Over the years I have held several titles.

Not the wrestling or boxing sort, mind you. Although there was that one bar fight, but we don’t talk about that. Still, titles and honorifics come with professions and accomplishments, and I’ve collected a few. Senior Field Service Engineer… Systems Administrator… Husband… Father… Best-Selling Author… Award-Winning Writer…

And those are just a few of the meaningful and the not so meaningful titles ascribed to my name.

I’ve never really been all about titles, to be honest. But I will admit that there are a few of which I am somewhat proud, even if only for a moment. Allow me to explain…

You see, I recently picked up a new title. I didn’t even know I was in line for it, but sometimes these things just happen. At any rate, imagine my excitement when I was notified by the Canadian Ministry of Titles that I had been anointed “Douchebag.” (See the official letter informing me of such in the image below, or view the original HERE)

I was ready to throw a party. Seriously. I mean “Douchebag?” That’s one hell of a title to have bestowed upon oneself. Of course, after looking up the criteria for the title I discovered that I didn’t (and still don’t) actually meet any of the requirements, therefore I figured it was just an honorary sort of thing. After all, that would lend even more credence to it being an honorific, right?

But no. According to the Canadian Ministry, it was beyond honorary. I was, in point of fact, being anointed as a full-fledged, officially certified “Douchebag.” On top of that, I was given the supporting degree of “F*cktard.”

I was an official “Douchebag F*cktard.” I realize that this may seem like a Douchebagatelle to most of you, but for me it was like a dream come true.

A party to celebrate this title became a moral imperative. After all, it’s not every day one is bestowed with such honors – especially from our neighbor to the Great White North. (BTW – No Canadians were harmed during the creation of this blog entry. Not even the Minister of Douchebag who conferred the aforementioned title. Oh, and no moose were harmed either, unless you count that case of Moosehead I killed off while writing this. )

I picked up the phone and started calling all of my friends. I really wanted to invite some military folks I know, but unfortunately they were stuck in DoucheBaghdad and couldn’t make it. I was, however, able to reach my friend in DoucheBagshaw. Even though airfare from England to the US wasn’t cheap,  she told me she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if she missed a good Douche.

Next I called Anastasia. She was in Dublin, Ireland at that particular moment, on DoucheBaggot Street trying to find a suitable Douchebaggery. It seems she had already heard about my good fortune and wanted to buy a gift for me. Since I travel so much she figured Douchebaggage would be a good choice. I thanked her, and gave her the details of the party, then moved on with my invites.

A few more calls to my Douchebaggiest friends and the guest list was all set.

Of course, that was just the beginning. If I was going to throw a party I needed a few things, so I headed out to do some shopping.

I stopped at the bakery and picked up some Douchebaguettes for the sandwiches. Of course, we would also need some snack foods, so I picked up some vinegar potato chips. Since this would be an all day affair and some folks would be arriving in the morning, I thought some breakfast type foods might be in order, so I also picked up some Douchebagels. And, for those who might want something a little sweeter I grabbed a couple of boxes of F*ckTarts. After all, I wasn’t just being anointed a “Douchebag.” I was a full-fledged “Douchebag F*cktard.”

Since every party needs a little entertainment, when I left the store  I stopped in at a local booking agent and arranged for a group of Douchebagpipers.

Upon arriving home I called a few folks to help me out with getting things all set up. Once they arrived we took all of the snacks and party favors, lined them up, then began to Douchebag them in individual Douchebaggies. It took some time, but once all of the Douchebaggers were done with the Douchebagging and had all of the party favors Douchebagged,  it was time to get ready for guests to arrive.

I ran off to change into something more comfortable. Since it was going to be a long day I decided that something loose and Douchebaggy was in order, because to me Douchebagginess equals comfort. On the way to change I happened to notice that the evergreen outside our window had Douchebagworms, and made a mental note to call someone about that.

Finally, it was time for the fun to begin. Unfortunately, that’s when I received the call.

“Hello,” I said.

“Murv, this is George Takei,” said the voice at the other end.

“Mister Sulu!” I shouted.

He groaned. “Don’t call me that, okay? Just George.”

“Umm, okay,” I replied. “George it is. So… What’s up?”

“Well, I’ve been given to understand you are throwing a Douchebag party.”

“Absolutely! Would you like to attend? I’m sure everyone would be all excited to meet Mister Su… I mean, THE George Takei.”

“Actually, no.”

I paused. “Umm… Okay… So what’s this about?”

“You can’t have the party,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because I checked the list. You are NOT a Douchebag.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the Canadian Ministry of…”

He cut me off mid-sentence. “Listen, I have the list right here. Haven’t you seen my NO H8 video?”

“Umm. Yes, actually, I have. Great vid and my sentiments exactly.”

“Well then trust me. You are NOT a Douchebag. I have the list right here, and your name isn’t on it.”

“Damn…” I muttered. “Okay, so what about F*cktard? They also told me I had…”

“Nope,” he interrupted me again. “I checked with the director of the Grand Lodge of F*cktards on that one, and if anyone knows F*cktards it’s him.”

“I don’t know what to say…” I mumbled.

“Sorry,” George said. “I know how excited you were about this, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel your party. Or at the very least change the theme.”

“But… But everything is already Douchebagged for the guests convenience…”

“You know, Murv. If you keep doing nice things like that for your friends, fans, and guests, you will never achieve your dream of being a Douchebag.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

And so, my elation came crashing down around me. I was no longer a Douchebag. Nor was I a F*cktard, much to my dismay. In fact, I had never been either one, nor did I stand a chance of becoming anything remotely close.

So, that’s the story. I don’t mind telling you that I’m devastated.

Srsly.

I mean, what the hell am I going to do with all of these vinegar potato chips?

More to come…

Murv

So, I ran across something today. I’m not sure if I was supposed to see it or not, but since it was just laying there in plain view… Well… It caught my attention and I pretty much couldn’t help but read it.

You see, during the morning running about today I had myself an extra chore, as assigned by the Evil Redhead herself, that being the task of going to the bank and making a deposit. I know, I know, why in the world would E K allow me to:

1. Go anywhere near a bank.
2. Have money.
3. Be anywhere near money.
4. Especially be anywhere near money that belongs to her.
5. Know of the existence of money.
6. Ad infinitum…

Yeah, yeah, give me a break… We all know I’m less than frugal and not all that good at money management, I’ve already admitted as much. And,  because of that, E K handles all of the finances and doesn’t let me near the money. Nothing new there… However, after 22+ years of marriage she does have me fairly well trained, (or more accurately, beaten into submission).

Therefore, she will occasionally entrust me with the task of making a bank deposit. Of course, whenever she does this I am escorted by armed guards, and then there are also the other security measures, such as dye packs, double signature requirements, fingerprint and retinal scan ID requirements, a shock collar locked around my neck, etc… So, the chances of me actually being able to do anything other than hand the deposit over to a bonded courier at the bank are practically nil… Well, not practically I don’t guess… When you get right down to it they are about as nil as they can get…

But, yeah, I’m now following a semi-related chicken, so let’s get back on track…

Upon my return home, as is my prescribed duty I placed the documentation, which proves I have completed the task, upon the Evil One’s desk. It was at this point I came across the “something.” It was just tossed out there in plain sight… You know… In a file folder, which was sealed in a manila envelope,  which was stamped “eyes only” and “Do Not Open – This Means You, Murv”, which was stuffed under some other files in her briefcase, which was double locked and tucked back into a secret, hidden cubbyhole beneath her desk…

See what I mean? Right there in plain sight…

So, anyway, a picture of said “something” is inserted below, and since it might be a bit hard to read from an image, I have also copied the text  and placed it beneath the picture for your convenience…

February 20, 2009
RE: Evil League of Evil

CERTIFIED MAIL

Bad Horse
Evil League of Evil
ELE Secret Headquarters
It’s a secret you moron

Dear Bad Horse:

This letter is to inform you that I am officially declining your invitation to join the Evil League of Evil. While the offer of full membership is certainly attractive, especially considering the convertible toaster oven/death-ray signing incentive you threw in, it still did not escape my attention that said offer also included a rider, which in effect would ban me from seeking the position of CEO for the League.

To that end, I have now initiated a hostile takeover of the Evil League of Evil. On that note, as you are well aware, my anger management classes did not go so well. Therefore, even if you were to agree to a buyout, this takeover would still be hostile, because to put it simply, everything I do is hostile. Extremely hostile and just plain mean. Besides, I’m evil, enough said.

As of today, I have obtained the necessary shares to gain controlling interest in the League. My latest purchase, which put me over the top, was thanks to Doctor Horrible who was in dire need of quick cash to pay off his student loans. (Apparently a PhD in horribleness is rather expensive.)

In conclusion, I am calling for you, BH, to vacate the post of CEO PDQ. I am giving you 24 hours to clean out your stall. As is called for in the by-laws, I will also require you to submit a formal letter of resignation.  I would appreciate knowing the ETA on that ASAP.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a shoe sale to attend.

Disrespectfully Yours,

Evil Kat

Queen Bitch of the Whole F***ing Universe

E K:lackey #1

… You know, something tells me we should all be very worried. Especially Bad Horse…

More to come…

Murv

(… If you are unfamiliar with the Evil League of Evil, Bad Horse, and/or Doctor Horrible, I highly recommend you check out the following links: drhorrible.com and  evilleagueofevil.com. You owe it to yourself to stay informed… Especially since E K is taking over…)