Wednesday, February 21, 2007

I remember when; I remember when I lost my hate

...You purposely miss a senate vote on a pointless non binding resolution because you are running for president and are afraid to take a stance. You could be the suckiest sucker that ever sucked. Having a fucking backbone and take a position, but no you won’t, because you don’t have an opinion, you just say whatever people want to hear and the less of a record you have, the more hate for you I have.

...You are in a book store and set up camp to read a book on the floor. I love book stores, places you can go to browse the shelves, make yourself comfortable to read, do some research, oh wait, I have this confused with a library. When did it become acceptable to use a product as long as you are in the store? I’m going to start using toilet paper (scratch that, wet wipes), toothbrushes, razors, sneakers, and every other product I can imagine in the store without paying for it so then when I’m done, I can simply place the partially used product back on the shelf so some idiot can then buy it. Libraries, flea markets and hobo stands on the street are okay for this, bookstores are okay for hating you.

...You are using a discman. Wow, you’re really up on the cutting edge of technology aren’t you, maybe you can get the tape deck car adapter so you can listen to your cd’s in your ride. I have this new band you should check out when your running on that treadmill, they’re called Pearl Jam. Hey are you going to vote for Ross Perot next year? Can you believe Cheers got cancelled? At least there is this new show called Seinfeld, it’s pretty funny. Hey check the date on your swatch watch, have some self respect and have some hate.

...You are waiting to use a dryer in the laundry room, see that my clothes just finished then proceed to empty them into a basket. You know, I’m actually fine with this, but when you are taking my freshly clean clothes out of the dryer, can you at least keep my underwear from falling on the floor? How about when I show up and catch you emptying my clothes and say that’s mine, I’ll take care of it because you are throwing them on the floor, can you at least stop emptying my clothes? Maybe you can take a lesson from the nice person that folded my clothes in the other dryer or maybe I can just hate you.

...You make a comment in response to what someone said about 5 minutes after the person spoke. This is thinking before you speak taken too far. I’m sure if you are playing some kind of internal silence game to see who can not speak the longest, you or you. I really don’t want to think that it took you 5 minutes to answer “yeah” to the even more baffling question of “hot enough for ya”? oh yeah, you think of that yourself or did you hear it 37,000 times before, wonder what the fuck that means then decided to just give in and get hated.

...You call anything “extreme” or “Xtreme”. I’m sorry, but in no way can a snack chip be XTREEEEEMMMMMMEEEE. This is glutenous overuse of a bad slang word. Just because you slap the word extreme on a product, it doesn’t mean you automatically “connect” with a younger generation. You might as well have a car commercial with a group of yuppie late twenty somethings driving a mid size SUV to some sort of outdoor recreational activity with post grunge music playing and a tag line of “you work hard and you play harder”, can you please be more trite? How about this, I barely work, but I strongly hate.

...You meet me and a friend, then proceed to ask her ethnicity, ask if she speaks another language, what she does, where she lives, where she went to college and then look at me and give a half ass smile, then proceed to go about your business. Um, hi, I’m here too, I have an ethnicity, I have a job, I live somewhere, I went to college, I’m a person too goddammit. Ok, I really don’t want to have this conversation with you, I really don’t want you to have this conversation with my lady friend and I really want to hate you.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Gonna dress you up in my hate

...You say you gave it 110%. I would love for you to tell me how one would give more than 100%, I’m pretty familiar with the laws of physics and am pretty sure I am capable of rational thought, so this 110% confuses me. I know if something is complete, I’ll have 100%, that means the most that is physically possible, now, you are claiming to give (or request) more than is physically possible? Ok, I get your point, it’s exaggeration, it’s reminiscent of 70’s TV movie about a basketball team from the ghetto that against all odds managed to win states by giving 110% and giving hate to you.

...You ask me where I went to college or where I am from and then ask if I know John. Oh yeah out of 30,000 people I know this “John” what are the chances? Maybe 110%? Or maybe to be more in tune with your logic, the chances are negative 10%. How about we stop this charade and you admit that you have no personality and nothing to say, then I’ll just admit that I hate you.

...You serve coffee so hot that when it starts to leak out of your shit cup it singes my hand. Why did the golden arches get sued? Because they served fucking ridiculously hot coffee that actually causes 3rd degree burns, are you actually going to drink coffee that would put you in a hospital? Just fucking once I’d like to buy a coffee and be able to actually drink it right away without having to wait the obligatory 20 minute cooling off period and the obligatory hating period.

...You are guilty of blatant misuse of the urgent button on email. Let’s give an example of something urgent: Your house is on fire. That’s urgent. Now an email for which you have used the urgent button: Check out this picture of my cat looking cute. While extreme cases, you get the idea and you get the hate.

...You are under the impression that in order to give a good massage you must inflict some sort pain upon the recipient. I don’t know what kind of expert training you received, but bringing someone to the brink of tears is not my idea of relaxing. I don’t see why I’m sore after getting a massage, I don’t see why I need a massage to relax me from the massage I just had and I don’t see why I need to hate after getting a message.

...You are giving me a message and gossip with your cohort the whole time just laughing it up. So you think it’s funny that the round eye is a little hairy? I’m sorry, it’s au naturale you must understand that? My people come from colder climates, we have body hair, I’m not ashamed, I just get waxed, naired and lasered off on a virtual daily basis, much like me hating you on a daily basis.

...You need to “squeeze” by someone at a bar, let’s just say my girlfriend for arguments sake, and feel the need to put your busy hands on her back or her waist then stick your crotch out to try and rub up against her because that’s the closest thing you will get any action tonight, unless you count me hating you.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

The first hate is the deepest

...You are giving me change at a cash register and count out the money, but don’t actually count the money. Is this some sort of display to say hey, I know how to move money from one hand to the other, but what I can’t do is count. You see what you are supposed to be doing there is give me the coinage, add that to the price of the products I purchased, then count until you get to my hate.

...You came up with the name piggly wiggly for a supermarket. Of all the names and words that exist on this planet, you go and pick two made up words that sounds like some sort mud wrestling arena. Even worse, the stupid southern folk seem to shop there without thinking it’s a little ridiculous. Stop & shop, shoprite, these portray the image of standard food shopping, piggly wiggly portrays the image of hate.

...You ask me to lunch everyday and everyday I blow you off, yet you still ask me everyday. When I made plans with you the first 7,000 times and didn’t go, you should have gotten the hint. It’s as though you get off on disappointment. I don’t understand why you are so intent on having lunch with me in the first place, I’m mean to you, I’m rude to you and I hate you.

You call me to see if the person in the office next to me is in today, meanwhile you sit on the other side of me. It’s 11 AM you have walked by my office with your tie over the shoulder in preparation for the restroom at least 6 times already. While walking by my office, you can clearly see if my neighbor is in today just by looking up, but instead, you feel it is easier and more appropriate to just give a ringy dingy to ask me. When I don’t answer the phone, you leave a message with my secretary (who sits right outside my office) telling me to call you back. I call you back and you ask if so and so is in today. So you couldn’t walk 20 feet down the hall to see for yourself, you couldn’t look up on your way to bathroom, you couldn’t ask the secretary who has a clear view, you couldn’t fucking call the person yourself, but you could be hated.

You wait until someone flushes to let your dump out. I’m on to you compadre. I know your little game. You wait until someone else makes a flush then the fireworks begin. Face it, you’re a sloppy pooper and don’t deserve the privilege of pooping outside the home. In the rules of BMs, the participant is granted one courtesy flush during the initial evacuation or immediately thereafter. If the participant requires multiple flushes, he must return to his home quarters for proper evacuation and proper hate.

You are waiting to use the treadmill, a specific treadmill out of 30 even though others are open. While waiting you are doing 6 foot sprints as warm-ups in the little space right behind the treadmills. You actually get into a Carl Lewis stance all prepared for a 100m dash. You jump up as if to run, then stop half a second later because you only have 6 feet of room. After waiting for 15 minutes for that one particular treadmill, you get on the thing, run for 18 minutes at a snails pace, get off, leave the gym, call it a workout and call it a hate.

You are yet another person running for president. How many freaking people are going to enter this race? Every senator for some reason thinks the country cares about what they have to say. Face it, unless you are a white man that speaks with a southern accent, you can’t win. People in Iowa and NH pick our presidents, two of the whitest least diverse states in the union, hasn’t anyone figured that out yet? Farmers pick our presidents and we wonder why the current one is a cowboy and we wonder why we hate.

You are Sean Penn. You must be manic depressive. Can you play any role other than some chain smoking depressed guy that’s about die or whose wife just left him or died? Please stop and you pretentious fuckers that give good reviews to actors just because they play a depressed person need to cut that shit out. How about saying a non pretentious comedy is actually funny and actually worthy of recognition? It’s a lot harder to make people laugh than depressed, but it’s a lot easier to hate.