The Tale of the Doomed Douchebags

Once upon a time, there was a house of doucebags. Each douchebag was as vain as the last, and all lacked a critical nozzle to function. Still they stared in mirrors and admired themselves as they paraded about, and heaped praise upon each other.

“Aren’t you the loveliest?”

“No. You’re the fairest?”

Each day they got up, put on tacky outfits, went to work, and pretended they were fresh and clean, as well as spread goodness with their presence. Of course, hated on happy people they saw within the course of a workday.

They were all sadly without a clue, and each night they went to their rooms loathe themselves. “Where is my nozzle?” one sad douchebag asked. “Why don’t I have my nozzle yet?” If I could pray the world, I’d be fabulous. Days like this went on and on, and the douchebags wept like little children, until they passed out to sleep.

One of the douchebags overheard someone at work say, “you don’t grow a nozzle, you have one or you don’t.” The douchebag ran home, stared into the mirror. With inspired madness, or courage, it took a knife and cut into its head, and placed a straw in the slit which forced the fluid to flow outward. “I can do it,” it said. “I’ve done it.”

The next day the douchebag showed all the other douches, who marveled and envied it. Suddenly the remaining douchebags came down with colds. Each made an excuse to go home. Each took a knife and slashed their heads wide open and the fluid splashed out. It was a torrent of vinegar and water through out the home.

The next day, people saw the douches in the garbage bins. Their bodies were limp and empty of its contents, and slashes at the head that ran down to the base. People walked away and laughed.

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