The Love Song of The North American Douchebag


A Poem by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro


Read along to my Spoken Verse Performance!





Of the pilots who fly the friendly skies


Some are union members to the bone.


Of those, most don’t see the need to unionize


Any other vocation, outside their own.



That doesn’t sound much like ‘solidarity’,


So I pressed one for the reason why:


“Some folks might want to work for free.


And that’s bad for those who fly.”



“So your job is really all that grand?”


I asked, as if a fool, tongue in cheek.


Then he said:  “You might just understand,


If your job was cool, maybe even chic.”



That’s a douchebag, what a douche,


Though he'd be right to call me a hypocrite.


I’ve never paid a union due.


Yet my pay was high thanks to.


Having a union shop within clear view.


I was a freeloader, and now I'm full of it...too.





Private school parents, we know what you're about.


Why you prefer the private prep school.


You’re working hard to keep your kids out


Of the shallow end of the gene pool.



But it's grossly unfair to take a cheap shot


Like saying public schools are havens for meth.


Pusher's want the mad money your kid's got.


And cool drugs can just as easily cause death.



But hey, at least you haven’t exiled your kid


To a boarding school two time zones away.


Makes me wonder what the young un did,


To deserve being treated that way.



That’s a douchebag,  just a douche,


Though not child abuse, it's more like neglect.


Child raising’s like roulette.


Best to hedge your nature bet,


And purchase all the nurture you can get.


If you’re a douchebag.





To those who feel that ornamentation,


Can elevate one from the bourgeoisie.


That birthday was more like a coronation.


But wearing a Rolex confirms your vanity.



Oh, excuse me, I meant “self awareness.”


Men don’t like to be told that their vain.


But the money was spent, in all fairness,


Cause you’d rather be a peacock than be plain.



Once at a conference, a fellow salesman asked:


“How many Rolexes do we have at this table?”


As the arms came up, in smugness they basked.


As if assured they were nearly Clark Gable.



They were douchebags, there's no doubt,


Though later I cast all such feelings aside. 


After the meeting, at the Cabaret Royal, 


I had one hell of a time, with my new pals.


Oh, how that camaraderie did bring out,


The douchebag I'd kept hidden inside.





There’s a football team in TexasBehold, an article about the many time super bowl champion Dallas Cowboys by writer Gil LeBreton on the front page of the sports section of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram newspaper, September 4, 2013 edition.


Which they call the Dallas Cowboys


It’s owner’s pretty useless.


So’s the GM he employ’s.



The press say’s the team's just Romo


And his fifty-two useless friends.


I like to think that’s crap, although,


Check back when next season ends.



So long since the Super Bowl of ’96.


Hey, check out my Coach Landry tattoo.


Let's trade Tony for some high draft picks.


Or have our season redefine 'deja vu.'



I’m a douchebag, yeah a douche,


But don’t y’all expect an excuse.


I’m not into maintaining.


And to hell with entertaining,


But more than that, I just like complaining.


So yeah, I’m a major league douchebag.


The End


Copyright © Michael Kimbro 2013.  All rights reserved.



Tags and Keywords:  Poems about douchebags, Poems about Rolex watches, Poems about boarding schools, Poems about the air line pilots association, the alpa, allied pilots association, the apa, Dallas Cowboy poetry.