Dr. Funke Presents: The King of All Douchebags
Posted by DrFunke on June 26, 2009
Camelot had Arthur. France had like 18 Louises. (I dare you to figure out the proper spelling of the plural of that fucking name. France is still for queers.) Boxing has Don. The South has college football/T.I., depending on who you talk to (white people or T.I.). Douchebags have Arthur Kade.
Arthur is an aspiring actor/entertainer/model/someone seeking employment in the general all-around handsome business. If you’re trying to get an idea of what Arthur’s like, do it this way: think of stereotypical movie villains – the comparison I’m coming up with right now is Sack Lodge from “Wedding Crashers.” Basically, they are all incredibly cocky about their popularity and how awesome they are, people seem to like them for some unknown reason, but they ostensibly have no positive qualities. Take one of those characters, Sack for now, and make them twice as douche-y, and then give them a blog to document their douchiness extensively on a daily basis. Now we’ve arrived at Arthur Kade.
Aside from my previous rants against Perez Hilton, my praising of Bobby Motherfucking Gee, my discussion of Mac 10’s previous law troubles, and my journalistically responsible coverage of Wudgles’ child molesting, I don’t really like to discuss individual people on SM. (It’s nice not having any credibility to defend.) But after reading one entry on Arthur’s blog, I was left with no choice. Unintentional comedy was in shambles. Modesty was erased from every Webster’s Dictionary around the world. Quite frankly, I may have briefly blacked out due to overdose of douche.
One sad piece of news from today was the death of Michael Jackson. Say what you want about the guy (“LOL KIDS ARE SAFE NOW *punches self in balls*), but he probably was the second biggest cultural icon of the 20th century behind Elvis Presley. Whereas Elvis died before coming too much of a joke and his legacy improved as a result (like most musicians who die prematurely), Mike lived on and became the Mike of recent history we all remember. The guy meant a lot to a lot of people, and he made some great music with the Jackson 5 and in his solo career that was a definitive part of many people’s childhoods. He is a legend regardless of his alleged Wudgles-esque behavior.
When someone you had some kind of relationship with dies, be it family, friends, or someone who’s cultural contributions meant something to you, is basically the one time where you need to realize it’s not time to talk to about what that death means in relationship to your career and life. If you understand this notion, your first name is not “Arthur”, and your last name is not “Kade”. In the wake of MJ’s death, he posted this link on his blog. Read this article. First off, it’s hilarious because he spends most of the time talking about how sweet he is and about the importance of the “Kade Brand” and blah blah blah dismissive wanking motion. He reacts to MJ’s death the exact opposite of the way a normal human being should. He also somehow manages to work in a paragraph about how important his workout routine is, because somehow that makes sense when talking about a guy whose heart just gave out on him. Arthur, I have a message for you: your bench press does not affect whether or not your heart continues to beat. Diet maybe, running sort of, but getting real huge twice a day like you claim to do? Not at all. Actually, when you get older and you can’t keep up your workout routine and all that muscle turns into fat, you’ll probably be the first in line to have a heart attack. So the moral of the story is that the true barometer of your level of douche peaks when you turn the death of a cultural icon into a discussion on how much you go to the gym and how awesome you are.
Read some more of his entries, because most of them bring the noise regarding unintentional comedy. Full entries regarding how awesome he is and why? Check. Actually, multiple checks because that’s literally every entry. He actually spends one entry about all the hot tail he gets and the kind of shit he used to pull when he was younger. It teeters on the borderline of unintentional comedy and absolutely infuriating, but it’s worth a read for all the reasons Arthur never meant it to be.
And one thing that kills me? HE CAN’T USE FUCKING COMMAS CORRECTLY. It isn’t difficult if you aren’t a retarded person, take the time to learn it. If you don’t, you’re just going to end up looking like a re-tard. If you don’t believe me, read this. Or check this shit out:
Our first tale is a romantic one–or so it may appear. The story begins with an email that John received one day from his new girlfriend. Consider how pleased he must have felt to read this note from Jane:
I want a man who knows what love is all about. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me for other men. I yearn for you. I have no feelings whatsoever when we’re apart. I can be forever happy–will you let me be yours?
Unfortunately, John was far from pleased. In fact, he was heartbroken. You see, John was familiar with Jane’s peculiar ways of misusing punctuation marks. And so to decipher the true meaning of her email, he had to re-read it with the marks altered:
I want a man who knows what love is. All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people, who are not like you. Admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me. For other men, I yearn. For you, I have no feelings whatsoever. When we’re apart, I can be forever happy. Will you let me be?
FIGURE IT OUT. In conclusion, being a huge asshole in a public forum will never make you look good. Says the pot to the kettle.