Posts Tagged ‘Hatred’

People I Hate #134 (In A Series)

May 19, 2017

Who: The guy who called me “Boss Man” at the convenience store.

Why: He didn’t know me. He didn’t even work there. He was just some schlub who couldn’t be bothered to walk around me but saw fit to brush right past me like I was in his way and make it good with a noncommittal, “’Scuse me, Boss Man.”

How I justify it: I don’t even know what the hell that means?! It’s not like there’s anything about me that suggests I’m in charge of anything or screams, “Hey, plebes, I am the one percent! Bow down!” So when this jerk breezed by and drawled “’Scuse me, Boss Man” in such a dismissive way I just had a visceral reaction.  I literally saw red and wanted to lodge the nearest can of Quaker State into the least convenient orifice on this redneck doofus.

Not proud of it but there it is.

People I Hate #781 (In A Series)

January 31, 2017

Who: The guy whistling in the men’s room

Why I Hate Him: He’s whistling in the men’s room!

How I justify it: There’s supposed to be a code, okay. It’s the men’s room – you have one item of business to attend to (okay, technically, one of two). You get in, you get out, no eye contact, no small talk – perhaps a congenial nod or howdy if you pass a co-worker but otherwise it’s a place sans communication, vocalization and jubilation. THERE’S NO WHISTLING! That’s just creepy and off-putting and it makes me clench up mid-stream … so … so knock it off, ya screwball!

People I Hate #9 (In A Series)

October 18, 2016

Who: Country Music Artist, Trace Adkins. 

Why I Hate Him: Man, I just wanna punch him in the face. Hard. Of course, I feel that way about most macho, posturing, a-swaggerin’, America-love-it-or-leave-it, Ford-truck-man country singers, but – boy howdy – there’s just something about that smug cowboy-hatted … gah, I can barely type with clenched fists!

How I justify it: Not that I need a reason, but Honky Tonk Badonkadonk should suffice as a defensible motive in a court of law.

People I Hate #118 (In A Series)

August 29, 2016

Who: The chick perched on her boyfriend’s shoulders at an outdoor rock concert.

Why: She’s drunk, probably high, and she wants to be the center of attention by straddling her boyfriend’s bony shoulders and screaming at the top of her lungs as if she were leading Pickett’s Charge up Cemetery Ridge. She’s blocking the view of everyone behind her and not because hers is necessarily better on top of ole dopey. She’s just so self-centered and shallow that she thinks it’s all about her and by playing piggyback in a throng of thousands she feels she’s adding to the festival atmosphere rather than detracting from it like a dead daddy’s love child at a family reunion. But, hey, just chalk it up to another one of her marvelous life choices – like hooking up with the high school dropout X Games wannabe beneath her rockin’ booty who’s hootin’ and hollerin’ right along with “his old lady” – or like flashing her boobs in hopes she’ll get a backstage invite.

How I justify it: She’s sad. She’s pathetic. She’s a ridiculous gyrating hippie throwback who makes me want to puke. Plus, she’s my mom.

People I Hate #78 (In A Series)

June 21, 2016

Who: The douchebag who wears a hoodie while playing in major poker tournaments on basic cable.

Why: He sits there, checking his cards and not making eye contact, hunched over like a petulant teen at a family gathering. He plasters a disaffected frown across his face like it’s body armor. His insolence is palpable and his unsociable demeanor makes you want to smack him.

How I justify it: HE made the decision to play poker on national TV! No one dragged him out of his bed and forced him to do it at gunpoint! So can the attitude, you smug, churlish bastard, and play some Texas Hold ‘Em!

People I Hate #31 (In A Series)

May 13, 2016

Who: The guy at work with a “Kill Your TV” bumper sticker on his car 

Why I Hate Him: We work at a freakin’ TV STATION!! Besides, I have a general distaste for the type of pretentious d-bag who thinks it’s intellectual to not watch TV and to boast about it to those who do. Sure, a lot of television is crap. But as broadcast pioneer Edward R. Murrow once said, “This instrument can teach, it can illuminate, yes, and even it can inspire; but it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise, it’s nothing but wires and lights in a box.” To consider a tool useless because most people use it as a blunt instrument – and for no other reason than to feel superior – is as unevolved as the amino acids created in the Miller-Urey experiment of 1953. And, FYI, I learned about THAT from television!

How I justify it: I don’t need to. This one’s a gimme. In fact, everyone should hate this bozo. Join me! My hatred is pure, sublime. Come over to the dark side with me..

People I Hate (#53 in a series)

April 24, 2016

Who: The picky kid who makes a “suicide.”

Why I Hate: He stands there at the soda fountain, spying all the possible options – caffeine-free, diet, off brand, raspberry, ginger ale – and wondering exactly what to put in his “suicide” mixture. He starts off, maybe, with a little Coca-Cola and then adds some Orange drink like Fanta or Sunkist. But what next? His tiny mind is reeling with possibilities, so he takes a stab at some other cola. Nope, false start. How about Coke Zero? Wait – isn’t that diet? Oh, yeah … Dr. Pepper! That rules. A little of that definitely.

And so it goes, on and on, a 32 ounce cup filled 3 ounces at a time with healthy pauses in between while he utilizes his still-developing cerebellum to make a bloody decision. And he thinks this ridiculous concoction (which he believes he’s the first person to discover) has a magic formula that if he can somehow just happen upon by trial and error his taste buds will achieve soda nirvana. But he’s mistaken. Normally, a soda “suicide” tastes like ass; at best, some crappy store brand. So what’s the point of making one besides silly childhood experimentation that could easily be accomplished by simply hitting each soda in turn, an act that takes 15 seconds tops!

How I Justify It: His indecision might be cute and adorable if he weren’t taking an unnecessarily long time to do a relatively simple task in a busy convenience store or restaurant, while the entire time I’M STANDING RIGHT BEHIND HIM WAITING MY TURN!!!! Move it along, you little snot. It’s only soda!

Pitch, Please

February 22, 2016

I don’t know for a fact. I mean, I can’t say with 100% certainty. It’s like how you may have never actually eaten head cheese but you can tell just by looking at it that it is the most unappetizing offal you will never put in your mouth. Still, you’ve never tried it so you can’t honestly say but somehow, based on experience and gut reaction, you just know you will hate it.

All that’s to say I just saw an ad for what appears to be a evening of a capella music and it occurs to me that I don’t think there exists a more precise embodiment of what I would consider hell on earth than this nauseatingly upbeat Up With People hipster crap.

Vocalosity: February 26

Of course, I haven’t seen it. Still. I just know I’ll hate it.

People I Hate #221 (In A Series)

January 19, 2016

Who: The guy who fills up his cup at the convenience store soda fountain, drinks half of it and refills it before paying.

Why: He takes the cup and loads it with his soft drink of choice. Then, there’s this slight shifty-eyed glance around to see if he’s being watched and –bang – he downs a large portion of the pop and places the cup back under the spout to fill it once more. That’s when he makes his way to the register to pay.

How I justify it: He acts like he’s tasting it to see if the convenience store dispensed liquid meets his delicate sensibilities and satisfies his gourmand-like taste buds but we all know THE SUMBITCH IS STEALING!

People I Hate #714 (In A Series)

December 29, 2015

Who: The guy who jogs in the street when there’s a sidewalk.

Why: He’s out for a run – probably shirtless and wearing a Fitbit, so I already dislike the guy – but he’s not running on the sidewalk. Why not? The sidewalk is right there. He can’t miss it, can he? I mean, it runs parallel to the bloody street! But no, he eschews the sidewalk for its unevenness, its texture, its elevation, who the hell knows? All I can see is he’s running in the damn street when there’s a perfectly good sidewalk ten feet away.

How I justify it: He’s a douchebag nuisance who believes his desire for fitness supersedes traffic and pedestrian safety. Moreover, he deserves to have the imprint of my Camry’s front grill tattooed on his ass.