Douchery

But I'm definitely not a sucker across the board: I do not find Lance Armstrong inspirational—yes, I know he won the tour de France like a hundred times with only one ball, but he also divorced his wife who stood by him through the cancer ordeal, broke up with Sheryl Crow, and seems to have topped off his douchery by allegedly screwing an Olsen twin.

Ever the gentleman, he takes her to bed, then asks if she needs a taxi. Like, as soon as the act is complete. His douchery really does know no bounds.

Aidan was making kissy faces at me, and I wanted to punch him. This wasn't cool. Flirting was one thing. But this wasn't flirting ... it was just douchery.

“Okay,” I say. “I get it. I'm king douchelord and you trust me but you don't. You don't know me well enough to know how deep the douchery goes.”