Posts Tagged ‘hate’

The world is filled with a lot of hate. It’s safe to say I am responsible for about 10% of the hate. I’m very hateful. When someone says “hate is too strong a word” I hate them. I hate them so much. I try not to be so hateful. It’s really hard. It makes me hate myself. Hate!

Something about haters that I have been wondering. Are there people out there who hate me? There has to be. I can’t imagine there not being someone who secretly hates me. It’s impossible. I hate people for such stupid reasons that there must be someone who hates me for a stupid reason too. This is my search. My search for the person who hates me most.

(You can’t see it, but I’m pretty sure her hat says “Mooselicker stinks”)

First I must think about who I hate most and why I hate them. I hate this one guy I see a lot. He’s so handsome and confident. It really pisses me off. Well-put-together individuals always strike up hatred in me. Anyone who seems to be happy with their place in life gets my blood boiling. He’s in shape, suave, probably knows more than one language (is it racist to assume all non-white people are bilingual?), has good posture, is probably twice my age yet has nicer hair, and doesn’t look terrible while wearing sweaters. What the hell! Where was I when lives were being selected? I want to be this guy. I never will be though. At least I make more money than he does. But that doesn’t bother him. Fuck this guy!

At one point I hated a friend for how he drank water. The way he twisted the lid. The slurping sound he made. How the bottle always popped afterward. He seemed so refreshed after drinking his water. I would have only saved him from drowning because it would be too painful for me to listen to him take all that water into his lungs. I bring this up because I can’t be this completely critical of little things about others. Someone else must be picking up on things like this about me. And it must make them hate me.

What are some little things about me that someone could hate? I almost always roll up my sleeves. That’s got to piss someone off. I do it for a very specific reason too. My forearms are way too skinny. My wrists are incredibly tiny. I’ve fisted women and they didn’t notice. With these suckers my true calling has to be giving prostate exams. I have the same problem with my calves. They’re too damn thin compared to the rest of my body. At least I know I could never get my forearms or shins stuck between two rocks. Most children’s books are thicker at the spine than these two parts of my body. Perhaps this is why 127 Hours didn’t impress me. That and how can you feel bad for a young guy who had a chance at a cave pond threesome but instead chose to climb rocks instead?

(Would have been a much better film if James Franco spent less time growing a Dirty Sanchez and more time violating hikers)

A retarded midget once came up to me and said “What’s the deal with you? You never talk to anyone.” I guess that means my quietness annoys people. I’m never really loud in any situation. I don’t like being the center of attention. Well, in a modest way, yes I do. I’d rather a bunch of girls get together at a slumber party and talk about how cute I am than to actually be out somewhere with this girls having to entertain them. I used to always have this one strange fantasy where all of the popular girls in school would get together. They’d play a game called “Would You Fuck” then toss out names of boys in their class. A mean girl would throw out my name and all of the girls would laugh. Then one girl said she would. The other girls would think about it and then they’d agree. I’d become popular overnight without knowing it. Of course that never happened. Most popular girls knew me as “the kid who was good at math and would help them if they asked.” Then I started to suck at math and was simple known as “the kid with pictures of dogs on a lot of his shirts.” Why the fuck did I have so many shirts with dogs on them? That never got me anywhere.

(If a shirt doesn’t have sleeves that doesn’t automatically make it a muscle shirt)

Basically, all I’m trying to say is that there are probably 200 people out there who I secretly hate. I despise them. They would die and the first thing I would think is a mean joke about them. I know, it’s wrong. But I have come to the conclusion that there is someone out there who has a secret hatred of myself. It could be for a million different reasons. What I know for sure is that my name or presence itself makes some people cringe. It’s not even anything I did. Existing itself makes them hate me.

Do you hate something about me? Do you hate something tiny about someone else? What do you do that other people really hate?

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” – Basketball players who give bad advice

I am getting old. Yes, 24 isn’t that old. It feels it though. There are people on MTV dating shows 6 years younger than me. I was already getting picked on in first grade when these people were popping out of their mothers. 18-year-old girls are almost off-limits for me. It’s getting to a point where I’m creepy to them. It happened so fast too. I remember when I was 20 and 18-year-olds thought I was the man. They assumed I had my shit together and that made me cool in their high school eyes. I still don’t have my shit together and I’m worrying that people are about to notice. I can only hide for so long that I haven’t achieved a single thing in life worth bragging about.

(Gia is worth bragging about. Gia’s mother’s life is empty though. She hasn’t achieved much that she has to brag that Gia can count backwards quickly)

The idea that the thought of “21-year-olds are so disrespectful. When I was that age I was nicer to older people. I showed them respect” popped into my head recently scares me. When I was that age? When I was that age nothing in the world was different. That was barely 3 years ago. Still, I believe it to be true. 21-year-olds aren’t nearly as polite to me as I was to 24-year-olds when I was that age. They’re standoffish and cocky. They don’t come to me for advice or think of me as their older brother. No. Instead they’re too busy getting girls that I should be getting. Stupid 21-year-olds. You shouldn’t have all this figured out yet!

It’s safe to say that all 21-year-olds are pretty damn stupid. I can say that. I was 21 at one point. An entire year! Everything I did was stupid. Do you know how I got less stupid? I listened to what older people had to say. Without knowing it, they helped guide me into the confused 24-year-old I am right now. I would be even more lost in the world if it wasn’t for their semi-help. The problem with people who are 21 is that they’re far away enough from living under the tyranny of high school but also haven’t really lived in the real world. Yes, it’s annoying to have to call the power company. It’s part of growing up. I am always being called sir. I hate when cute girls do it. It makes me feel like I could be their father. Making me think that makes me think about time travel then I get nervous. What if she is my daughter? She traveled back in time to meet me then tried offering me a free water bottle if I signed up for some stupid contest.

If you’re 21 and reading this, you’re probably furious. I know, I know. You’ve got it all handled. May I suggest though that you print this out and put it in a time capsule? Open it in 3 years and realize how little things still make sense. Sure, you’ll be a little smarter and wiser. You’ll also probably hate the newest drinkers at the bars. It’s always easy to hate people younger than you. Especially when they’re 21. Nobody at 21 accomplishes a thing. All you do is drink and try to convince yourself that the meaning of life is moments away from entering your brain. Sorry, but it’s not. You’re in for a whole hell lot more of confusion and frustration. Welcome to the rest of your life, slowly watching your body decay.

(Sid Vicious has being 21 all figured out. He managed to kill himself before reaching 22)

I’m never a good example for anything. I’m too nice of a person. My dad’s old password for AOL was “timisgoo” which was supposed to be “tim is good” but he insisted that the “d” would go over the 16 character password limit. I was such a good kid that being good was what my dad associated with me above all else. I always show respect to others. I hold doors, once helped a woman move a carpet, and never over stay my welcome. I’ve only pinched one girl’s butt and she didn’t even notice. She was a descendant of Winston Churchill’s, you kinda-gotta pinch it. That’s why I don’t blame anyone who is 21 for being such a cock. I’m so incredibly good that by comparison, everyone seems like a disrespectful ass.

This is all I want from 21-year-olds. Don’t be loud. That simple. Don’t be so incredibly loud and invasive that I notice you. You can be as mean and rude as you want. You’re young and can get away with it. But don’t be loud. Give my ears a break from you. Destroy the rest of my senses as much as you would like. Have gross offensive to the eyes hair, don’t bathe frequent enough where I can smell it, and touch me inappropriately. I don’t know how one would go about invading my taste buds. I think I have tasted a 21-year-old at one point and I don’t remember them ever tasting badly. She was quite rude though. She told me that I kissed too fast and to keep my hat on. Picky! Picky!

(The only thing from 1991 worth acknowledging)


Posted: December 18, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Preface: I’m posting this ahead of time and scheduling it for a future date. I will not have a chance to post anything Sunday or Monday so hopefully this will hold you over. I hope the “scheduling” feature works for this. Also, if you are one of the creeps who frequently looks at my blog and does not comment, leave a comment. I like to know who reads this so I can cater to you interests/make sure I don’t say bad things about you/make sure I do say bad things about you if I don’t like you. I’m curious to know who these people who Google “mooselicker” are. Yes, I can see that you do that. Stop being a creep and show yourself.

(Until I know better, this is you. A gay clown in the bushes spying on my every move. He’s gay because gay clowns only red the tips of their nose, not the nostrils)

Onto the article:

This is a thought that has putted around in my head for a while now. It came to me when looking at Facebook profiles of old high school classmates. I might be going out on a limb here, but Jesus Christ, I am the only person who looks better now than they did 6 years ago. I’m not in amazing shape or anything. One thing I do have is that I am completely unrecognizable. I’ve talked to people from my old high school and they have no idea who I am. Maybe they never noticed me and I didn’t get more handsome. Crap. I was excited and pooped my pants for nothing.

I recently saw a picture of an ex-girlfriend on the Internets. Before you get mad at any insults I might say about this girl, let it be known that 2 days before we broke up I texted her “I miss you” and she responded with “That’s nice.” What–the–fuck? You said you loved me! It took us dating 2 days and you were in love with me! Now only about 2 weeks later, it was nice when I missed you. You son of a bitch. I regret not saying your face looked feline.

I’m sitting on Facebook trying to find some Spanish girl whose name I recently learned. Yes, I’m stalking. Big deal. Do you know what the worst thing about Spanish girls is? They’re impossible to stalk. All of their last names are the same. I hope I never need to seriously stalk a Maria Lopez. There has to be 5 million of them.*

(Sofia Vergara has never had a successful stalker. Believe me, I’ve tried)

*This is a recycled joke that I posted on Facebook. Sorry if you’re my Facebook friend and had to read this again. I thought it was clever. Only one person commented on it which is one more than I usually get. I felt it was also very fitting for this post so I used it again. I really was trying to stalk a Spanish girl so it’s not so much a joke as it is a harsh reality. It’s fine to recycle harsh realities.

I am getting so off-track here! I apologize. What I wanted to say was that I saw my ex-girlfriend had some new photographs up. To say she packed on a few L.B.’s would be an insult to the letters L & B. Do letters get insulted? I can’t remember if it’s letters or numbers that have emotions.

(Numbers and Letters getting along for once despite religious affiliation)

I won’t go on a tirade of fat jokes or anything. I’m above doing that to anyone I actually know. I also can’t think of anything clever or hurtful enough. My question though has to do with exes. There are a lot of people who go from “geek to chic” as Jenny Jones would put it. Or in other cases they go from “chic to big fat mess.” I know there’s nothing wrong with change, that’s how Obama got elected.

The question here for you is, what’s the most important and what is the worst of the below choices? Yeah, I’m having trouble wording this. Fuck letters. I hope they are the ones with emotions and feel sad now. Just select which one of the below is more true for you.

A) I would rather date someone attractive who used to be unattractive


B) I would rather date someone who has always been attractive who ends up becoming unattractive after we break up

There are tons of variables to this. I know I would rather date someone who used to be unattractive merely for the fact that they’ll probably lack confidence and be easy pickings. Having dated someone who turned out worse feels a little embarrassing. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because I relate more to people who get better looking as opposed to others who take a nose dive into a bucket of ice cream.

I guess though what really matters is what the person looks like when you actually do date them. Why else should any of us care? Because we’re gossips who want those who hurt us to live miserable lives! That’s why.

To be less shallow, what really matters is personality. I can’t fall in love with someone unless I have some sense of a personality. That’s probably why I don’t like porn. Those girls don’t have a personality other than being a slut. I need to be able to know that the girl has a sense of humor or is real into animals. If more pornographic films had girls wearing clown noses or holding kittens I might get into it and fall in love.

(I am in love)

Yes, sometimes I’m a real pig and will find something very small to turn myself off from another person. What you might call being an animal, I call being observant. I’m not picky at all with girls I’d date. All I ask is that you let your beautiful personality shine through, always let me remind you how amazing you are, and don’t have a big nose. Everybody needs a line. Big noses are mine.

P.S. I also wrote something else. It’s about wrestling! Enjoy by clicking on this link.