The Biggest Douche Bags

“AHHHAhahahahahaahaha!”
— Salacious B. Crumb, Return of the Jedi

What makes a douche bag? Harboring an unearned sense of superiority? An unerring failure to respect the feelings of nearby people? A concern about oneself above all other, irregardless of how trivial the concern? Hell if I know. A year ago, we at Zubazpants.com decided to answer this question by unveiling the Top 100 Douche Bags of All Time. But then, we watched this clip and laughed so hard we forgot what we were writing about.

While recently combing through my files for Capitol Hill testimony completely unrelated to the impending collapse of Google.com stock prices, I discovered my list of douche bags. Seeing as how one cannot quantify the arrogant prickness of Col. Mustard with the self-indulgent aloofness of The Watcher, no quantification is attempted. Rather, these ten douche bags are in no particular order, each one special in their own contemptible nature. Enjoy.

Name: Salacious B. Crumb.
First Seen: Taunting C-3PO in Return of the Jedi.
What is he? A Kowakian monkey-lizard.
Defining characteristic: Taunting cackle.
Last Seen: An expanding cloud of molecules on Jabba’s sail barge.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: Imagine sliding up next to the local cutie at the local bar. You buy her a drink, you talk to her and she seems ready for a moustache ride. Then, she opens her mouth and laughs — a horrible, soul-rending laugh.

Now replace that cutie with a Muppet that looks like fried dough run through a dryer. That is Salacious B. Crumb.

Perhaps the most annoying character from the original trilogy, Crumb (or “BC” as his friends call him), does nothing but laugh at Luke, Leia, Han, C-3PO and everybody else that runs afoul Jabba the Hutt. He also ate Threepio’s eye. He’s the little weasel that hangs out with the schoolyard bully, earning protecting by proximity.

Too bad Leia was too busy strangling the Hutt she didn’t kick Crumb in his Puppet Junk. Thankfully, he died when Luke blew up sail barge. But Crumb was lucky in one respect; he never lived to see The Phantom Menace.

Name: Vul-Kar, guardian of the island jewel.
First Seen: “Fireball Island,” a 1986 Milton Bradley board game.
What is he? A flame-spewing, death-bringing Idol perched top Vul-Kar Point.
Defining characteristic: Red marble of death.
Last Seen: Under my bed in Northern Virginia.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: Like an older sibling or capricious boss, Vul-Kar had the ability to ruin your good day with a single glance. A good synopsis of the game can be found here. As a jungle explorer, your mission was to capture the jewel at the top of the island and race to an escape boat. When a player rolled “one” with the dice or drew a “Fireball!” card, Vul-Kar got to do what he loved best — cause fourth-degree burns on your ass.

A player could use Vul-Kar’s fireball (really a red marble) to cap you anywhere — on the mountain, at the docks near the escape boat, on the rickety bridge that drops you into the water when it crumbles. Nobody was safe from Vul-Kar: not your friends, your brother or your parents.

How big a douche bag was Vul-Kar? If rolled a “one” and you were the only player in range of fireball, you were automatically hit with the fireball.

Man, even Democrats aren’t douche bag enough to fireball themselves.

Name: The goalie in every bubble hockey game ever.
First Seen: Whenever he was carved by the liquored-up Canadian who invented the game.
What is he? The goalie. Can’t you read?
Defining characteristic: Dominik Hasek-like blocking ability.
Last Seen: Waiting for your quarters in your local Days’ Inn game room.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: In terms of the sheer tonnage of glory, few events can rival a heated game of bubble hockey. The Winter Olympics, certainly. Perhaps Ten Cent Wing Night at Buffalo Wild Wings, but little else.

And the only thing that threatens bubble hockey glory more than a pocket full of Canadian quarters is the goalie. Bubble hockey is a game of intricate skill, impeccable timing and … oh, who am I kidding? Bubble hockey is a game of drunken idiots spinning the handles as fast as possible, sending the puck bouncing off the bubble like a hopped-up Robin Williams. It’s that damn goalie that kept you from scoring multiple goals and making your little brother cry.

Even when you tried skill, the goalie had you beat. When all stars aligned and the middle player ended up with the puck on stick. You slowly move forward hoping to juke and jive your past the goalie and then — bam! — your intricate shot bounced off the goalie. He was a brick wall.

Except when his skills failed you, of course — like when you scored that inevitable own goal and lost 1-0. Then your little brother went back to “Mommy and Me” swimming class and bragged about beating his older brother. Ass.

Name: Uatu, The Watcher.
First Seen: Fantastic Four (Vol. 1) #13.
What is he? An alien of unimaginable power that records history from his home on the Moon.
Defining characteristic: A big, bald head and detachedness from humanity.
Last Seen: Likely watching you in the shower.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: You know that friend who always manages to stand by and not help you move. Usual his excuse is he’s “busy” with the “family.” Well, Uatu is that guy, except replace “help you move” with “save your civilization from ultimate destruction.”

True, he warned the Fantastic Four that the appearance of the Silver Surfer heralded the coming of Galactus, the world-eater. And yes, he helped the Human Torch obtain the Ultimate Nullifier, the one weapon Galactus feared.

But what about when Thanos had the Infinity Gauntlet? Or when Professor Xavier merged with Magneto to form Onslaught? Or when Tony Stark morphed from alcoholic superhero into fascist asshole? Or any of the 4,561 times the Marvel Universe was threatened with utter destruction. And in how issues of What If? did he let alternate Marvel universes die?

I still feel guilty from years ago when, at a Buffalo Sabres game, I sat down and lowered my seat onto my friend’s leg, giving her quite the pinch. This guy watches the deaths of countless billions, then eats a sandwich.

Name: Col. Mustard.
First Seen: 1946, according to the Internets.
What is he? I’m guessing British.
Defining characteristic: Penchant for solving — and causing — murders.
Last Seen: With Miss Scarlet, in the Kitchen, with his pants around his ankles.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: He selects clothing based on the color implied by his name.
He’s spends his time solving murders he might be guilty of committing.
He wears a monocle.
’Nuff said.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: He murdered President Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. He’s kidnapped children and performed hideous medical experiments on his own son. He participated in a conspiracy to collude with aliens to infect the population of Earth with an alien virus.

Some crimes can be forgiven. Others can be explained. But one goes well beyond even the outer reaches of human decency.

In the fourth season episode “Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man” CSM chairs a Christmas Eve meeting of his henchmen and flunkies. As they go over the list of upcoming events to interfere with — an election in Bosnia, the Academy Awards — one event in particular draws his attention.

“What I don't want to see is the Bills winning the Super Bowl. As long as I'm alive, that doesn't happen,” he tells his underlings.

This douche bag is the reason Buffalo lost four straight Super Bowls. May rot in nicotine-stained Hell for all eternity.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: What does it say about the quality of The Phantom Menace that the race for “Most Offensive Character” is neck and neck like Bush/Gore? Hell, even those Trade Federation lizard guys play a Nader-like spoiler roll with their vague Asian stereotypes. But I think Watto pulls it out in the end with no need for judicial interference.

By my count, this refugee from A Bug’s Life could represent an offensive stereotype of four groups: Jews, Arabs, Frenchmen and Italians. I guess a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and a suicide bomb vest would be too obvious.

I bet some tools that defend Lucas would argue this was intentional. George is attempting to break down racial stereotypes! It’s the magic of myth! He’s a genius! Blah, blah, blah.

And why does he have chin stubble? They don’t have razors on Tatooine? I assume suicide implements would be a growth industry on that planet.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: India must be a nation of cheaters. That is the conclusion I arrive at after witnessing Great Tiger’s shenanigans. Exhibit A:

WTF? I’m not a boxing expert, but I’m pretty sure teleportation isn’t sanctioned by the WBC. Sure, Bald Bull is hopping around like a jackass, but he’s not shooting lasers out his butt or throwing hydrochloric acid. Why don’t we change the game’s name from Mike Tyson’s Punch Out to Mike Tyson’s Anything Fucking Goes. Even the real Tyson just bites people occasionally, he doesn’t hop on a Magic Carpet and use a compound bow. But apparently Great Tiger is better than the rules. And that is why I think India is full of cheaters.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: Let’s get this clear: you could never shoot the Dog. No matter how many times your older brother or your younger sister said so, it was not possible to shoot the Dog. We all had that urge. Watching his fat ass fly over the tall grass to flush out the ducks, how could you not want to nail him with the twelve-gauge?

I bet this game was single-handedly responsible for a dip in dog sales in this country in the mid-eighties. I don’t want some smart-ass bloodhound laughing at me in front of my friends because I fall off the monkey bars on the playground. I’ll leave Fido in his cage, thanks.

So thanks to this dog Snoopy and Clifford were put to sleep in the dog pound in 1987.

Evidence of Douche Baggery: Get your own goddamn hamburger! This isn’t Afghanistan! We have many, many sources of hamburger, you moon-faced ghoul! Look at him! If the dead were happy, they’d look like this tool. I have a suggestion for you. Instead of hitting Ronald on the head with a dandelion and stealing his Royale with Cheese, hit the minimum wage armored car guard on the head with a bat and steal some money! Buy a hamburger or twenty.

God, even Jared Leto and Marlon Wayans weren’t this dumb in Requiem for a Dream. I can see Hammy stumbling through South Central L.A. and stealing a half eaten burger from a Crips’ lawn. They sic their Pit Bull “Tiny” on Hammy. Early Sunday morning Ronald gets a phone call from the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department. The cops need him to come down and ID a body.

Questions? Comments? In the Library with the Revolver? E-mail me at mlucinski@yahoo.com.

Michael Lucinski lives, loves and works in the Washington, D.C. area. He’s a graduate of the University at Buffalo and the George Washington University. He might qualify as a douche bag.

And hey, check out some of my greatest hits:
Game 7 ecstasy and agony
A square peg in a round hole
Yo Joe? Hell no