Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Dude looks like a hate

...You wait for a subway car to empty, then you consciously move to stand right in front of the door before people get on. You are certainly up to some tom foolery here. You make everyone think you’re actually getting off the subway, but instead, you pull the wool over our eyes and stop right in your tracks which happens to be right in the tracks of everyone else so now we have to huff at your annoyingness instead of telling you out loud that we hate you.

...You are a chick in porn and are wearing nicotine patches. Not to say I regularly watch porn, but I were to see such an instance well then I must say, there is nothing sexier than a woman with a couple of nicotine patches. Oh wait, there is one thing sexier, and that’s a woman wearing a couple of nicotine patches, PLUS having tan lines where former patches once resided. I thought skinamax had a little more class than this for their soft core. Yes, I should be hating myself for watching soft core, but instead I’m hating you.

...You are a damn fly that flies around my head so I wave my arms trying to get it out of the way at which point I look insane. You only show your face when in public places, such as a park, on the street, the beach or on occasion while driving. You are wily adversary escaping nature’s fly swatter and all the while creating the illusion to onlookers that insanity is present and hatred is you.

...You wear gloves while lifting at the gym. I must be looking at magnus sir magnussan von magnusville. I swear I saw you on the world’s strongest man competition, you were the most gentlemanly of all competitors, after lifting a 500 pound boulder your hands were still as smooth as silk, oh wait, I’m confusing you with someone that actually needs gloves, not you that only lifts on machines, machines that have a spongy grip texture to protect and machines that have me to hate you.

...You are working furiously on your novel and/or screen play while at starbucks or any other coffee shop. We get it, you’re an “artiste” we understand. I think that was trendy circa 93. You know you get your extra large mocha cocoa latte frapalingo, you wear thick frame glasses and you sit with a scarf in the middle of July to open your macbook, and then only use Microsoft word to type these three words of your screenplay: I am hated.

...You buy a mac computer. I know the deal, you think you’re making a statement about yourself, you’re not a part of corporate America, you’re an individual, a person that makes up his own mind without “the man” trying to tell him what to do. Then you walk down to your starbucks which has become so corporate that’s it’s okay to go there again because that makes it ironic, then you sit with all your other macbook using friends while you attempt to act bohemian but instead only act hated.

...You are a street rapper. I don’t mean a person that raps on the street as a talent, I mean the guy that may or may not be wearing headphones that walks down the street at an angry pace, droppin some lyrics on anyone within ear shot. I know you’ve experience the 5’9” man wearing a XXXXXXXL T-shirt with some sort of red hat that is lookin pretty hardcore and uses the N word no less than 14 times as you pass and as you hate.


Jessica said...

I hate you if you have the worst highlight job ever on the planet... seriously stripes.. leathery overtanned skin, yeast infection causing tight jeans on, a voice like Bart Simpsons aunts, and cut hair in queens. THEN you have the nerve to say something about my previous haircut that you are trimming.

Doofi said...

I hate you if you think you can trust a leather skinned washed up old cougar to cut your hair and not expect to be both insulted and made to look like a younger, less skin cancered version of the alleged "stylist". You should know better than this, regardless of the seeming simplicity of said haircut, Aunt Selma can not be trusted, she can only be hated.