C'mon... Nobody thinks this is hot!
It appears that all Ed hardy shirt- wearers know each other. Before you get all high and mighty and call me a shirt racist… do the research. It’s a fact. Just as true as the underground network of redheaded people. I don’t make the rules, people. There were more public high fives than I could possibly count in that place. I was trying to come up with a formula for the high five to exposed chest hair ratio, but the boxed wine started to kick in before I had a chance. These power tools really thought they looked good. Maybe they think women are smiling at them when we’re actually trying to restrain the laughter. It was as if the ‘men seeking’ page on PlentyOfFish.com came to life. For those of you who aren’t familiar, this is the poor man’s version of Match.com. They probably can’t afford to pay the $35 a month because it would cut into their douchy shirt fund. $90 for a tee-shirt? Are you kidding me? As the night wore on and the boxed wine was flowing freely, we were approached by the first member of the douche army. I’ll call him Lance Corporal Douche. He danced over to us while Miley Cyrus blared in the background. He was wearing a white button down with some sort of heart/fire/skull combo emblazoned across his back and a belt buckle from the same collection. He had desperate old divorced guy written all over him. This trend continued over the course of the next hour or so. We had visits from Sergeant Douche, as well as Private First Class Douche. It was like they were little Ed Hardy peacocks, strutting around trying to impress the ladies with the most colorful, skull bearing shirt. Random women were taking pictures of these guys because they couldn’t believe how ridiculous they looked. Here’s a tip, if a strange woman ever wants to take a photo of you… it’s because you look like an asshole and she can’t wait to e-mail it to her friends or tag you as ‘clueless douchebag’ on Facebook. Unless you’re a celebrity, this is an undisputed fact.
My night became complete when the army invaded the dance floor. It was the strangest display I’ve ever seen. It was like ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ don’t ask don’t tell edition. They did just about every line dance imaginable. There was one hold out, and I couldn’t help wondering what it was going to take to get him out there. He was a bit of an enigma. He was the only black member of the militia, which I found fascinating. What kind of bet did he lose to get stuck with these losers in an Ed Hardy shirt? Then, it happened. Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ came on and he began what I can only imagine he thought was dancing. Aha! It was all suddenly clear to me. His awful dancing must have resulted in forfeiture of his ‘black card’. Poor Bastard. We managed to get out of there unscathed, but our attempts to escape the army were unsuccessful at first. We went to the Barley House in downtown Cleveland to continue our night. I think this place might be the Basic Training location for the douche army in the Midwest. It was so crowded that you literally couldn’t walk through the sea of fake tattoo shirts. I started to hyperventilate a little and realized that I needed to be at a little hole in the wall bar with my own stool and a jukebox. We ended up relocating to such a place… The Tarrymore in Lakewood. I was relieved to see that there was not one single tee shirt that cost over $20 in the entire place. The bartender actually spoke to us and provided cheese and crackers for Christ sake! The only downfall was that the ladies room toilet was clogged and I had to plunge it myself before I could pee. I would rather plunge a bar toilet for ten minutes than have the same amount of time spent on conversation with a member of the douche army. Are they recruiting in your town?
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