In time, though, all douches will eventually feel the great pull of their kind toward their distant homeland. Popped collars will lose their appeal. “Brah” will be uttered less frequently and with greater longing. Beer, bad driving, and combinations thereof will lose their luster.

Those douches that feel the pull will be inexorable drawn to the far-off island of Novaya Düshensk. They depart there from the Green Cruise Terminal, bound for a land of eternal keg stands and uncrashable Land Rovers.

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