Douche Supreme


Ernie flicks me off. Doing the lousiest of Arnold Schwarzenegger impressions, he says, “Remember how I said I was going to find El Cassetto and use it to knock you up first?”

I frown. “Vaguely.”

“I lied. I’m going to knock up Darklord first.”

“Who or what is Darklord?”

“Online nemesis. Musclebound butt-muncher who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and who’s at Flaming Nightmare in Hella War, and who may quite possibly be behind El Cassetto.”

“How do you know that?”


“No, I mean the El Cassetto part.”

“It’s called sleuthing. Check out his profile.” Ernie grabs my phone without asking (why is everyone doing that tonight?) and opens a browser window, navigates to Darklord’s Hella War profile page. The user photo shows this shirtless, slender-but-also-enormously-pectoraled muscle dude wearing some kind of evil dungeon master helmet. “I chatted the loser up, and he basically confessed to making mixtapes and banging the Internet.”

“Wow,” I murmur. “It’s like he works his pecs and biceps and absolutely nothing else.”


Taking back my phone, I study Darklord’s profile for a moment. He seems oddly familiar—if only because he’s like the million other online bros who insist on baring rack in all their photos. “This is the guy you think is somehow behind El Cassetto?”

“Don’t let his rowdy tits fool you. If he’s smart enough to dupe me multiple times in Hella War, he’s smart enough to have wrought an evil fucking cassette tape from the bowels of hell.”

“He’s wearing a helmet, and has, like, no useful details in his bio.” Which is simply a random string of affirmations touting his supposedly superior physical and sexual abilities. “I bet that’s not even him. I bet he scraped the pic from some OnlyFans page.” I think of my recent dealings with Mimi-Siku. “It might not even be a dude, for all you know.”

Ernie gives me this look—like he hadn’t considered the possibility of deception until now.

“That is what the Internet’s for,” I continue. “Making stuff up and pretending it’s true.”

“Crap. You think so?”

“I know so. Don’t waste your time on this jerk.”

Ernie rubs his chins, gazes thoughtfully into space. “Damn. I had a whole theory and everything.”

Oh, God. “What theory?”

“This Darklord guy, whether or not he’s actually a hard-bod, he’s got to be needle-dicked and living in his parents’ basement, right? No friends, no girl, no action whatsoever. So, he created this mixtape to knock up all the women he wishes he’d slept with.”

“…and why?”

Duh. Why does anyone do anything?”

“More importantly, who answers a question with another question?”

Ernie rolls his eyes. “To get a higher score. That’s why. Whatever people do on God’s green Earth, it’s to get a higher score. It’s all about points, junior. Why do you think it’s called ‘scoring’ when you make it with a girl?”

I shrug. “I’ve honestly never thought about it before.”

“Because you’re plain yogurt. Now, pay attention. Everyone wants their score at the top of the deathboard of life. But what do criminals and creepers want more than just a high score? Notoriety. They want the world to know of their work, their wicked doings. A hint, a clue, a signature or outright manifesto. And here comes Darklord, a douche supreme who’s had so little success with the ladies in real life that he’s created a vehicle for his boner to express itself online—”

“In the form of an evil cassette tape that goes around knocking people up via SuperMegaNet,” I interrupt, finishing a sentence that should never, ever be finished.

Ernie scowls at me. “Don’t say it that way.”

“What, the real way?”

“Short stuff—”

“The ridiculous way?”

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El Cassetto: a SuperMegaNet novel by Jesse Gordon

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Dookie, a cheesy horror novel by Jesse Gordon

Published by

Jesse Gordon

Geek. Writer. Supreme overlord of the SUPERMEGANET pseudoverse. Author of THE OATMEAL MAN, DOOKIE, and other such wasteful nonsense.