Chapter 1 – My Life – I’m a Douche Pickle

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Douche Pickle - An asshole of a person that has for so long stewed in their own fetid juices of bitterness that they become the ultra douche,” a douche pickle.”


I almost named this site www.douchepickle.com but was swayed against it

Chapter 1.

I was taking a test in my 7th grade math class when I had a sudden urge to sneeze. Whatever caused my sneeze is really not important as the aftermath is what would define me for years to come. My mouth gasped open and I sucked in three or four huge breaths. Then, in the deafening silent room, I sprayed out a loud wet sneeze which initiated an even louder fart. This was the very moment I solidified my role as the class dork. The room broke out in laughter and I would hear the story being told over and over until I eventually graduated high school. We all know that short fat kid with glasses that runs his mouth too much and ends up getting his ass kicked. That fat dorky kid; that used to be me in high school. I think I was that way because I didn’t hit puberty until I was about 29. Alright I was 18 but even at that age it prohibited me greatly. I never was able to shower after P.E. because the other boys my age were sporting something I wasn’t. More specifically, a ball-fro. Maybe wetting the bed until I was 16 or my coke bottle glasses or the doctor telling my dad that she was worried about my underdeveloped testicles, caused some of the issues. My body had no muscle or frame so I was an easy target to pick on at 5’7 while pushing 300 pounds. I never kissed a woman or had sex until I was 19 and really I never even had a chance. I remember one year I told a buddy that I had a crush on this girl with the biggest love bags. He told me he knew her and later that day he appeared with her in the hallway with his finger pointed towards me. She quickly screamed, “ewww gross” and ran away. I remember going home that day and announcing to my mother that she had given birth to the ugliest and fattest child ever. My mother did her best to console me and tell me I was handsome but followed it with, “don’t worry Steve, when you’re older, women won’t care as much about looks.” As nice of a gesture as that was I basically realized at that point my mom thought I was ugly. A few years back she admitted looking back at pictures of me in high school and laughing at how ridiculous I looked. I had to remind her that she gave me a perm once and can take some blame. It was so awful back then that my very own sister, who is a little more than a year older, would lie to people and deny any relation to me. I don’t really blame her as she had a somewhat popular image to maintain. I try and tell people how hideous I was but nobody ever believes me. Luckily, I have pictures. With that said, my mom is amazing and my sister is the strongest person I have ever known. Life happens and then it ends, so cherish those you love the most. Enough of the sappy shit… moving on.

By the time I was 20, with puberty set in, I had had my share of sex and drunken fests and was ready to move on to thinner and hotter. My ball-fro grew in on top of larger balls finally but my cock had failed to grow to the likes of Peter North, as I had hoped (he is not my idol no matter how many times I mention him). I will say that I walked in on my dad jerking off one day and so the lack of length in my unit is hereditary (this is a joke as I have no idea how big my dad’s penis is but I do know his wit, charm and bank account make up for anything lacking). It’s like I had to be short, fat and have a red bull can of a cock. (Music intro… I wish I was a little bit taller… I wish I was a baller). At this point I knew I was ready to go to college and needed to escape the image I had created with growing up in a small town. By this time I now stood at 6’1 and weighed in at 220 pounds with muscles that I had developed from many mornings at the gym. With a new gained confidence I decided to move to Oregon, about 6 months before I turned 21. I guess my dad coming home drunk nightly and calling me a fucking loser had taken its toll. I just couldn’t take another shoe or fork being thrown at me. Now my dad quit drinking years ago and like most drunken nights, where you have no recollection, he can’t remember the abuse. I’m in my thirties now and seriously, I am over it. If your parents beat you or verbally abused you or gave you a fucking perm, get over it. Parents make mistakes and really, as an adult, they don’t owe you shit. Feel lucky they took care of you past infancy so you have a fighting chance. God gave us sex, alcohol and country music to help us move on.

Anyway, I moved away, but I left behind some great brothers, in the war we call life.

Chapter 2 coming soon….

 

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