A Douche on the Loose

 
When the CDC discovers a new strain of the flu, potential pandemic, or possible bioterrorist threat, they warn the public.  The attractive Sanjay Gupta and Dr. Oz go on TV, and in their smooth doctor voices use big medical words and flashy graphics to show the public how quickly an outbreak could occur if they don't wash their hands, use hand sanitizer, and eat their fruits and vegetables.  They use red dots and time lapse sattellite imagery to demonstrate the outbreak.

Well, that's how it works in the movies at least.[1]  So call me Dr. Zoe, and let me warn you in my smooth doctor voice of a very real threat facing 18-40 year old females globally.

The epidemic:  a douche on the loose.

When I was a much younger lady (summer of 2009), I found myself single and entertaining a number of male suitors.  One particular gentleman caller, Corey, proved to be my personal strain of Ebola.

I met Corey through my friend Chase.  Both were pilots for a major airline.  I should have known better than to take advice from Chase, as he one time advised me to "never fill my gas tank up past 1/4 full because the extra weight slows down the car and makes it less fuel efficient."

(If you fly the Denver to Las Vegas route, your life could be in this man's hands.)

Well, I agreed to go to dinner with Corey, mainly because I had no groceries in my house. 

At the restaurant, I sat with my back to the wall, which was made of mirrored glass.

At first I thought he was having seizures.  He'd kind of jerk his head to the left, then tilt it to the right, then touch his overly-gelled hair.  His eyes never really focused on me.  It took me five minutes to realize what was going on. 


OMG he was staring at himself in the mirror behind me!  He was checking his angles!  I probably could have stripped down naked and he wouldn't have noticed,[2] because he was worried about his pore size!


I tried to ignore it, and mentally made a note to punch Chase in the head the next time I saw him.


"People tell me I look like Vince Vaughn," he said, trying to raise one eyebrow, which he couldn't fully do as a result of the Bro-tox.[3]


Listen, if this guy looked like Vince Vaughn, then I was fucking Giselle Bundchen.


"Um, OK." I mumbled instead, grateful for the arrival of our salads. 


"I've inducted several girls into the mile high club," he winked.


"So I guess it's now 'Come fly the freaky skies?'"


"These boots are made out of alligator skin," he said, flexing his quads as he showed me in the process.


"Did you wrestle the alligator yourself?" I asked, deadpan, as our dinner arrived, and he unabashedly checked our the waitresses ass.


"No...."


"Then it doesn't count.  I'm only impressed with guys that can kill and skin an animal themselves, then make it into size seven Manolo-inspired wedges."


This didn't phase him.


"You know I was the quarterback at Western Colorado from 1996-2001?"


"Yes, you've told me a hundred times.  You rushed-"


"A thousand yards and passed a thousand yards.  That's why they call me 'Thousand-Thousand.'"


"Who calls you that?"


"My fans.  Jersey chasers.[4]"


It didn't get any better from there.  Thankfully, the waitress brought our check, he paid it, signed it, and showed me the credit card receipt.  Under his signature, he signed, "1000-1000."


I truly picked a winner.


I went out for a few more drinks with him, then went home.  I had noticed a bag on the floor, large enough to hold a small Pomeranian.


"What's this?" I asked.


"Oh, it's my cosmetics bag," he replied.


Now, most guys, when they travel, have such a bag.  It usually contains deoderant, toothbrush, toothpaste, hair gel, and maybe some cologne.  No guy has ever called it a cosmetics bag. It's usually referred to as, "stuff I need."  I unzipped this Corey's bag.  (He didn't care, he was too busy checking his eyebrows for strays in the rearview mirror.)


"So, I thought you said you didn't have a girlfriend," I snidely commented, as I pulled out L'Oreal foundation #35.


"I don't, that's mine.  Sometimes I break out and need concealer."


I looked closer.  I turned on the BMW's light.  I got all up in his face to analyze.  Sure as hell, he was wearing foundation.  I wasn't so much as repulsed, but intrigued.  If we got together, we might be able to share makeup.  I put some on my finger and dabbed it on my face.  Yep, we matched.  So far, our shade compatability was the only thing this relationship had going for it.


I reached in the bag again.  Rogaine for Men.  Well, now I knew why he wore a baseball cap most of the time.


I opened up the bag and reached in, only to find myself elbow deep in condoms.  Seriously?  This was his travel bag?  Was he planning on having sex with every woman on flight 1735 to Salt Lake City and flight 1901 to Portland?????


He finally dropped me off and I ran, not walked, inside, and immediately took a shower.  I took a penicillin just in case.  You can't be too careful.


The next day, he sent a text, "Had a great time with o.  Can't wait to see ur sexy body again."


Really?  He spent so little time looking at my body, I could have been a pre-op tranny for all he knew.


Two days later, I got a text from my friend Ayana.


"Who is Corey Kendrick?"


"Some douche I went on a date with.  Why?"


"He just sent me a friend request on Facebook.  It said he's friends with you, Rachel, Sara, Kristina, and Britany.  I figured I had met him, but didn't remember."

I got on the book of faces.  Sure enough, Corey had added four of my hot girlfriends, and attempted to add a fifth.

I texted him.

Me: "Why r u adding all my friends?"

Him: "Bc baby, I just want to see more pics of u while I'm gone."

Me: "I have 764 tagged photos of myself."

Him: "I just wanna get to know ur friends."

"Me: The attractive, big-breasted ones?"

Him: "Come on baby, u know ur the only girl for me."

Seriously?  Were we in a relationship now?  I had spent five collective hours out of my life with this guy.  I had more of a relationship with Chen, the guy who does my nails.

I looked at his FB again.  This guy had 1,084 friends, the large majority attractive females.  Looking at his page was like looking at the Maxim Hometown Hotties voting lineup.  He wasn't an idiot, he was a fucking mathematical genius.  Move over Descartes, because I think Captain Cory has just taken exponents to a whole new level.

Let's say he started off meeting one girl.  Then, he added five of her hot friends, then added five of their hot friends, then five of those 25 girls' hot friends, then....  OK, see where I'm going?

1 x 5 x 5 x 5 x 5 x 5......    5²⁵

That's an infinite number of hot girls[5].  If he even met a quarter of these girls in person, they'd be forced to endure the same torture that I was.  And before they could warn their friends, he'd already be creeping on their Facebook page, picking his next all-star recruits.

I was so baffled and shocked at his brazen collection methodology, that I really didn't do anything besides ignore him after that.  However, should this happen again, I have a plan.  Call FEMA and let them know Zoe's got this one covered.   In the event of an attack, the following statement should be issued, preceded not by a hurricane siren, but a Nickelback song, the soundtrack to a douche's life:

WARNING: There is a douche on the loose.  I repeat, a douche on the loose.  This is not a test.  His name is Corey Kendrick and he was last spotted lurking outside a Victoria's Secret in the Cherry Creek mall.  He's approximately 6'3", 250 lbs, and was last seen wearing a size medium Affliction shirt.  Identifying marks are a bald spot on the back of his head and a tribal armband tattoo.  He smells of Axe Body Spray and sunless tanner.  Do not approach the subject.  Run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

But Zoe, what about the douches that have already affected countless females in the US?  Well, sometimes, like with a bad strain of Marburg, you just have to cut your losses.  Even Robert Redford couldn’t deliver a vaccine in time.  I present to you my five-leveled triage and cure plan:

Level 1: Post APB on nightly news and FB statuses. Ladies should take a drink of wine just to calm their nerves and be thankful they escaped.

Level 2: Run warning with accompanying picture.  Any females that have been contacted should immediately delete said offender from Facebook page and proceed to take two shots of vodka to clear their brains of the images of countless shirtless pics they saw on offender's page.

Level 3: Establish treatment and counseling centers at local watering holes.  Support groups can help one another understand why they were targeted and cleanse their minds with no less than three margaritas.

Level 4: Establish quarantine zone.  Pass out disinfecting body wash and full bottles of Patron.

Level 5: The hot zone.  There is no hope for humanity here.  The women have been infected.  Set up roadblocks while the rest of the country sheds tears for the countless women that had to endure, "Baby ur so pretty," or "Ur the only one 4 me" texts. 

This contingency plan is also applicable to natural disasters, such as men named Andrew or Tim who dub themselves "Hurricane Andrew" or "Tsunami Tim" and any roving herd of infected animals (ie. guys who still call driving from Albuquerque to Las Vegas a "road trip.")

---

[1] In reality, they’d be hunkered down in a bunker in Hazmat suits while the world collapsed into Armageddon around them.  But hey, at least we’d have our antioxidants.

[2] But salmonella-tainted lettuce suddenly wouldn’t seem like such a big health hazard, would it?

[3] Botox for men.  Seriously.  First world invention. 

[4] Seriously?  After you hang up you’re jersey, ain’t no one chasing you anymore.

[5] Some calculus geek is going to point out that this number is indeed a discreet finite variable.  Just go with it here.

Freedom for them, repression for us? A nation's dichotomy

It's a sad day for our nation when in the same day, people continue to die in a baseless, senseless war in the name of promoting freedom abroad, yet at home, our freedoms continue to be limited by a  government attempting to regulate morality.

 As some of you may have seen, three more soldiers were killed from North Carolina in Afghanistan fighting a baseless war that at worst, is am expensive misguided invasion based on false intelligence, at best, a modern-day holy war, promulgated by a government delusional and drunk on power.  In ten years, the occupation in Afghanistan has resulted in $1.3 trillion dollars in debt.  

(To see a real-time calculator of the cost of war, click on:  http://costofwar.com/en/ )

But where's the benefit?  Sure, the terrorist regime has been toppled, but the countries of the middle east we have invaded still exist in a draconian culture, their people repressed and angry at an occupation to which they see no end.  What's the point of the war?  Clearly, a small team of dedicated specialists were able to take out the biggest terrorist mastermind in the world, so what was the basis and reasoning behind the full-scale invasion?  

 To promote democracy, naturally.  I mean, hey, why shouldn't everyone want to be as free as the United States?  We have the right to free speech, freedom of religion, freedom to date and marry whomever-

Wait, hold that thought.  

On this same day three soldiers from North Carolina died in Afghanistan, North Carolina voted on and passed the controversial Amendment One, which defined marriage as being "between one man and one woman."  This law wouldn't only affect same-sex couples who wished to legally wed, but the children of those couples who might be denied benefits such as health insurance from the non-biological parent.*

 (It's OK, I'm sure Obama will let them qualify for Medicaid.)

It's surprising to think that in 2012, with our economy precariously balanced on the precipice of a collapse, our national debt mounting, and our credit rating plummeting, that voters should care what two consenting adults do.  I understand and respect everyone's right to their own religious beliefs, but do not wish to impose mine upon them.

However, the government seems to think it's OK to impose laws that define morality.  In Afghanistan, we in the U.S. watched in aghast as women were treated like second class citizens, denied education and other basic rights as men.  Yet in the great state of North Carolina (proud recipients of one of the lowest literacy rates in the country), we feel it's OK to treat our neighbors of a different sexual preference like second class citizens.

Our generation was supposed to be one of progress- we were supposed to make great strides as we entered the new millennium.  While our cell phones and computers have advanced, we are no closer to advancing freedom either here or abroad.  The hypocrisy of the voters in North Carolina today proved that.  God Bless America, but not all of it.

Here's hoping that the future is better and that some day we can be the nation the brave men and women who died for it thought it to be.

*Single parents in NC?  Well, come on down to the welfare office!  We have PLENTY of benefits for you.  Food stamps?  Housing?  TANF?  Welfare check?  Baby carriers for your four illegitimate children?  OK, you got it. Of course, as long as the baby is not gay!