Monday, July 30, 2007

I'm starting with the hate in the mirror

...You are the IT guy with steakhead size muscles and tiny little ballerina legs. I think you’ve lifted a bit more than one too many computers in your day. How can I tell? Well how about the shirt that’s 2 sizes too small or maybe your happy hour spandex white T that you change into before leaving the office every Friday? It’s like you’re trying to be superman, except instead of the S for Super, you wear and H for Hated.

...You tell me how great Miami is everytime I see you. As if it wasn’t bad enough for the senses to see you in the super white spandex T, I have to also hear you? Just because I have an Italian last name, it doesn’t mean I want to hit up the clubby clubs in South Beach. Not everyone likes that and something tells me, not everyone likes you. As a social experiment, I’d love to learn how this goes down, at what point to you tell women that you’re the IT guy? Oh right, there are no women, there’s only hate.

...You are an exact clone of Napolean Dynomite’s brother and are eating in my work cafeteria. I realize the need to employee the nerdery, but this is just out of control. I don’t care that you’re some kind of number genius freak, there is no excuse for such dress, but this goes beyond the simple look, I mean the acne is down to a T, the voice, identical, the little 13 year old moustache, unreal, and most importantly let us not forget the most uncanny resemblance of my hate.

...You insist on the playing the “guess the Asian” game whenever you encounter an Asian woman. You see, if you are Asian (if not just observe), go to your local dry cleaner, corner market, Chinese takeout, or Chinatown (and for the record yes, that’s racist, I get that, but play along) and let the games begin. It starts with a curious stare and then a double take, then it eases into outright uncomfortable. You might smile or otherwise make the store owner aware of the staring. The store owner will shy away, then talk to some coworkers in his or her native tongue all the while keeping an on you to see if you understand, you give them no satisfaction, they figure you for full on American. Then you conduct your business amidst the uncomfortableness, and you stump them by saying thank you in their native language. The reaction is one of shock, the employees that have all since gathered round the register to have a closer look for themselves are now giving each other nods of agreement that they were right, you must be Chinese, the store owner asks, are you Chinese? No, Korean? No, Vietnamese? No Philipino? No, what are you then, you tell them you are actually .00001% Chinese they all smile and laugh in affirmation that they did in reality guess correctly, then you explain the rest of your ethnicity is hater of you.

...You are my cleaning lady. I know you stole my gym membership ID, it had to be you. I do not lose things, they are only stolen because I know exactly where everything goes at all times, I have a constant running tally in my brain. I can see it now, the cleaning lady at the gym, on the treadmill wearing a costume to pose as me. I know, it’s a crazy thought to think a little old eastern European immigrant would be up to such shenanigans but it’s true. I can just see her now at my gym, wearing my gym clothes (btw I’m missing a pair of shorts…), wearing a white headband, my old sneakers that she found in the trash, a wig and a lot of hate.

...You see me carrying large bags and boxes unable to actually swipe my work ID to get in and instead of hold the door for me, you make a point of closing it behind yourself. You know I work here, you see me almost everyday. I hate to tell you that there is no secret about the business being conducted here, there’s no reason to not let me in. This is really akin to the full cavity search of 80 year olds at the airport, that’s no exaggeration. It’s also akin to me hating you.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Crouching Tiger Hidden Hate

...You have what appears to be taps in your shoes and just tap tap tap your way around the office. Damn what is that infernal racket? It is driving me insane. A tap to the left, a tap to the right, up the hallway, down the hallway, please remove those shoes immediately. I go home at night and try to fall asleep and what do I hear? Tap tap tap tap tap tap, then I wake up and I hate hate hate hate hate.

...You ask me to send you something again in email after I have already sent it to you. I don’t care if it was 3 years ago, why don’t you have it still? Why are you deleting emails? Oh I know why, because you think that actually deletes them, cute kid. Oh you also print out every single email and keep it in an archive of the binder variety? Great use of resources, great use of your time, great use of paper and a great use for hate.

...You send me an email saying “you’re welcome”. Well for that, I take back my sincere thank you and will replace that with my sarcastic thank you. Thank you for replying to my email with absolutely no substance or purpose. Thank you for wasting 11.3 seconds of my life which included opening an email, determining the pointlessness and hating you.

...You say you live on the upper west side, then say your apartment is on 109th street. Upper West Side? That’s fucking Harlem and you know it. I don’t care how close it is to Columbia, it doesn’t make you bohemian, it may make you a little dangerous, but it most certainly makes you hated.

...You quit your job and then send a farewell to the entire company or department. Are you sure this wasn’t a forced resignation? If you can’t tell when it’s appropriate to send an email to the entire company or not, well maybe it IS time for you to move on. Not to mention I have to read how it fills you with great sadness and much regret to leave for a better opportunity. Are you really that sad about it? Maybe you should have thought twice about the interviewing process and the whole getting hated process.

...You have a boat, and every weekend you go out on that boat, you laugh and laugh and have a grand ‘ol time. You then return home Sunday night and tell your roommate what a wonderful time you had on that boat, how it was so sunny, the water was perfect, the beer flowed like wine…the weekend the same, the next weekend – the same, all the while never extending the invite to the poor roommate so I’m having to extend the hate.

...You are a coworker and feel the need to detail your personal sex life, or lack thereof, to me on a regular basis. This goes beyond TMI (to much information) this extends to out right repulsive. I vomit at the notion of you involved in any sort of sexual relations, the mere thought of it makes me want to run and join a monastery for a life of celibacy so I never have to envision the thought of you having sex and me hating.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Bend it like Hate

...You are going for a bike ride and decide you need to dress yourself in full on tour de France attire. I know how important it is to shave off 3 seconds from your time riding alongside the Hudson. This is intense competition, I know. I mean I’m riding in flip flops and moving faster than you, so thank god you are in spandex and a faux yellow jersey. The ram horn handle bars and the aerodynamic alien helmet are nice touch as well, now you really look like a professional. With all that the gear, the only thing I’ve can tell is that you make too much money and you make too much hate.

...You are out for a run and are wearing paper thin short shorts that reveal your balls with every stride. I didn’t know Carl Lewis came out of retirement, I mean that has to be the only reason you are wearing those clothes. Face it, you are an amateur, I am passing by you and that doesn’t say much. I can only hope those are relics from actual competitions, but even so, you have no business wearing them on an afternoon jog. This is not a road race, it’s not even a road, it’s only a hate.

...You head out to the courts to shoot some hoop and come decked out in your latest Lebron sneakers, full on San Antonio Spurs uniform, head band, wrist bands and even the nylon stockings a la Allen Iverson. You then go to take a lay up and miss, everyone figures this is a fluke, but then you proceed to hog the ball for 3 hours straight not making one shot and only making hate.

...You are playing a pick up roller hockey game and flip out when someone isn’t showing enough effort. You should be lucky enough to have found 9 other fat middle age men that think they’re 20 to play with you. Isn’t hockey supposed to be a tough workout? Give the beast a chance, he’s 50 lbs overweight, he needs a breather for a smoke and a big mac, then he get right back to hitting a ball into a garbage can and I can get right back to hating you.

...You are playing on your company’s softball team and don’t seem to quite understand the term recreational. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the minor leagues are not calling, you’ll never get a shot at the show, sorry to tell you. If the hot chick from the office is playing in the outfield, she can miss every single ball as long as its not yours. No one is looking for Derek Jeter out there to give the two out sign to the field, we get it, actually we don’t care, just pass another Bud heavy and I’ll pass you some hate.

...You are in the park showing off your "mad" soccer skills. Wow, look at that, that euro trash guy is showing off with some sort of fancy looking basketball. You get it? No one gives a shit that you can bounce a ball with your foot; most people don’t even know how to spell soccer. The only thing you’re doing is annoying anyone in any sort of distance within your reach, because we all have to keep an eye on you, not because of your skills, but to make sure we don’t get hit with the ball and to ensure we can hate proper.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Five Alarm Hate

...You assume that if anything happens in NY it must be the terrorists. So we all know that nothing has been done to stop the terrorists, but accidents are going to happen, 100 year old pipes will sometimes burst, sometimes the gas is left on, once in a while propeller planes crash and everyday I hate.

...You see a freak accident in the street and the first thing you do is reach for your cell phone. Oh you better get that on camera, get your 12 second clip that shows nothing but a blur, then post it on youtube. Thank god every single person has this technology, I don’t know how we would get by without useless blogs of nothingness, less than amateur quality video and an endless supply of hate.

...You see steam, smoke and fire bursting from the ground and relentlessly try to get a closer look. I think more people were injured by other people trying to get a closer look at the injured people. Why don’t we all have ourselves a nice look at the disaster, try to find people we know and then we can all be properly hated.

...You are reporting on some sort of tragedy and in your little info area on the TV screen you write “no deaths reported yet”. YET? It’s like a game, what kind of death toll are we getting on this one. How many can you count? I see one…two…thr- no that person is still alive, come on, where’s three, where’s three? Where’s you and where’s hate?

...You call people to ask if they are okay after a very localized tragedy that you know has not affected the person you know. Yes we all want to feel like we are close to the action, but seriously, this is just annoying. Hey, I just heard there is a forest fire in California, everything okay over there in New York? What? While I am clearly exaggerating my point, you know I don’t live anywhere near it, I don’t work anywhere near it, so please let me get on with my hating of you.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Ooooo Baby I hate your way, everyday

...You call me to come into your office, I come in and sit down, the moment I sit down, you pick up the phone to call someone. You know, I get it, you’re important, you make a lot more money than me, that’s okay, because you’re 60. Ha ha let’s make the young guy be my little bitch. Oh hey, I see how this works you need something, I go to you, then its nevermind go back to your desk, then you call me again to come to your office only to make me sit there for an hour while you send emails and while I hate you.

...You are the advertising department for Lipitor. I understand Richard Jarvic is a genius and all, but he really belongs on dateline. Does this guy even know how to blink? The stoic stare into the camera is one of molesters, not scientists. Not to mention they only show his commercials during dateline, it’s NBC’s little joke. This is a creepy creepy man, I’m not taking health advice from him, so put him back behind the microscope and let the normal non molesters get hated.

...You send me an email full of garbage and end it with “I hope this clears up all your questions”. If by clear up you mean not even sure this is a written language let alone English, then yes it is perfectly clear. I can appreciate that you think in retard, but when it comes time to communicate your thoughts, you must, you absolutely must translate into something that anyone with an IQ over 70 can understand so that anyone with an IQ over 70 doesn’t have to hate you.

...You compliment my girlfriend on her dress and how great she looks, then turn to me and say, wow, good for you, nice job. Ok so you are telling me that I’m some sort of horrible monster and that she’s way to hot for me. While she is much hotter than I, give a man some credit here, I’m not quasimoto, I’m a fairly attractive individual and I have do have a decent track record of hating you.

...You are a guest speaker at a conference and when discussing your background, you just happen to mention that your kids go to prep school. But not just any prep school, a very very expensive prep school, but you don’t stop there, you also manage to bring up that you have 3 BMWs, your last vacation was to the Maldives, you have a Spanish speaking gardener and a very small penis. What the fuck are you insecure about that you have to brag about your alleged fortunes to a bunch of twentysomething kids that will never see you again in their lives? We get it, by the time you’ve reached 50 or 60, you’ve managed to make some cash, but you’ve also managed to make a lot of hate.

...You are bald on the top of your head, yet you still choose to have a mullet in the back. Some might call this a skullet. I know it must be hard to let the dream die, the dream of having a full head of hair. It’s tough to watch your youth literally go down the drain, but face the facts mandingo, you are bald, just shave it off for if you don’t you will be destined to a life of pool hall cougars with a deeper voice than you and a deeper hate for you.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

How to succeed in hate without really trying

...You call me from the waiting room at a doctor’s office while I’m reading a magazine to wait in the doctor’s office for another 20 minutes. Lady, you’ve become my arch nemesis, I’m trying to read up on whether or not Tomkat is having another kid, this is important business here. The stuff that matters in life is looking at pictures of semi famous women’s stomachs to see if there is any kind of bulge, then I can go write articles and have television shows where we all try to determine if she’s pregnant, fat or just simply hated.

...You tell someone, hey you look different. So what, I either got fat, shaved my head or had some kind of terrible accident that mangled my face, thanks for pointing that out. I know I look different, I don’t need to be reminded in some snide tone from someone that naturally looks as though she had some terrible accident that mangled her face and turned into my hate.

...You are a bum that lies beneath a pile of garbage bags, that uses the same plastic as a bed sheet and then leaves his hand sticking out from under the pile. So I’m not sure if someone was murdered and thrown in the trash, someone’s hand was sliced off or what’s going on. All I know is that really freaks me out every time I walk by you and every time your hand is in the trash and in my hate.

...You are a bum that whistles at the pretty girls. Whistling at the girls in general is pretty pointless, but when you do it, it goes beyond creepy. The man with 2 different shoes, 1 tooth that smells like 3 week old sushi thinks he has a chance with this chick? I must be in bizarro New York because I just don’t see the logic here. I mean sure, you stare, you can gape, you make some sort of creepy growl that only a predator could, but whistling? That’s saying hey hot lady, look at me, then she looks, she sees the grotesqueness and then hates you.

...You make comments on the elevator such as, she was so hot, but so young, I should be arrested. Um, perhaps you didn’t notice, but I don’t know you. How do you know I’m not affiliated with Chris Hansen from Dateline? There’s a couple of things you don’t joke about, and this is certainly one of those things. There are laws in place because of people like you and hate in place because of people like you.

...You give a long laborious thank you to god on your acceptance speech for an award. Yes we get it, you’re religious, you pray and that is exactly why god gave you and only you the strength to win, as opposed to all the other people in the running that also prayed. What was it about you’re prayer that was so convincing? Perhaps someone is feeling sorry for you for being so hated.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Still hating after all these years

...You refer to your blackberry, as your crackberry. You’re a regular Jerry Seinfeld aren’t you? Where do you find the time to sleep, I mean staying up all hours of the night to write such material. If you are going to be saying such clich├ęd overused garble, you’re better off not speaking at all. In fact, you must raise your hand to speak from now on and raise your hand to be hated.

...You are any one of the 7 people walking horizontally on the sidewalk, thereby encompassing the entire sidewalk, east to west. Holy shit, the coup de grace of hate, 7 people standing next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, barreling down the sidewalk, not moving for any of the oncoming traffic, periodically slowing to a crawl to thoroughly enrage the people behind. This, my haters, is it, this is my thesis, the source of all that is hated, you.

...You tell me you are going to miss my 30th birthday. Yeah don’t worry, you can come to my next 30th birthday party, no problem. So for the past two years while I’ve been going to everyone else’s parties, putting up their bullshit to create grassroots support for my own, when it comes time to pay the piper, you’re suddenly too important to make a little time for dear ol me, and dear ol hate.

...You ask me what it feels like to be 30. Well seeing as you’re 32, why don’t you tell me what it feels like to be 30, I really wouldn’t know seeing as this is day 1. apparently everyone else on the planet gets a visit from the aging ferry, because one year to the next doesn’t make me feel any different, it only makes me feel hate for you.

...You speak “urban” when around minority friends and speak proper around white people. I be talkin bout chu Alicia Keyes, I know you moms be white, you was excepted to Columbia. You’re an educated individual, please do us all the favor and act like it outside of your Today show appearances and outside of my hate.

...You have flowers or pink background set to your work email. Nothing screams professionalism with a flower arrangement as the background for all your emails. Not to mention when I hit reply, I’m now stuck with pink flowers for my background and for whatever reason, what’s with the automatic triple spacing between lines, who types like this? You must be legally blind because no one needs to have automatic font of 72 with triple spacing, but you definitely need some hate.

...You come into my office first thing in the morning after I’ve been out for a week and sit down to discuss work. Listen guy, I’ve been for a week, I’m supposed to come into the office, drink my coffee and read on the internet all morning, well actually that’s every morning, but still you see the picture here? I have zero desire to be in work right now, zero desire to look at you right now and zero desire to not hate you right now.