Douche on the Street #28 - You Just Can't Kill the Beast

You think you're so cool with your black and yellow jackets, buzzing around with all your fellow gang members but having nothing intelligible to say. You've got your little insect hands into everything.

 

I'm just sitting there at the bar, minding mine own beeswax, when all of a sudden,, unprovoked, you stab at me with your barbed spear, piercing my flesh and taking out my leg. Trying to look cool in front of your bumbling friends, I bet. Oh, I am felled but not vanquished. Years of training have honed my ninja reflexes and I give you a swift karate chop to the thorax, swiping you away from your embedded blade, sending you tumbling through the air and to the ground. Your zealousness has been your downfall. Your wings have been clipped and you lie motionless on the ground. Mohammed Ali said "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." Well, bee, you be dead. I said dead. D-E-D, dead.

 

Because you have no social graces and hurt innocent civilians with your maniacal boasting, you are a douche.