5 People I Hate Right Now

1) Chicks who wear t-shirts with "clever" sayings over their tits and then get pissed when they catch me trying to read them. “Ogling pervert”, they glare. Yes, wearing a shirt that says “Meet the Twins” or “Got Milk” makes you the funniest person in the world, just don’t get pissed when it’s me and not Brad Pitt reading it. You want me to not notice your chest, how bout not having something that screams “please read me!!” I don’t have a video iPod carved into my dick for attention; if I did I might expect looks and not get bent out of shape when it happened. Yes, there’s a “bent out of shape” joke in there somewhere. I’m a 34 year old man, I have exactly two skills in this world: getting out of doing shit by feigning complete ineptitude, and getting a nice look at your titties without you knowing it. If I wanna see your titties, I’ve already looked 5 times without you even realizng. So calm down. Unlike you, I’m actually trying to read something. You’re just barely above the brainiacs who have Chinese symbol tattoos just above their asscracks. At least they’re sluts; you’re just an idiot.

2) Dudes out with their girlfriends who take issue with you even glancing at their girls. Hey guess what, I wasn’t the one who let her out of the house looking like a New York walking poodle slut. Did you not see her when you were leaving the house? Did you not think to yourself you know, if I saw some chick walking down the street with her thong up to her ribs and cut-off shirt barely covering her fake titties, I might look for maybe 1/32th of a second? Either keep her in her cage, or get used to dudes looking at her, or date ugly woman. Either way, sometimes I think I have the greatest set of nuts a man has ever had. Seriously, they’re fucking amazing.

3) People who say that something or somebody is “very average.” Stop it. By it’s very definition nothing “average” can be “very” anything. We get it, your boyfriend’s penis is 5.08 inches. Now get dressed and get the fuck outta my room. To paraphrase Lori Singer’s redneck boyfriend in Footloose, I’m about done with you. Anyways. Quit with the fucking “very average” nonsense. Also: interesting I felt the need to actually name the movie the Lori Singer moment was in; as if it could’ve possibly been from another movie anyone has ever seen/heard of. That’s like saying “So I was listening to the Baha Men’s huge hit...you know, “Who Let the Dogs Out", and...” Or, I guess, me saying “...so I was handling my most perfect of features...you know, my over-the-top, almost absurdly perfect testicles, and...”

4) The fat fucks I’m watching on The Learning Channel. People that weigh about 900lbs, don’t leave their beds and eat almost 20,000 calories a day. I don’t care that they eat so much, but how can they buy all this fucking food? Dude I’m looking at right now – hasn’t left the bed in over a decade. His family is like a rotating hotel staff, constantly cooking for him. They assuage themselves as enablers by saying well, if we don’t give him food he’ll just order delivery. What? Where is this money coming from? Is he selling pictures of his gargantuan man titties online? Doubtful, he probably ate the computer. And I would’ve recognized him. What the fuck. Now we see him shrug and say “I love food, I’m addicted to eating!” Hey, if I could afford it I’d be addicted to Brazilian hookers coming over to sit on my face while wrapping a Pizza Hut meat lover’s around my dick, but I can’t. Flummoxed. And if you’re thinking I’m shilling to Pizza Hut for an endorsement deal, you’re not wrong. Between my almost perfect set of testicles and willingness to do anything with a pizza, I think they could do worse. Oh wait. They have.









Cause nothing makes me hungry for pizza like a pig in a low-cut dress hanging from strings. Mmmmm. But enuff about the last woman I had back in my apartment.

5) Bands that are AMAZED at themselves re: “how this record came together.” Araarrrrrggggghhh. Every time some fuckwad band is releasing an album now, they sit back and in interviews nd MARVEL at how this record “came together.” They’re mystified, wowed at how this magic happened. “Yeah, I mean, how this record was made, I mean it just somehow happened, came together, like magic, you know?” ummm...you mean you wrote some songs, some people came and played them and you recorded it? Wow! What a MYSTERY!!! Shut the fuck up. And then there’s always the jagoff who’s gotta take time out to let us know that while recording gee, I dunno, he just doesn’t really trust “technology.” He’s a luddite, all about the music! Shut the fuck up. You play electric instruments and record mostly onto a computer after which you pray that 15 year olds download your songs onto their iPods. So quit this stupid act; quit acting like if it were up to you you’d whisper your songs into blades of grass until the ghost of Robert Johnson heard your amazing, ethereal cuts and somehow made them available at Starbucks. Fuck. YEEEEEEW!

FAT UPDATE: dude they’re showing now, big as a house. Fat folds that you wouldn’t believe, folds coming down like flaps in a car wash. All of a sudden I realize something: he’s wearing underwear. Perfect. I weigh as much as a small car, my man titties are on the floor and I got more folds than a Texaco road map that’s been open and closed by a old Chinese woman with press-on nails; I should put on some drawers to cover up a dick that a dog couldn’t find if you stapled a pork chop to it. Awesome. Also, he’s talking about his love for food, and he says “it’s better than sex.” I see...so this is a conscious choice; you COULD be banging out some hot trim, but instead you'd rather lay in your bed and eat a whole live chicken dipping in liquified pork skins and M&Ms. Good for you!