The Douchebag Bible (2 page)

This work is dedicated to Hardcase, for being exactly

like me and yet my complete opposite (and for

amusing me with his frequent death threats).

It is also dedicated to Britt Marble—

the only person who has ever met me.

* * *

Apart from those two brilliant souls, I’d like to thank a number of those

who have shaped me into what I am (for better or for worse):


Mom, for trying to understand.


Dad, for supporting my lazy ass.


Scotty, for being my best friend.


Stevie, for loving me more than I deserve.


Cookie, for making me laugh.


Sheri, for allowing my penis inside her on a few occasions.


Steve, for trying his best.


JD, for being wise in his insanity.


Nick, for making my childhood interesting.


Natalie, for thinking of others before herself.


Zac, for his inspiring paintings.


Cody, for his beautiful photography.


Nate, for his tireless cruelty.


Mr. Taylor, for being the biggest asshole I ever met.


Jesse, for being the first person I ever trusted.

Thank you all.

This is where you’d normally find copyright information, but I’m too fucking

lazy to bother with all that jazz—and with the advent of the internet, it would

be too much of a pain in the ass to try to stop you from swiping this shit and

reusing it anyway. I’ll just ask really politely that you not do so and hope that

that’s enough.

COVER IMAGE:
Cody Weber & The Amazing Atheist

A BRIEF LETTER TO MY FANS

“You know, I thought you were a decent guy until [you

insulted me]; now I know you’re no different than the

dickheads you rant about. Hell, if you’re like this to

someone whose nice to you, I don’t want to know what

you’re like to your haters.”

-rdawkinsbulldog, youtube user

It’s fairly safe to say that I’m an asshole.

I make no secret of my petty and spiteful nature, nor do

I feel any inclination to improve my personality in the near

future. In this age, whether you’re a famous movie star with

millions of fans, or just some guy who rants on youtube for an

audience of a few thousand, people build illusions of you in

their minds, convince themselves that they know and

understand you; worse, they come around to the belief that,

because they are supportive of the work you produce, you are

in some way obligated to them.

I owe you nothing. You don’t watch my videos out of

some sense of charity—you watch them to be amused,

enlightened or perhaps even just to mock me. Even now, I owe

you nothing. “But I bought your book!” you protest in your

nasally whine, tears oozing from the dull cattle-like orbs of

your eyes. Yes, you gave me money and, in return, I gave you

a book. Transaction over.

Feel free to send me anything you like: your

“constructive criticisms”, lengthy letters about your personal

problems, your poetry, your artwork—whatever. Send me

these things until you cum from the sheer joy of it, but
do not

expect me to care or to respond. Sometimes I will, and other

times I won’t. It depends on my mood.

Now, if you happen to be an attractive female who

wishes to pose naked for me, I want you to know that my inbox

is always wide open to receive any number of pictures you may

choose to fill it with. This is not at all contingent upon my

mood—I’ve never in my life not been in the mood to see a nice

set of tits or a cute ass.

And guys, it’s okay to take pictures of your girlfriend

while she sleeps and send them to me as well. I don’t mind at

all. No matter how busy my schedule becomes, you have my

solemn vow that I will make time to view photos of your

sleeping, unsuspecting girlfriend who has no idea what a

scumbag her boyfriend happens to be.

In fact, it doesn’t even have to be your girlfriend. If

you’ve got a sister or a mom or a neighbor that you want to

send me pictures of, that’s all good too.

For that matter, the pictures don’t even have to be of

girls. A lot of guys these days are pretty effeminate. If I take

my glasses off, I can’t even tell the difference.

I’m really not picky. I mean, if you could just send me

close up pictures of your knees pressed together to kind of look

like an ass, I can work with that. I’m the MacGuyver of jerking

off to things. Give me a flashlight, some yarn, a box of raisins

and a tongue depressor and I’ll figure out a way to fap to it.

For instance, remember that time we went Tijuana and

saw the donkey show? I mean, I knew that chick was going to

blow the Donkey, but I didn’t know she was actually going to

let it stick it’s spongy, half-formed-looking phallus inside her

asshole! Remember how afterwards she blasted shit and

donkey cum halfway across the bar from her gaping asshole

and a big chunk of her corn-laden scat flew into your mouth

and you puked all over the guy next to you, causing half the

bar to start fighting and the other half to start puking and

before we knew it the whole floor was carpeted with puke and

cum and shit and blood. I still managed to rub one out that

night! I tell you. . . .

Wait. You’re not the one that went with me to Tijuana,

are you? Shit.

Awkward.

The Amazing Atheist,

July 29th, 2007