Even to this day, mothers still whisper his name as a warning to their children…
Tucking them into bed late at night, they pat their young ones on the head and whisper solemnly, “Don’t suffer the same fate that befell that Douche in Japan!”
They say that if you utter his name three times under your breath before you sleep that Japanese raccoons will climb up your ass while you dream and that on a bitter cold winter’s night his words can cut through you on the wind like premium japanese cutlery…
What ever happened to the man who briefly flamed into legend, only to quickly be extinguished by an excess of fame, accolade, and vodka, last seen spewing out nonsense about a French vacation and dancing around Japanese clubs dazed, attacking people with a boat rope?
They say it was the fame that got to him, corrupting his very soul. What started as an angry little rant at what amounted to a very unimportant wall soon grew beyond his wildest expectations. Jsoc was the first to really pay him mind with his tips on getting a job in Japan. His hits grew, his fan-base began, and his soul darkened just a little bit.
That little mountain of hits climbed beyond his wildest expectations. The world wasn’t just his fuck’n oyster, it was his mother-fucking oyster farm…And his ego climbed with the chart’s numbers.
Jprobe set him on fire next with his piece on little shark-riding negroes. From that day, he could be seen about the japan blogosphere, with his “I’m badass” dark sunglasses on at night, skirting into VIP lounges and ignoring longtime friends like he’d never even known them, tossing around expensive (in Japan) Beaujolais Nouveau like it was going out of style, buying cakes for snack girls just so he could slam their faces in them.
He was getting out of control. Around the time of Our Man’s ‘Blog of the Week’ award, Some Douche’s ego had reached beyond the proverbial point of no return. He’s fallen in with the wrong crowd, was ignoring those that loved him, mailing in shitty pieces about Harry Potter, and drowning in copious amounts of booze and whatever the fuck counts for drugs in Japan.
He’d gone beyond Thunder Dome…
He’d become what he’d preached…He was Smashed and Sinking.
Somewhere along the point of recreating a Roman sex orgy with 3 Persian Midget Eunuchs, a live tiger, 400 Pacific Salmon, 6 Extremely Obese Waitresses from Emlenton Truck Stop off of I80 (Home of the world’s worst apple pie), and a mountain of cocaine, he came to a sudden and abrupt realization…
It wasn’t him controlling the people, but the people controlling him. Every day he spend in his orgy of pleasure, rolling around in ‘fuck you’ money was a day that his hits dropped, and that awesome little graph came crashing down like a kamikaze pilot on methamphetamines (too soon, no…too easy, yes).
He became obsessed with the numbers game, throwing most anything out there into the meat grinder in hopes that the masses would eat it up and come back begging for more.
But he’d become distant from those masses, and didn’t even know how to connect with them anymore. Looking at his platters of bacon-wrapped caviar and roasted Unicorn meat (Well, not truly a unicorn, but it cost a lot of fucking money to fuse that diamond stabby thing to a fucking horse’s head and then cook the fucker), he realized he’d lost the common man along with his mind.
He had to get back to the basics…
So he walked away from it all.
Some say he found a monastery deep in the mountain ranges of rural Florida, others that he’d fallen with a Cult that worshiped Norse Gods, and yet others believe him to be the haunting spirit of failure as mentioned previously.
Now he returns to the world of the living, rising from the ashes, like Phoenix, and not the mythological creature emerging from the fire, but that quirky French band that’s in every fucking commercial this year.
And like Phoenix, you will have a hard time getting him out of your head again…