Cunt Me Once Shame On You, Cunt Me Twice Shame On Me

Yesterday, I had the “pleasure” of taking one miserable Lyft ride from Irving to Montgomery. I was picked up by a car that already had one extremely unfriendly looking passenger  – a texting drone of a female kind who didn’t even bother to turn and say hello even  thought I sat right next to her. She got dropped of on Fillmore (what a shock), and another, even more unfriendly cunt was picked up near that location. She got into a car with her huge headphones on without ever taking her eyes off her phone, while trying to set her Pandora station, as if she was getting onto a packed bus or Bart. No, she wasn’t cute. When the second cunt dropped off, I asked the driver why the girls are so damn unfriendly. He chuckled, nodded, sighed, said: “tell me about it.”

The pain of this ride was amplified by the fact that the driver was blasting the Giants game on the radio. I at least hope that the cunts hated the obnoxious baseball commentary radio show as much as I did.

Da Uber Douche

escalade-uber-san-franciscoMy hate for Uber comes with substantial delay, considering how much criticism it has been getting so far – from biting articles in local newspapers to lawsuits all over the world. Seeing the tremendous benefits of this service, I have been struggling to find something worthy of my disdain till last week. However, As I saw a total douche come out of the shiny Escalade and walking into my office building, all of a sudden it dawned on me. The reason this service appeals to the local doucherati so much is because it makes it look like they have a private driver when they come out or like they are some kind of officials driven by a government security type car. Of course, the fact that Uber is routinely used by tipsy, slutty looking entitled blonds for their bar crawling escapades doesn’t add any glory to the service.

Since in SF nothing beats looking more important than you really are, the raving success of Uber is inevitable. Therefore, now it’s the perfect time to hate on the Uber douche.

Enjoy Oakland While It Lasts

east oakland shootingYou have heard it all about how great Oakland is. I have hung out there a few times recently, and I confirm the rumors. Far better food, friendlier people, better vibe, and still almost 100% douche free.

How long will this last before SF douches and their female counterparts are priced out of SOMA and start polluting the nice areas of Oakland with Audi’s and BMW’s, sterile restaurants, and “I am the shit” demeanor when walking down the street? The only way to stop or at least slow down the gentrification is by continuing to tell the world about the high crime and violence rates in Oakland on a regular basis. This will surely discourage the douches from settling in Oakland, as they like the world to be very clean and safe.

So, if a gang shooting makes some SF poser doubt whether moving to Oakland is a good idea, all the more power to the Oakland gangs.

From Gbus for Google to Dbus for Douchebags

Considering how “popular” the Google Gbuses have become, I suggest a new route for a similar luxury coach Dbus that would cater strictly to the local douchebags. It would run between the Marina/Pacific Heights / Hayes Valley to Montgomery/Pine and the adjacent areas infected with douchbaggery. It will only be picking up white people in suits, who have that slight arrogant smirk on their face and who reek of entitlement mentality.

Google GBus on Union Street

San Francisco People Are Neither Nice Nor Friendly

San Francisco people are not niceI don’t know how this myth about us being nice and friendly starter but it’s a total BS. Like my father says, there is a big difference between manners and pleasantries, such as fake smiles, how-are-you’s and “how is your day”‘s and being genuinely nice. Just walk outside and go over to FiDi. Then look at people’s faces and tell me if they look nice or they look, stuck-up, angry, douchy, stressed out, frustrated, anxious, depressed, or all of the above. Just make sure you look at the sober people, as the “happy hour” happiness really doesn’t count.

Boulibar – The Douchebaggery Spreads Into the Ferry Building


If you thought that Slanted Door was the only douchy establishment at the Ferry building, I have news for you – Boulibar, the newest in the San Francisco’s douchebag dining scene, is open now at the Ferry building. Straight minimal lines? Check. Sterile, non-cozy look and feel? Check. Signature douche light-brown wood tables that white people love? Check. A huge wine list? Check. $22 for a salad and $18 for scrambled eggs? Check. I have to confess that I tried scrambled eggs, and I am glad to report that at least it was pretty good, and their Boulibar San Franciscocoffee is excellent too.

I  do see a slight potential for confusion with the name of this place. If a Mexican / Filipino person would say it, it would sound  a lot like they are trying to say “Boulevard”. But then again, how likely are they to end up going to either one of those establishments…

Boulibar San Francisco

san francisco douchebag testAsk yourself the following twelve questions and if you answer three or more of them in the affirmative, you are a douche, officially certified by IHTIA. And when in doubt as to whether you are a douche, play it safe and say that you are, because … you probably are.

1. Do you wear a pocket square in your jacket even though you are not going to any special event?

2. Do you consider dining to be your hobby?

3. Do you go to more than two happy hours a week?

4. Do you like to hang out at Irish bars?

5. Do you work in finance/investment/securities?

6. Are you white?

7. Do you wear sunglasses when you don’t need them?

8. Do you live on Chestnut or anywhere near there?

9. Do you tell people you live in the Marina/Cow Hollow because “it’s safe”?

10. Do you only date girls who live “in the city”?

11. Do you drive a German car (VW doesn’t count)?

12. Do you use the term “hip” in reference to restaurants and bars?

13. Last but certainly not least – you have that douche look in your eyes. You might be proud of it or your might have wished you didn’t have it, but you can’t help it. It’s part of your identity, and I am sorry to deliver those sad news – it’s probably incurable.