Douche-bro invasion
Saturday, May. 28, 2016 - 18:59

Last night a gaggle of douche-bros moved in next door. Right now they are playing beer pong on their back deck. They are all twins. They are octuplets - there are eight of them. (I don't know who's moved in and who's visiting.) They're all wearing pants and no shirts and backwards baseball caps and sunglasses. The bros who have opted for the tattoo add-on have swirly letters either on their ribcage or tricep. They are the male equivalent of the basic bitch. Basic bros. This is what I'll be writing about here all summer, I'm sure. We've instantly turned into old fuddy-duddies over here. As soon as it hits 10:00 tonight we're calling the cops.

I'm guessing they're 22, 23. It's about 25 that people start turning into real humans. Before that, ugh, everyone's so insecure and trying to impress each other and whatever. I don't miss that.

I shouldn't call them douche-bros, I know it's juvenile and Trumpian to call people names, but sometimes it's so satisfying to indulge in. I also like to disparage the fucking yuppies, I think I've already told you that.

(This isn't the only thing I'll be writing about this summer, don't worry - I will also be whining about how I'll be missing the puppy and his roommate - they're going to Colorado again in a few weeks for a month or maybe more for the puppy's roommate's surgery and recovery. I'll be sad and worried and sad.) (Things are good right now [other than the douche-bro situation].)