the ugliest pieces of jewelry ever made – a gold chain with a medallion featuring his jersey number and another chain with a diamond encrusted pepper – to a young football player confined to a wheelchair after being paralyzed from the neck down during a game. Though too ugly to wear in public, the youth accepted the generous gift, totaling about $75k, hoping to find someone on eBay ready to pay big money for a sparkly pepper.

But as soon as the press conference was over and the cameras put away, Daunte ran faster than he ever did for the Vikings, caught the kid in the wheelchair and asked for his gaudy necklaces back. Had he chased down a football like he chased down a paralyzed kid, the Vikings might have made the Super Bowl. The douche bag took his necklaces back, but promised to send the kid something of real value…hopefully a necklace with Tom Brady’s number on it.

No Duh, Douche Bag

Conservative watchdog group and closet S&M freakniks Parents Television Council has made a startling discovery – MTV TARGETS TEENAGERS!

After watching and most likely masturbating himself silly through 171 hours of MTV Spring Break specials, PTC head prude Brent "Stop Calling Me Bozo" Bozell discovered that MTV shows cater to a younger audience, encouraging shopping at the Gap, excessive text messaging and screaming at the top of ones lungs when requesting Hoobastank’s rad new video. On an even darker side, Bozo found that MTV’s programming also featured lots of bleeped-out profanity (Puff Daddy), simulated sex (Nick and Jessica), lots of smoking (Puff Daddy), lots of drinking (Puff Daddy), and, on occasion, music.

Before the seven-day marathon began, Bozo stated, "There's no question that TV influences the attitudes and perceptions of young viewers, and MTV is deliberately marketing its raunch to millions of innocent children." And shortly after watching MTV programs for 171 hours straight, Bozo returned to say, "Aw shit yo! Check it. Dis sheeznit is wack, ya heard. Dem shows got me all thinkin’ bout nuttin’ but hos and herb. Now I gotta get to da club and party like it’s my birfday. Pour out the Cristal and pimp my ride with spinners on 20-inch doves. Shorty wanna ride wid me? Holla at cha boy, yo!"

How credible really is Bozo and the other PTC douche bags? The PTC just paid nearly $4 million to the World Wrestling Federation for lying about professional wrestling. Lying. About a fake sport. And word has that Bozo is watching a week’s worth of the Food Channel to prove that the programs cater to people who eat. So if you believe the Brent’s MTV study was anything more than an excuse to spend a week watching sixteen-year old girls dance in bikinis, then you just got Punk'd.

It Keeps Calling Me and Calling Me

Douche Bag of the Day may quickly become Douche Bag of the Month. I now have Tivo. And it's taking over.

Tivo takes the television cable and sticks it right up your ass and feeds programs right into your soul. I’m not watching TV anymore….I’m absorbing. I threw away yesterday’s TV Guide because I had already seen everything. Everything! My wife made a crack about a movie on the Lifetime Channel called Mother May I Sleep With Danger and I blurted out "A 1996 drama starring Tori Spelling and Ivan Sergie about a naive female college student who falls in love with a charming pathological liar, credit card scammer and murderer. When her mother attempts to break up the relationship, the psycho boyfriend abducts the daughter and hides her in his cabin in the woods. Two hours. Repeats at 3 a.m. Saturday and all day Sunday."

WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM!!!

I get up about three times during the middle of the night to because I keep hearing the TV. My wife gets pissed and screams at me to stop stomping up and down the stairs and I yell back, "DON’T YOU HEAR THAT!?! DON’T YOU HEAR THE JEFFERSONS!?!

Tivo has a little function called Wish List, where you type in a program, an actor or a subject and it finds programs that you might like. I never typed anything in. But right after I hooked it up, I hit the Wish List and up came Knight Rider, Airline, The Price Is Right and Súper Sábado Sensacional. How did it know? CAUSE IT READ MY MIND!!!

I’m scared of Tivo. Don’t like to be at home alone with it. It’s always on. And it’s hooked up to your phone line so it can listen in on your conversations. And call me crazy, but on the same day we hooked up our Tivo…our VCR died.

ctrl+alt+douche bag

You can talk about me. You can talk about my mom, my God and my country. But don’t you ever talk about my iPod.

Kevin Rollins, Dell CEO, snobbishly dismissed Apple’s 8th Wonder of the World, calling the iPod, "a fad." After their own version of the iPod flopped, Rollins dismissed the music player biz altogether, pitching Dell’s frequently crashing business systems instead.

"Our strategic focus has been on corporations and institutions and selling them large server clusters and huge SAN (storage area network) installations," said the high-brow, business only, SAN installing, fad-busting, downloading is for stoners Rollins.

Five words for you, douche bag: "Dude, you’re getting’ a Dell."

Pass the Grey Poupon, Douche Bag

What better way to ridicule President Bush's extravagant inauguration and his corporate-favoring fiscal policies than to rent a bunch of limos and throw a big, phat ass party!

While thousands of hippies are freezing their dreads off staking out a protest spot on DC's snow covered inaugural parade route, the Billionaires for Bush will be putting the final touches on their all-night ball, complete with Cristal, ice carvings, VIP rooms, Puff Daddy, hookers and coke. I'm already there! But why throw such a soiree? In the Billionaires' own words, "to expose politicians who support corporate interests at the expense of everyday Americans." And nothing exposes the President's and his corporate buddies' recklessly lavish spending like a $250 ticket to a party against recklessly lavish spending.

STOP THE PRESSES! I've just been informed by the New York Times, Washington Post, Time Magazine, CNN, FOX, NPR, ABC, CBS, St. Petersburg Times, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Detroit Free Press, Akron Beacon Journal, Las Vegas Review-Journal, Swank, Big Uns, Too Young and OUI that this is SATIRE. Billionaires for Bush uses satire, the thinking man's knock-knock joke, to get the point across that political greed and corporate waste are killing America. Apparently, a CEO from Halliburton who rents a limo and buys a $250 ticket to an inaugural ball is bad. He's greedy and evil. But when done satirically, well, it's not so bad. It's still a limo to a $250-per-person party where everyone's bejeweled and on a binge. But, again, done so "to expose politicians who support corporate interests at the expense of everyday Americans."

The Billionaires don't expect to ship any of the money made during their counter-inaugural ball to homeless tsunami victims. The theatrical troupe (unemployed actors) will be pocketing the cash, looking to load up on more satire (by satire, I mean more parties, coke and fancy things to shame the parties, coke and fancy things of those sans satire). I'm a big fan of satire. I also like puns and dirty limericks. But the Billionaires' gig isn't that funny. It pays too well, and they smell too good and wear too many bras to be real protestors. They're just douche bags between auditions who've found a way to make a living without waiting tables or eating scrotum on Fear Factor.

Royal Douche Bag

Heir to the throne and caught wearing a Nazi uniform. What the heil were you thinking? Buckingham’s problem child got even redder in the face after he was snapped at a "fancy dress" party while wearing the uniform emblazoned with swastikas. Thinking this was funny qualifies the high prince as a douche bag. Attending a "fancy dress" party qualifies him as a pansy. Dressing as the villain is always fun, but next time you may want to go as Darth Vader…or Dracula…or the guy from IT who never calls back…or Star Jones.

And the Favorite Douche Bag is...

For the People’s Choice Awards this year, millions of people went online to cast votes for their favorite singers and actors. And like voting in Ohio, it didn’t do a damn bit of good.

Winners of the People's Choice Awards were supposed to be determined by online voting, with votes being tabulated until a few minutes before each award was handed out. But Mel Gibson, who made a movie about God, and Michael Moore, who thinks Mel Gibson made a movie about him, were told that they were receiving an award about 24 hours before the red carpet was rolled out. CBS maintains that it was still considered the people's People’s Choice Awards, but by people, they meant "the culture-savvy editors" at Entertainment Weekly (the same culture-savvy editors who tonight will discuss how the Brad & Jennifer breakup will effect tsunami relief efforts in India).

The new faux voting system wasn't the only change. Trying their best to pull off an Mtv style awards show, CBS’s PCAs featured a stage surrounded with lots of fans to help relieve Hollywood stodginess. That works well when Blink 182 wins Best Rock Video at the VMAs and there are lots of bouncing hotties in baby tees to give high fives on the way to the stage. It loses a lot of appeal when it’s Marg Helgenberger from CSI: Wisconsin pounding knuckles with old people in tuxes.

And if you Tivo’d the program, don’t skip the commercials or you’ll miss half the show, as Joey became a built in infomercial. Matt Le Blanc won for favorite male, favorite funny guy, favorite animated character, favorite female action star and favorite collaboration with Lil John and the Eastside Boyz. Then in a nailbitter, Le Blanc’s show Joey, currently being trounced in the ratings by According to Jim, edged out Father of the Pride (canceled) and Complete Savages (canceled) for best new comedy.

Apparently, the douche bags who put together the PCAs knew they had a loser when they decided to air it in the same time slot as Desperate Housewives, Lost, Extreme Makeover - Home Edition, a South Park re-run and a marathon of the The Surreal Life. Which begs the question...if you give Michael Moore an award and no one is there to see it, does it still count? I vote no.

King of All Douche Bags

Have it your way? Not with Omarosa Manigault Stallworth as Burger King’s new pitch bitch. Months of therapy down the drain after seeing the lying, race baiting former Apprentice villain herself in the fast food chain’s latest commercial.

A marketing leper, Omarosa was cast out by advertising departments from numerous companies. Clairol canceled plans to use Omarosa in their commercials after 43 million people threatened to stop washing their hair should they see her hawking shampoo. She had a twelve second appearance on Passions, a soap opera about witches and midgets. It appeared for awhile that prayers and holy water really work, as Omarosa was left with only a 1-900 number and a fill-in spot at the Soul Train Music Awards.

Then Burger King brought her back, again as a sneering bitch. First they ruined their fries. Now they’re paying an egotistical monster thousands to eat a two pound burger made of puppies and baby souls. Thanks Burger King. When it comes to douche bags, you’re a whopper.

Who's Your Sugar Daddy, Douche Bag

It wasn’t the first time TJ Myers has asked, "Are you my daddy," on camera. TJ and her boobies, wrapped in a cocktail dress fit for the Adult Video News Awards, confronted one man and kicked in the Cialis for six other horny old goats on Fox Television’s latest "reality" sham, Who’s Your Daddy. The show, viciously put down by adoption advocates and people with taste, paraded the drooling old farts past Myers so that the surgically enhanced long-lost daughter could question the fellas, run them through some silly challenges and ask, "Are you my daddy?"

But TJ is a little more accustomed to asking, "Are you my big daddy?" Her tearful performance in the Fox reality special falls on the heels of a more intimate performance in the late night classic Seduction of Innocence, where daddy’s little girl plays a stripper who likes to bump and grind, preferably with other strippers (did I not say it was a classic). Her earlier work includes a movie called Poop and several appearances on Walker, Texas Ranger, typically a catapult for numerous young women looking to make it in the competitive movie biz (the competitive late-night porn movie biz, I mean).

Can it really be called a reality show when it star of the show is an actress? The douche bags at Fox have a real hard on for taking professional pervs and shoving them off as reality stars. There was American Idol's BBW Frenchie Davis. Joe Millionaire almost ended up with a star from toe licking videos. And you can't forget Bill O'Reilly, the freakiest freak in all of freakville! Now we've got TJ, a douche bag actress who could care less about which old coot is her pops. She won $100k, found her daddy and six horny uncles and probably lined herself up an appearance on JAG. And maybe even a sequal to Poop.

How not to be a Douche Bag in 2005

Trucker Hats
Time to toss in the hat. The askew trucker cap will not score everybody a hot piece like Demi Moore. Ashton got lucky. The other forty million part-time Abercrombie & Fitch employees with their bills to the side just look like they ran into a wall or something.




Kabala
Kabala is a religion based on red bracelets. Kabalers believe the bracelets represent faith and give them magical powers like flying and talking to animals. Bracelets must come from Madonna to have any real powers. I think there’s a diet involved as well, so it’s half Jesus and half Jenny Craig. You also have to take pilates. Only celebrities are into kabala as it is expensive and requires lots of time to work out. It's really only doable if you have assistants who can fit faith into your schedule. Pick a less weird religion like Scientology.




Killing your Wife
Even at her nagging worst, living with my wife is much better than being fondled by men in prison. I know it seems passe, but divorce is still an option. Sure, it’s just as expensive as a murder trial, but if you pay with your American Express, you get reward points. Freedom and an iPod!




Being Not Funny
Profanity is priceless and I’m always the first to crack up at a good dick joke. But when Jon Stewart rambled on Crossfire about how evil the media has become and called the not-unlikable Tucker Carlson a dick…well, it was the day the laughter died. When your job is to be funny and you’re really good at it, don’t screw it up for a John Kerry campaign button. Funny folks are a dying breed. George Carlin is in rehab for wine addiction. Michael Moore makes dramas. Janeane Garofalo went blond. And poor Al Franken went from making blockbusters like Stuart Saves His Family to doing a 3 a.m. show on satellite radio. Less blue states, more blue humor.

You're Named After A Girl, Douche Bag

He’s a boy named Jan. He’s with the UN. And he apparently didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas.

Responding to questions regarding the tsunami victims in Asia, bitchy little Jan Egeland, UN undersecretary general for humanitarian affairs and emergency relief coordinator, got a little critical of the US, calling Westerners “stingy.”

"We (bloody Americans) were more generous when we (bloody Americans) were less rich," Egeland said, utilizing the collective “we” but really meaning “bloody Americans.” "And it is beyond me, why are we (bloody Americans) so stingy, really. ... Even Christmas time should remind many Western countries (the one with the bloody Americans) at least how rich we (bloody Americans) have become."

Jan the man bases his theory of stinginess on the fact that countries like the US give a smaller percent of their gross national product than tiny, less stingy countries do. But while the US may only give .000001 percent of its GNP, that’s still a kajillion dollars. Norway, Jan's homeland and the most generous contributor, gives almost one percent of it’s GNP, which comes out to $11.24. Thanks Norway!

A billion dollars is on the way to India. Planes carrying tons of food and clothes have already landed. Lots of people are volunteering to help. Elton John is writing a song about tsunamis with all proceeds going to Sri Lanka. A tribute performance with Toby Keith and Nelly is planned for the Super Bowl halftime show. There’s a lot being done, and lots of money being contributed. With such a massive effort underway, now is not the time to get snooty, douchebag.

And did I mention that his name is Jan?

Bestselling Douche Bag

Judith Regan will sign anybody to write a book. The former National Enquirer "reporter" is responsible for coffee table classics penned by the likes of Paris Hilton and Jenna Jameson (and in both cases, the movie was much better than the book). Now, Regan has officially cornered the horny blond market, signing Amber Frey, momentary mistress to the king of bad breakups, Scott Peterson. Frey’s story is said to be "a story of courage in crisis that will inspire others who have been betrayed to fight back for truth and justice."

She fucked a guy. That’s it. She screwed a fertilizer salesman who turned out to be a murderer. Had she tossed Peterson’s salad knowing that he was a murderer, then we’d have a story. But she got nailed by a guy who peddles mixtures of dirt and crap, and on the first date. That warrants an STD, not a book.

I can’t blame Frey. Without girls like her, I’d would’ve remained a virgin throughout high school (alright, college). She couldn’t tell a fertilizer salesman no. How could she stand up to a manipulative sensationalist like Regan? Regan loves to peddle trash, but then again, these people love to read it. I personally think Regan’s own story about screwing the next Homeland Security czar over the ashes of the World Trade Center makes a much better book, but Regan prefers to stay out of the spotlight. If I was the douche bag that thought Paris Hilton was worthy of 300 pages on dating tips, so would I.

Paging Dr. Douche Bag

Lance Cpl. David Battle scored an infinite amount of nookie points when the injured soldier allowed doctors to remove his ring finger in order to save his wedding band.

A fierce firefight in Fallujah left Battle with a horribly mangled hand. Doctors at a field hospital suggested that they could cut the wedding band off and try to save what was left of Battle’s ring finger, or amputate the finger completely and save the ring.

I’ve had my own wedding band for seven years now. It’s special, but I take it off quite frequently, like when I shower, when I wash the car, during the summer when my fingers swell from the heat, and during the winter when it catches on my gloves. Oh, and at nudie bars. Though I pushed for matching wedding tattoos, I’m honored to wear the ring my wife gave me. But I also like to be able to count all the way to ten without taking my shoes off. While the ring finger lacks the communicative importance that the other digits carry, it’s nice to have even if it's just to makes my gloves fit better.

In a truly dedicated act, Battle waved goodbye to his finger to keep the wedding band intact, in appreciation for the love and support of his wife. His wife was honored, his friends amazed and the rest of us generally impressed with the guy.

It’s the field doctors that screwed up. The douche bags lost the ring. No one seems to know what happened once the ring was removed, though witnesses claim to have seen one of the doctors hobbling off with a ring, muttering "my preciousssss."

Listen Up, Douche Bag

Forget about John Ashcroft. My parents are the true originators of the Patriot Act. They were reading my mail, listening to my phone conversations, digging through my closet and swiping my porn right up until I turned thirty and said "Enough! Stay outta my room!"

Parents snoop, and when they pay the bills, they have every right to snoop. It’s their house, their car, their mailbox and their phone. Unless your American Express platinum card says Mary-Kate or Ashley Olsen on the front, you are likely a ward of the loving woman who carried you in her womb for nine months and the guy who knocked her up.

Though Washington Supreme Court Justice Tom Chambers wears a gown like a mom, he’s not as smart as one. Chambers and the Court recently handed down a ruling that prohibits parents from eavesdropping on their children’s phone conversations. The ruling stems from a case where a mother listened in on the conversation between her daughter and her daughter’s felonious boyfriend, who was bragging about his latest purse-snatching. Mom, listening in on the phone she pays for in the house she owns, took good notes, gave the info to the cops and the boyfriend was convicted.

But instead of carrying this woman around town on their shoulders and building houses of worship in her honor, Chambers and other old men who still live with their moms declared that the daughter and the purse-snatching beau were due a certain amount of privacy and overturned the conviction. "The Washington privacy statute puts a high value on the privacy of communications," said Chambers. It’s felonies that they don’t care so much about.

If the daughter was paying the phone bill and the boyfriend wasn’t mugging old ladies at night, then the ruling might have some merit. As it is, men in gowns continue to confuse us (and in so many ways). While campaigning for the Supreme Court, Chambers himself said, "My parents taught me that solutions to problems should be grounded in common sense--not technicalities. I believe the courts get too hung up on legal technicalities when common sense would serve us all better." You should’ve listened to your parents, douche bag.

Get to the Nipping, Douche Bag

Where the Hell are you? Two weeks till Christmas and the air conditioning is still blasting. In Minnesota, they’re snowmobiling on alfalfa. In Minneapolis, cross-country skiers have taken to actually grabbing poles and PRETENDING to cross country ski. They may be delirious from the heat. Or maybe they just don’t have cable. I moved to DC to see some snow and wear some very fashionable Abercrombie and Fitch skull caps. But it hasn’t snowed and my skull caps got all sweaty and shrank. They fit like yamakas now. Everybody’s sweating and my bus smells like a Chili-Cookoff. I held my breath so long, I got cramps. Just give me a flake. Or a slight frost. Or even blue balls. I don't care, douche bag. Just make it cold.

Thanks for Nothing, Douche Bags

It’s not easy getting my wife in the mood. She’s built up quite a tolerance to the roofies. Typically, seduction consists of a Grey Goose martini and a two-hour spree in DSW. That she considers tracking down a size eight in practical one-inch heels foreplay is fine by me, as long I later reap the benefits of a steamy buy one, get one free sale. Sadly though, we’re only shoe shopping about twice a month now.

So I was excited – very excited – when I heard there was this new patch for women that functions as Viagra for horniless chicks. You simply smack it on her (or carefully smooth it on if she’s still sleeping), wait for the high powered testosterone to makes it way into the bloodstream, and then go at it like you wanted to on Spring Break (but couldn’t because you had irritable bowel syndrome).

It’s the invention mankind has been waiting for, and by that I mean that regardless of the outcome, when man sat down to invent something, he was thinking sex. Fire, telephones, space shuttles – all by-products of guys trying to create something that would mean more sex. The wheel was created so that we can pick girls up and go somewhere to have sex. The microscope was created so we could watch tiny things have sex. Blenders were created to make margaritas, which guarantees sex, even for ugly people. And the beauty of the patch is it cuts out all the work. Peel, stick, screw, sleep.

But the Food and Drug Administration, obviously made up and hateful old ladies and gay men, refused to clear the patch until more studies could be done to prove its safety and effectiveness. Past studies showed that the patch can cause a little acne, some body hair and a deeper voice. But I can deal with that. I’d sleep with Barry White if it meant not going shoe shopping again.

The FDA needs to be more considerate here. The Spring fashion lines won’t be here till March and I can’t wait that long. Aside from thank-you sex after shopping, the only other opportunity will be sympathy-sex after hanging out with her parents. For God’s sake, release the patch, douche bags!

D.W.A.: Douche Bags With Attitude

Who would ever screw with 50 Cent? 50 was shot nine times while battle rapping in the mean streets of LA and still finished the song. I was shot in the knee with a B.B. gun and missed half of the seventh grade while in a coma. 50 is tough. When 50 says "holla," I say "how loud."

So I have to wonder what Nigeria's version of the Fresh Prince, Idris Abdulkareem, was thinking when he refused to budge from 50's first class seat on a chartered plan carrying a bunch of rappers on tour. 50 has bullet scars and prison tattoos all over his body. Idris Abdulkareem has a bronze medal in table tennis from the African Olympics. 50 lists songs with titles like P.I.M.P and I Will Shoot You Until You Be Dead Fool. Idris, deeply upset by sexual discrimination and government outsourcing, penned the not so street Mr. Lecturer and Retirement Benefits Are Dope.

Like the original gansta Kenny Rogers once said, you gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em. You can take a man's wife, but his first class seat? Hell no. After "hurting Idris real bad," 50 cancelled the rest of the tour, denying thousands of Nigerian homies the opportunity to party like it's their birthday. So if you're planning to make a name for yourself in the Nigerian rap game by taking a man's first class seat, you may want to make sure that man's not from South Central and already been shot nine times, enka tacka doodoo *click* *clock* kaka meme (that's Nigerian for douche bag).

Nominate a Douche Bag

Send in your favorite douche bag to douchebagoftheday@yahoo.com. Pics of girls flashing at Mardi Gras will also be accepted.

And you can check out past douche bags by looking to your left a little and clicking on the archives link.

Douche Bag...And A Little Bit More

After catching Sharon Reed on Late Night with David Letterman, I knew there was something I didn't like about her. As it turns out, there's tons not to like about this skank.

On the petty side, she did the entire interview in one of those corny, irritating TV news reporter voices, and seemed to be auditioning for a porno, stroking herself and going all LL Cool J-like with the lip licking and the F-me eyes.

During her audition/interview, Reed claimed that stripping on TV was "about art." The story, about flabby naked people who like to pose en masse with similarly flabby naked people, was shot this summer, but aired just a few weeks ago during sweeps, which I guess is the only time they could show a report "about art."

Before the clock started on her 15 minutes of shame, Reed had already demonstrated her Diana Ross-like people skills at numerous other news stations. As an anchor in Philadelphia, she was called in to a Philly Police Station after posting nasty little comments about a fellow reporter online. She was fired.

And Reed has the gold-digging ho market covered, nailing Philly Eagle Donovan McNabb and Philly Sixer Aaron McKie, which explains how she got these. She was also the 435th black girl nailed by Robert Deniro.

Obviously, being the Channel 19 investigative hootchie is beneath Reed. The Omerosa of eyewitness news, she's bound to piss off enough people and screw enough celebs to land her dream job: fondling her plastic chest on the pages of Playboy or landing the role as Hooker #2 on a Cinemax late movie. Wanting to be a porn star is ambitious and generous. Like DeNiro, any Nubian princess who wants to flash her boobies is ok by me. But it ain't "about art," douche bag.

Sweeps Week Douche Bag

I love watching the news. I love watching naked girls. But watching naked girls report the news is weird and makes me feel all creepy inside. For a sweeps week special, WOIO reporter Sharon Reed stripped away clothes and professional integrity to report butt-naked in the streets of Cleveland. It was a sad and pathetic stunt because a) it lacked any sense of journalistic credibility, and b) she has the skinny ass of a white girl. Reporting naked for WOIO, this is douche bag Sharon Reed. Stay tuned for traffic and weather.

I'll Take Douche Bags for $2 Million, Alec

After bagging more than $2.5 million for being an unbeatable geek on Jeopardy, trivia-lord Ken Jennings is out. Ken was bounced by real estate agent/actress Nancy Zerg on yesterday's show.

Until Ken came along, I really didn’t know game shows still aired. Solving crossword puzzles for a three day cruise to Cancun or guessing the price of Sue Bee Honey ($4.49) for a Ford Fiesta seems droll when you can easily snag a million bucks for eating a cat uterus, trading in a spouse or pimpin’ your moms. But Ken’s nerdy reign single-handidly brought back old school game shows and pumped up Jeopardy viewership by 22 percent.

Ken writes trivia questions for a living (at least he did, before he won all that money and started getting laid). Technically, that makes him big, fat cheater. Still, he's head and shoulders above the usual pompous asses that answer the $200 questions with smirking condescension. Throughout his 73 game winning-streak, he remained pretty entertaining and even made me care about Norse mythology again. Ken would have made a good drinking buddy, with all the qualities I usually look for in friends – rich and less attractive than me.

And just when we were all wrapped up in a Ken lovefest, Nancy Zerg came along and ruined it all. If the producers were smart, they would give her a car and a year’s supply of JiffyPop Pop Corn and send her on her way, keeping Ken in place as a Hulk Hogan of trivia. Doesn't really matter though. Ms. Zerg turned out to be the Buster Douglas of Jeopardy contestants. Just 24 hours after dethroning the king of all answers, Nancy lost, taking home a total $14k.

So, for Final Jeopardy, the question is: Name of one who ends the longest winning streak in Jeopardy history as well as the only reason to watch the show.

Answer: What is a Douche Bag, Alec?

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

.

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.