Being that I am a leading authority on being hateful, I’ve decided on this fine April morning (I hate April) to sit down at my computer, smoke a joint, and type up a list of several things that I despise and some brief explanations as to why. If you’re curious as to whether or not there’s any practical application for this, the answer is NO. But, I hate being bored, and one thing that I actually don’t hate is list-making. Has to do with my OCD tendencies. So, without further ado (I hate ado)…
A Comprehensive List of Things I Hate
Maybe I’m just an old curmudgeon (“I’m only 22!” he insists, but his cries fall on deaf ears, as his birthday isn’t listed on MySpace), but I really can think of few things that irritate me more than people who constantly feel the need to blurt, “Ooh, this one’s going on MySpace!” when taking pictures. Of course it is, you fuck, because you’re the kind of asshole who posts every picture you’ve ever taken or been in or remotely near a camera for in the whole of your life on MySpace. You know what? Nobody needs to see that many pictures of you. I don’t care how hot you are (and, btw, you’re not), NOBODY is all that interested in your portfolio of art photos entitled, “Scenes Taken While Looking At The Reflected Viewfinder In The Bathroom Mirror: Series One (38 photos).” Seriously, if your vanity gets any bigger, I’m concerned that it may menace Tokyo in the near future. Don’t get me wrong, I’m an arrogant motherfucker, and I know it…the fact is, I think that everything I say and do is right and everyone else is a troglodyte…but JESUS CHRIST, even I don’t have the audacity to believe that everyone I know is interested in seeing posed photographs of myself in front of a mirror in my apartment. Listen: If you have to take that many practice shots of yourself to find an angle where you look attractive, then you should probably put down the camera and develop an appreciation for literature, because you really shouldn’t be leaving the house and subjecting the public to your face. Also, I can’t imagine why anyone could conceivably believe that their friends and/or random internet predators really give a shit what mood they’re in, or that their favorite film is “The New Guy” and their favorite actor is Brendan Frasier. Seriously, FUCK YOU. Nobody cares. Do you know what my favorite movie is? No. And you don’t need to. Because it’s my favorite, it has no bearing on your life or anyone else’s, and I hate you. I guess it’s just because I don’t like socializing or networking, but this whole MySpace/Facebook/Twitter/etc. fad that has become a “cultural phenomenon” and is quickly replacing conversation as “the new way the world is connecting” pretty much just irritates the fuck out of me. And by the way, if I ever catch you “twittering,” I’m going to find a cat and have it eat you, because that’s something only birds should be allowed to do.
I know, that was a stupid line to cap off this rant. Fuck you. Again.
It really is amazing the things you see change in your life, that you never could’ve dreamed possible. My grandma, for instance, was born in 1913, and didn’t die until 2005. The remarkable advances in science and technology and civilization that she saw in her life must’ve been amazing. When she was a child, they rode in a horse-cart, and by the time she died, we were picking her up and driving her to lunch in an F-250. Similarly, as I get older, I’m starting to see interesting and unpredictable changes in my own life. For example, there was a time when I never could’ve imagined that I’d vehemently hate Flava Flav and that chick from Rocky 4. BOY WAS I WRONG.
I imagine that somewhere, in the distant future, mankind will look back over their history and wonder, “where did it all go so terribly wrong?!?” And top scientists will be able to trace the series of tragic events that led to the world being such a shithole back to the moment that “Survivor” first aired on CBS. At least, that’s the first ‘Reality TV’ I remember being exposed to…I’m sure there were precursors that led up to it, but much like the MC5 and punk rock, they were merely contributors. Survivor was the prototypical modern reality show; its success or failure determining the fate of so much drivel yet-to-come. Unfortunately, as 2001 to 2009 will tell you, Americans are retarded, and Survivor broke all kinds of projected success records, paving the way for such reprehensible ‘reality stars’ as Simon Cowell, Gordon Ramsay, Paris Hilton, and that red-headed bitch from England that nobody quite remembers but who was really rude to people on that ‘Weakest Link’ show. But these are just the networks…which are bad enough; mind you…then MTV and VH1 had to get their grubby little fingers into the pot, and took things to a whole other level of atrocious. Now every 2-bit, washed up mini-celebrity from years past has the opportunity to worm their worthless, self-absorbed, attention-starved asses back into the spotlight, and all they have to do is forfeit every shred of self-respect they may ever have had and let themselves be embarrassed and exploited in front of a national audience of slack-jawed brain-numbed retards every week. These people are getting paid to engage in behavior that would shame a 5-year-old and yet…people are watching. Because god knows, they wouldn’t be getting paid if somebody wasn’t watching. I’m begging you, TUNE OUT. Do it for yourself, do it for them…let these sad losers go crawl back under their rocks and live out the remainder of their years, embarrassing themselves in the relative obscurity of their own lives. That way, when they crawl under their porches to die like the dogs they are, and they release their bowels and make perfectly clear how sad and ugly their lives really are, at least it won’t air 6 times before midnight, and their friends and relatives can convince themselves, in their grief, that they were good, worthwhile human beings, and won’t have to live with their loved ones’ indiscretions seared into their brains like cattle brands.
TUNE. The Fuck. OUT.
Musicians who’ve debuted after the year 2000.
(Notable exceptions: None) In typing this, I tried very hard to think of whether or not I was overlooking anybody significant who has made their debut in the new millennium, and I really couldn’t come up with anybody worthwhile. I guess it’s a concept that all people probably struggle with as they age: “Why does music suck these days?” The thing is, I’m pretty fucking young, and I really ought not to be at the point yet where I’m completely out of touch with popular culture. But I am. I can’t think of anything new that I’ve heard that was really good at all. Mind you; I’m not saying no good music has come out in the last 9 years…My assertion is that no good artists have come out in the last 9 years. And I guess it’s probably because everybody seems to be part of some sort of offensively-terrible ‘scene’ these days. I blame the rise in popularity of ‘Emo’ music, myself. According to Wikipedia, the cultural abortion that is emo first spawned in a Petri dish on the floor of a bathroom stall at an 80’s hardcore punk show, when the tears from some whiny kid who couldn’t take getting punched in the face anymore mixed with the vaginal discharge of a fat goth chick who got directions to the wrong venue by mistake and, in spite of her efforts, couldn’t even get herself raped by the Bad Brains’ fans in attendance (I paraphrased slightly). Anyway, it’s now gone on to become a mainstay of the record industry, even breeding subgenres such as “Screamo.” As if emo music hijacking the airwaves wasn’t bad enough, it seems to me that even the new musicians who aren’t considered emo appear to have been subtly influenced by it and its trends, in ways they probably aren’t even aware of. There certainly seems to be a lot more whining in the music in recent years. The 90’s were chock-full of faggotry, but back then, when a band went for that ‘hardcore’ market, the band, itself, was hardcore. These days, there seem to be all these bands trying to pass themselves off as badass, but they look like the types who sit around drinking margaritas and watching soaps. That’s fine and dandy if you’re Mike Burns, but c’mon…you can’t claim to be ‘hard’ and ‘metal’ if you look like Chad Kroeger and sing about how hurt you are that your girl yelled at you cuz you didn’t put the toilet seat down. I picked up a Stone Sour album at the store the other day and glanced at the back cover, and there was my boy, Corey Taylor, and all his little buddies, and they looked like a Nickelback tribute band. I was so disappointed. Way to let down Iowa, Corey. Back when music was good, even a love song by a hardcore band was cool. When Phil Anselmo sings a love song, he threatens to kill people and stomps on puppies while he does it. You may have noticed, I’ve focused largely on how ‘hardcore’ music has regressed to the point where all you need to do to qualify yourself as a musical badass is to wear a stocking cap or forget to trim your goatee for a couple of days…That’s not to say that other music to come out recently is good; it’s just harder to pinpoint exactly why it sucks. I don’t dislike non-tough-guy music; in fact, I listen to non-tough-guy music all the time. Will Oldham, Tom Waits, Nick Cave…none of these are considered heavy or hardcore…but when they let fly with emotions (other than anger), they do so intelligently, thoughtfully, and poetically. Bands today just seem to want to bitch and whine and claim to be hurt without having the decency to tell us a good story to make it okay. At least when Kenny Rogers makes me sad, he’s done so by telling me a heart-wrenching soliloquy about how he was crippled in ‘Nam and now his girl’s out whorin’ around and he can’t even reach his gun to shoot the bitch…
And don’t even get me started on Hollywood Undead.
Look…I don’t even know how to explicate my hatred for skater kids (synonyms: skater fags, emo skater fags, pigeons). I just hate the little fuckers. Get a job, or at the very least, go somewhere else. I’m trying to enjoy my Crunchwrap Supreme, here; go find another parking lot to be loud and annoying in. Cunts.
Juggalos who take being Juggalos too seriously.
I tacked on the addendum “who take being juggalos too seriously” because any number of my friends can be classified as juggalos. At least, I hope they consider themselves to be, otherwise that would make the hatchet-man tattoos pretty silly… Corp. Robinson, Dysfunction, Freakshow, Luke Hadley, and I’m sure several others that I’m not even aware of fall into this category, and because of their good-will ambassador efforts on behalf of juggalos everywhere, I have come to accept this strange sub-culture as one of curious interest, rather than across-the-board offensive. However, I’ve also met a lot of people who claim to live the ‘juggalo lifestyle’ who are obnoxious, slack-jawed morons, who like to employ aggressive rap lyrics in day-to-day life by way of threatening and intimidating weaklings, such as legit retarded kids (this is not a hyperbole, I actually witnessed this first-hand). Now, being a fan of a certain kind of music is one thing, as is proclaiming yourself to be immersed in a cultural ‘scene’…that’s all well and good, I take no issue with that…but defining yourself by that scene is pretty lame, and when said scene seems to have a tendency toward obnoxious douchebaggery toward the outside world, you need to calm down and maybe find yourself some hobbies of your own, rather than following a [very vague and confusing] set of guidelines lain out by a series of bands who clearly don’t take themselves as seriously as you take them. I’m sorry, fellas, but being a juggalo isn’t any more a life-calling than being in the KISS Army, or the Buddy Holly Militia, for that matter. It’s fine to be a fan, and if you want to label yourself to feel a part of something, go for it…but listen, I’m probably going to go to the Gathering this summer, because I’m quite keen on recreational drug abuse, and if anybody threatens me with plagiarized rap lyrics…Well, let’s just say I don’t enjoy having to wipe brain matter off my shoes.
Well…there are a LOT more things I hate, but now I’m bored with this and I need to go make myself some lunch. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume that there may be another installment of this in the foreseeable future. In the meantime, go to hell.