The backwards baseball cap. The ridiculous muscle t-shirt. The pose. The dead rodent on his lower lip. The douchetude overwhelms. It permeates. It seeps through my eyes making me cry out, "Why! Dear God, why is this super hot piece of perfection standing within a three mile radius of this utterly ridiculous douchebag?"

The answer my friends, is blowing in the douche.
Okay, I'm done writing my comments. I'm going to stare at that perfect, luscious belly, the vague panty-line underneath that silky white mini-skirt, and that sexy expression and pound my head against the wall for a few hours.

Then again, the upside of this photo is that it's possible that the moment after it was taken, the motorcycle flipped over, crushing that turd into a puddle of steaming douchetude. Yeah, that's it. That's what I'll tell myself as I crack open another PBR.