Monday, September 10, 2007

A hate in the hand is worth two in the bush

...You are suited up for the tour de france to cycling over the Brooklyn Bridge. You are such a douche. Not only are you over prepared to bike through a tourist trap, but you get pissed, some would say violent even, at those innocently biking over a leisurely pace. Of all the places and all the bridges in the city, you have to bike over this bridge on a beautiful holiday weekend? It’s like purposely set yourself up to piss yourself off and set yourself up to be hated.

...You use the word ‘bad’ to express that you think something is cool. Well holy shit, it looks like someone finally invented a time machine because it apparently must be 1985 again. Check out these new parachute pants, they’re so boss. You must be wearing the parachute pants with your member’s only jacket and a polo shrit with the collar turned up, if you’re feelin a little crazy, you can wear a head band, a tiger striped headband. When you wear these clothes, you’ll make sure they are all bright colors that don’t match and then you won’t just be bad, but you’ll also be hated.

...You stop and talk to someone in the cafeteria and keep them chatting for what seems like hours. Oh please go right ahead and interrupt my lunch with your nonsensical dribble about whether we should have 7 meetings about nothing or 8. Yes of course this is much more important than ensuring I am fed, because scheduling a pointless meeting is a much better contribution to my day and a much better contribution to my hate.

...You are a woman wearing a low cut top to display your hairy boobs. I know this sounds incredibly juvenile, to the point that one would question the very existence of said hairy boobs, but I shit you not. On a rather humid summer day, I was commuting home from the office via subway. I was standing, hanging on to the rail, when I looked down and witnessed one of the more frightening scenes I’ve seen all year. It was a fairly rotund middle aged woman, wearing what seemed like a V-neck shirt, however while seated it just appeared to be a large mess, but between those two mounds, was a hairy situation, literally. I’ve got a bit of the ‘ol chest hair myself, but this my friends was a woman, this my friends was substantially more than mine and this my friends, was hate.

...You are a cackling group of middle aged sheltered ignorant women that have never tried Thai food before except for one that had it once. You know this isn’t some novelty store where you can come in and look at vibrators and giggle to each other. This is where us hungry people like to get takeout and in order to eat we have to order and in order to order you have to move your fat asses away from the register. If I never encounter another group of large bottomed, lesbian hair-cutted, broadway show touring, fanny pack and acid wash jean wearing middle aged pseudo dyke women, it will be too soon. In the meantime I’ll have to settle for hating you.

...You have a striking resemblance to sloth from goonies and are lifting at the gym, when you see me laugh at something unrelated, you walk up to me, bump into me and say “outta my way FAGGOT”. Well excuse me shrek, you are grotesque, of course people are going to stare and snicker behind your back, that’s why you take steroids I get that. But listen, your repressed homoerotic fantasies should be made clear at the gym, you are so bustedly ugly that not one person would look at you in any way other than one of curiosity, the same way people paid to see the elephant man and the same way people come here to hate you.

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