This is not The Haters Club You're Looking For discussion
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I Hate That I Can't Hate Anymore
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::perks up::: really? Awesome! I'm cured! :::does the Hatred dance:::
Seth totally wins at the ennui game. I have been trumped like mad!
:::sigh::: yes, I can imagine so. Luckily, at this point in my life, some of the more virulent portions of the need to be liked have fallen away. It's mostly just an annoying, cloying, tiny voice in the back of my head, rather than filling the entire cranial cavity with it's booming neurosis. I get more done now, that's for sure.
:::hands Donna a pair of Bratz doll shoes, which come with feet already in them::::
This is the thread that should be called “major league hating…” so much hate… so much beauty I feel like I can’t take it… Charissa, Seth… I bow in front of you 2 GODS of hate!
:::does the hokey pokey with Donna:::Oh Seth, dude.... the Bozo tree... oh I'm laughing so hard I can hardly type...
but yeah... papercuts... and the stains at the bottom of the sink... terrible, terrible.
(wonders how she went from being the cur of hatred to the god of it in so few posts... thinks the world is a very strange place indeed)
Thank god for books. They are the distilled best of humanity.
Charissa, I'm offended. I'm pretty sure I don't want to speak to you any longer. I mean, if you need to be liked, and are afraid of offending me, I must be one of those humans for whom you have little, if any, respect at all. Sniff. Sulk. Barely-concealed snicker. Okay, I couldn't keep that up long enough for anyone to even think of being convinced, could I?Seth, I'm pretty sure I had a nightmare tonight in which the bozo tree uprooted itself and chased me around. And then I woke up to find that I had never been asleep or dreaming. I hate it when I happily find the quietest possible bar on a friday evening, plunk myself down with a book and a nice, sturdy IPA, and then...ugh. I'm worried my self-esteem is irreparably damaged by being hit on relentlessly by the drunk, pathetic, balding, aging, pudgy, creepy dork who can't take a hint. Except it wasn't a hint, it was a --->HINT!!!<---. Repeated about 19057328975446027234 times, in 9^97539872 ways.
I shall enumerate (e-letterate?) the ickiness. a) "Are you married?" is not a pickup line. And it's an even less appealing way to try to get me to look up from my book. I'm not sure why I didn't respond with "uh...who the hell are you and why are you talking to me?" b) If you know you're 40, and think I'm 26 (I'm not anywhere near 26, but that was his guess), ew. Even if you weren't drunk-pathetic-balding-aging-pudgy-creepy, the sort of 40-year-old who's looking for a 26-year-old isn't worth my time. c) Talking yourself up only works when it's subtle. "I'm really smart...and I'm loaded!"...not subtle. And yes, you're loaded, but not in the way you meant. d) "Aren't I attractive enough for you?" will never, ever, get you a date. Not even if you were the only living human who could save the girl from an earth populated by eyeball-sucking zombies. I'll take the zombie, who has suddenly become much more attractive in comparison. e) The only relief of the night was that he never tried to shake my hand. You just know he'd have those somehow pudgy-yet-undersized-and-delicate, soft and mooshy, warm, moist hands that make me gag a little if I have to touch them. I'm cringeing right now just thinking about it. f) There's more. Lots more. But I just feel gross and have to take a shower now.
I'm pretty sure the prize fruit from the bozo tree got overripe and fell on my head tonight, splattering half-fermented moldy fruit goo all over me. Not only was it disgusting, but it's turned me off fruit for a long time thanks to the association with this incident and the smells that go with it.
I can only hope that someday I live up to the bozo tree expectations of my peers. }:-p
I have so many levels of hate I think I could spend an entire night typing it out… Hmm, I’m awake and everyone else is slobbering on their pillow. Perfect timing.My psychosis is somewhat fractured I think. There are little slivers that love people; are happy when some good fortune falls in someone’s hands, watching a child play with a puppy. You get the idea. Most of the time I have torrents of hate, like the underground river in Ghostbusters II, an endless river following the easiest path. The path is usually paved with morons. There seems to be an ever growing number of morons these days.
Wail carrying out my daily routine I encounter several situations where my mind starts plotting out an appropriate response to the situation. Then after the (PC) response is engaged I mentally travel to my little universe and the carnage begins. In a universe where I am; man, Emperor, God, morons have a vary short and painful existence.
I daydream of slinging smack addicts from the roof tops of skyscrapers, aiming at targets on the ground made from the piles of the previously discarded spikers. A few moments after their bodies reach terminal velocity they smack into the mounds of rotting human rot. Decaying limbs tear free from the previously deceased and flail through the air, in a cascade of filth and gore. I stand posed at the top of my tower of demise and watch as the tumbling bodies get smaller and smaller, with a smile growing larger and larger.
I daydream of gaining access to the secret lair of telemarketers. After quietly securing all exits, I would wander around this emporium of annoying fucks. Taking in all the memorized lines sprouted at annoyed people who are just trying to enjoy an evening with their family. Letting my rage grow with each disregard of decency. After a proper assessment of the extent of annoyance caused by these soulless bastards I would devise a series of painful life snuffing antics to free the world from these Meal wreckers, luv’ns interrupters, favorite show ruiners. They will pay, and it will be glorious. I think I would have to find their food preparation area first. Their ovens would be needed to char a few hundred bags of charcoal. With the coals cooking, I would simply walk out into the plain of annoyance and snatch the nearest bastard. Duct tape securely over mouth, I would roll their ass into the kitchen where said annoyer would learn the cost of his/her disregard of decency. I would take each arm and bend them to a 90 degree angle, drop a hot coal into the crook of the joint and secure their hands to their shoulder thus holding the smoldering hot coal in place as it burns threw their joint. This process would be repeated for each joint. And then repeated for each telemarketer.
OOp’s the rest of my hate will have to wait duty calls BBL
Fate of the Morons Continues:I would like to construct an ass slinger. (Medieval catapult) I would use this machine of mayhem to eject asses from my daily life. Probably aimed into the side of a mountain so I could have the satisfaction of watching their bodies crumple against the rocky terrain. Perhaps a few would survive the impact and I would gain an added bonus of listening to them scream as they were devoured by Grizzly bears.
On Display for your Satisfaction:
A few years ago and some change, I went home to Chicago to visit friends and family. On our way to the house of blues we over herd this women talking to her friends about “it won’t stop dripping” I automatically assume she is referring to a leaking faucet. My mistake, after further un-intentional ease dropping we hear her further explain (at a really inappropriate volume) that she thinks john/jimmy/Jason has giving her the un-curable crud. My stomach dropped, this woman is walking down a crowded street talking about her vaginal drip as if she were in the privacy of her own home. To top it all off she was wearing this “I’m an uber slut fuck me skirt” and thigh high latex boots. I know guys it sounds sexy, until one notices the pale creamy substance (at this time I can only assume is the “drip”) running down the inside of said boots. What to do what to do. I think this particular disgusting moron needs my special attention.
I daydream of her splayed out on an old school torture rack. Arms and legs secure. For my own safety (even in the safety of my own universe) I am wearing a full surgical get up. After removing her hoe wear, one would notice I am holding a pair of BBQ tongs in one hand and a S.O.S. brillo pad in the other. Spread eagle this women is about to lose her ailing body part for good, I intend to scrub her until I reach un-diseased flesh. I assume she would probably die long before that happened. To bad for her in my world there is no surplus of pain medications that can be spared for vile creatures such as her. She will just have to tough it out and hope for the best. which honestly isn’t much.
Donna, you have hit on one of my pet hates. People who answer the phone whenever, wherever, no matter what they're doing. You there--you're in traffic. If you can't stay in your lane, put down the damn phone. And you--YOU came to see ME. You wanted to talk about what to do about a child who's breaking windows/kicking other kids/running away. Do not answer that call from your cousin, even to tell her you can't talk right now, you're at the therapist's. Do you do that at the dentist? "Aiyy ayn't alk aight ow, I'yy eh-ing a iyying!" And you, the ex-boyfriend who was busy having conversations by text message during our frickin' anniversary dinner, I hope you get the incurable crud. And it won't stop dripping.
It's not so much that I need to answer the phone. It's that I get tiered of listning to it ring.
....ah noigandres. After two days I still want to know: why does the ::angry dance:: have to be the hokey-pokey? You two should be headbanging. or moshing.
immediately clicks to check Seth's To-Read and Currently Reading selectionsHey, you're right! Hmmm, I think I'll go clean out my To-Read shelf. It's pretty dusty...
Not so hatey tonight. Too tired. Can't comment intelligbly on the smart groups, either. Hate that, want to be smart always!!!
Donald, thank you for making me laugh!I hate that I'm staying in tonight because going out last night was so icky. I hate that I don't have a date for tomorrow night, when I'm going out to a show and my ex will be there. I hate even more that that bothers me.
But after last night, I feel like karma owes me, and maybe I'll meet someone worthwhile at the show tomorrow, solving all these problems in one fell swoop! (Whaddaya think the chance is of that?)
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I hate that I am plagued by the pathetic need to be liked by other humans. Even humans for whom I have very little, if any respect at all. I blame my grandmother, who never said anything offensive to anyone ever. It is the curse of white women everywhere. We're like an entire nation of mealy-mouthed, pandering, simpering Melanies from Gone With the Wind. Even Scarlett, in the end, was painted the cold, heartless trollop who lost everything she truly loved. When will we all stop holding up this vision of the Virgin Mary to ourselves as the ultimate role model?
I am a hollow shell of a hater. I am not even a lover. I'm just a coward, quaking in the shadow of politeness. Kill me now. I'm not worthy of this club. I'm not worthy of the text I type.
I am... mediocrity itself.