Douchebag Of The Week - Col. Mustard

It's Wednesday, so that means it's time for everyone's favorite segment, "Douchebag of the Week." As the title would imply, we will find one relatively famous and generally well-liked individual from the entertainment, media, sports or political arenas and drag them down to our level of douchebaggery, where they undoubtedly belong.



So, down to brass tacks. Fuck you, Colonel Mustard. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Let's face the hard facts here, Colonel: The Civil War is over, and you fucking lost. End of story. Pushing aside the obvious fact that you're a cold-blooded murderer (in the library, with the candlestick no less), you're a tobacco plantation owner, and that's just downright wrong. The practice of sharecropping is little more than modern feudalism, and as you sit in the shade of your cypress trees sipping your mint julep, about fifty of my ancestors are looming behind you, sharpening their pitchforks, waiting to gorge your fat aristocratic ass at the drop of a hat. Why don't you go out in the fields for a change, you cracker-ass hatemonger? And shave your mutton chops too, this isn't a Martin Van Buren lookalike contest. The monocle? It's fucking lame. Only Mr. Peanut and The Monopoly Guy can pull that shit off, so find a hole somewhere and fucking bury it. Just about the only cool thing you've ever done is rail the shit out of Miss Scarlet's fine ass, but so has everyone else east of the Mississippi. And you know what else? Clue sucked ass, I always cheated, and no one saw that shitty movie. Case closed, Colonel.