The Douchebag Bible (12 page)

OBSERVATIONS, INTROSPECTIONS &

APHORISMS

LOVE AND HATE—
It’s easy to hate. It’s fun to hate. It’s

comforting, like the buzz from a few pints of ale. It courses

through your veins, throbbing, reassuring you or your

superiority. When you hate a man, it’s easy to watch him die.

When you hate a cause, it’s funny to see that cause fail. When

you hate yourself—truly despise your every breath—there’s

nothing that can stand in your way.

It’s hard to love. It’s miserable to be in love or to love a thing.

It’s stifling, like smoke in the air. It courses through your veins,

making you feel small and useless. When you love a person, it’s easy

for them to stab you in the back. When you love a cause, it’s easy for

that cause to consume you. When you love yourself—truly adore your

every breath—you have everything to lose.

BEAUTY—
I am the dirt streaked against your windshield,

stretched thin, cracked, ugly—but the light shines through me.

I've never seen anything breath-taking. I've never had

a moment in my life where my breath was stopped by the sheer

perfection of a sight. I've known the intensity of fear, of hate,

of self-loathing—but never beauty.

Everything that's supposed to be lovely is offset by the

ugliness of my heart. How could I, who lies and hurts at every

juncture, look at the beauty of a sunset and feel anything but

wretched? The light of beauty only serves to illuminate my

emptiness.

I would like to watch a city burn to the ground from a

nearby hillside, huge flames reaching from the buildings to the

sky, blotting out the stars with their smoke. That would take

my breath away. That would make me feel alive.

What does that say about me?

PERFECTION—
Being perfect is just another imperfection.

GREAT MEN—
More great men have died than have ever lived.

INTERNET CELEBRITY

IS A FATE WORSE THAN HELL

When I was 15, I would have done anything for even the

smallest taste of fame, but now that I’ve had the smallest taste

of fame I’d castrate myself with a toothpick before wanting

even one more subscriber to my Youtube channel.

Imagine the stupidest, most annoying person you’ve

ever met. Now imagine that person being annoyed to death by

the people who write me letters everyday. I get about 10 to 20

private messages on youtube per day and they fit into four

basic categories.

1. Horrifying.

2. Revolting.

3. Sickening.

4. “There’s no way this is a real

person”

The sentence
“amacing athiest u fucken rock
” is the most

horrible thing I have ever seen. How could anyone who enjoys

my videos be so fucking stupid? I’d rather have one million of

the most vitriolic invective-spewing detractors than even one

stupid fan. You’re writing to me, yet you can’t spell my name?

How is that even fucking possible? You had to type my name

to send me the message, so you must know how to spell it or it

never would have reached me!

You fucking people are
mud
—made of dirt and piss.

I WANT TO KILL MYSELF

WHEN I GROW UP

Hunter S. Thompson blew his brains out on my birthday,

which is also Kurt Cobain's birthday. It's odd, because

sometimes I feel like I'm somewhere in between the two—part

brooding loner, part raging truth-seeker. My writing lacks the

fire of Thompson's, and it lacks the poetry and irony of

Cobain's, but it's naked and self-revealing in the same way

theirs were. I feel like I'm the heir to that throne sometimes—

the suicide genius, the man who loves the whole world by

hating himself.

Can one declare them self such a thing, or is that for the

people to decide? I’d hate to think that it's in the hands of such

a small-minded bunch of miserable cretins. But, the idea that

it's in my hands is even worse in many ways.

This is such livejournal shit. I bet you feel stupid for

paying 20 dollars for this. Fucking idiots!

Eh, cheer up! It's all good, right? What the fuck does it

matter in the long run? We're all just biding our time until the

day we become corpses. Everything we do from the cradle forth

is just a distraction from the grave, a way of denying how

fragile our lives are, how death is getting nearer and nearer.

It's a cruelty of nature that a being should have to

understand the concept of death. We have so long fought

against it with fanciful notions of an afterlife that is far better

than our small lives here on earth. "This is all you get," are the

most hopeless words that could ever be spoken in the ears of

most people.

Death is not “far away.” It isn’t “just a transition.” It’s

close, and it’s forever.