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hello h8rs

No matter who you are, where you’re from, what your race, religion, and politics are, some petty little moron is going to find some way to hate you.

Maybe your house is too big, your eyes to blue, the bumper sticker on your 4×4 too offensive. Your church too fancy, or your friends too loud. You can’t please everyone, don’t try. As ironic as it sounds, it really hurts more to be disliked when you’re actually trying to please the crowd, then be hated for being yourself, screw the sensitivity. If you’re being yourself and someone is offended by your higher/lower standards, that’s too bad, they can always leave [that said, if you live with a roommate, you might want to consider taking a shower at least once a week, and consider putting headphones on if you insist on listening to Weird Al Yankovic imitating Screamo at 3 in the morning.]

More often than not, the only reason they remain sitting next to you/standing in your front lawn/ at your front door is because insulting your smile or Christmas lights makes them feel like they’re actually not a petty little moron (now you and I both know he is but let’s keep it to ourselves, shall we, and let him go on with his day.)

My point is, if no one hates you, either you’re stupid and they actually do, you’re freaking amazing, or you really don’t get out enough. Hey, even Jesus, who was supposed to be like the nicest guy in the history of the world, was hated (let’s face it, they nailed the poor bugger to a cross.)

Categories: Homelife, In the public sphere Tags: ,

New Years Resolutions!!! (yeah right)

It’s new years! You’ve burst out the champagne, tossed the confetti, failed at lighting the fireworks, watched the Tournament of Roses Parade and cut the ribbons around the new calendars. Then you sit down, slightly drunk, covered in confetti and tired as hell, and begin to contemplate your new years resolutions.

Just like last year, you plan to lose twenty pounds, donate ten dollars to the humane society every month, limit your weekly amount of beer to a six pack, be kinder to your neighbors, ect. ect.

Come July, you’re still twenty pounds overweight, the humane society doesn’t know of your existence, you’re drinking three bottles every night and you just let your dog crap in Mrs. Schmit’s flower garden. Don’t deny it, you know those resolutions only lasted the first week of January before you decided being an upstanding citizen is too hard.

I’m not the only one who does it, so stop giving me that sardonic I’m-better-than-you stink eye. Maybe we just set our resolutions too high, or maybe we really are such lazy bastards we can’t bring ourselves out of our circle of comfort any longer than a week. This year, just like last year, these are my resolutions:

  • Kill the procrastination: I don’t know anyone who doesn’t procrastinate, whether it’s sharpening your pencil for the hundredth time in a row or the typical – I’ll do it tomorrow. Well, I put the pro in procrastination. I am the Queen of procrastination. My goal? By the end of the year, I will only be the princess of procrastination (gotta take these things slowly, after all.)
  • Meet all of my deadlines: yes, I am cursed with the horrible deadlineitis also. Did I mention I’m the Queen of procrastination? Deadlines and procrastination are extremely explosive when mixed. (BEWARE)
  • Get fitter: sure I may be the gal everyone calls scarecrow or anorexic Jane (I could out eat everyone of you so try me,) but skinny doesn’t mean fit.
  • Did I mention the Procrastination?: seriously, did I?

The Conspiracy Theorist

Did you know that every corner of the world, from the North Pole to South, from Canton China to Nashville Tennessee, is controlled by a secret group of ancient superhumans who’ve been around since the beginning of time? They’re so powerful, in fact, they’ve got an army of scientists who’ve discovered the secret to living forever. They plot everything and anything that happens, from a man stubbing his toe in Australia, to a car accident on Route 66, to the terrorist attacks of 9/11. They carefully set everything into balance so no one could overthrow anyone else… Yeah, and Bush, and Obama, they’re their little puppets. Nader is one of them. They also know about life on other planets, and when the end of the world will be.

Don’t forget to leave out the fact that they also have an army of body snatchers… and they’re not really human, they’re robotic vampires!

You know who I’m talking about. The guy who’s at every dinner party, church meeting, work luncheon. He takes every opportunity, from someone commenting that their coffee is too dark (it’s because the coffee beans harvested in South America have been injected with drugs in an attempt to addict the American public) to the rising gas prices (a not-to-subtle way of an attempt at world domination via bleeding the public of their money,) to drag the conversation on the latest juicy conspiracy theory. Everyone politely attempts to steer the conversation back to raising money for the nomination or laying off excess workers, but he continuously finds ways to pull the topic back on the alien abduction that replaced George Bush with an evil robotic alien. (and mated with sheep that gave birth to Hillary Clinton and Nancy Pelosi.)

You’re killing me, no you really are. Sure, maybe there is a secret society that holds control over the world. What are you going to do about it? And even if there is, I’m pretty sure they’re mortal.  9/11 was just a tragedy, the rising gas prices are just reflecting the inflation of money, and Hillary Clinton is not a sheep/alien mutant (she just acts like one.)

The Fruit Bruiser

I know who you are. You’re the guy who pinches the apples and ‘tests’ the grapes. I hate that. I’m about to buy some nice fresh fruit, I don’t want your grubby little hands poking thumb-sized bruises into my apple. Or the grapes. Do you have to open the bag and eat half of it before you decide whether it’s fit to purchase and take home?

Don’t you know there’s a flu going around? Not to mention the fact that you could get some serious unpleasant bowel movement if you eat unwashed fruit. Ha. Haha. Serves you right.

You know what? I’ll bet you’re the same dude who opens toy boxes at Walmart to touch the rubber grip of a hotwheel or see what happens when you push the voicebox button. And I never notice what you’ve done until I get home with the toy you’ve touched, and the batteries are already dead from you pushing Talking Elmo’s button over a hundred times just to hear ‘Elmo loves you.’

I know who you are. You’re the fruit bruiser guy.