Well, I got a little cocky, that's all.
I thought I could have enough readers (like 10) and have broad enough of a topic of "people you hate" but I guess that wasn't so good. Or maybe all 3 readers read it and responded, including my pal Anonymous. Anyway, I'm still getting different original thoughts together, so why not burn off a post with what I got from my faithful readers.
First up, from Pam:
The guy who keeps his blinker on, well after he has switched lanes on the highway. Why does this happen? Can't he hear the little clicky noise or see the blinker light flashing in front of him? No, of course not. He has to make the other drivers suffer, have them wonder, "Is he really going to switch lanes? Did he forget he had the blinker on? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"
I hate that guy.
I like how you tied in the point of the column there, Pam. Don't worry, I hate that asshole, too.
This has baffled me since I was old enough to understand what that weird clicky sound was in the first place. Maybe they like to be really early when they use their blinker? I was behind one woman who put it on and then a half mile later (I checked, trust me) and THEN made the right. I appreciated their heads up a minute before the turn came - I felt properly prepared to slightly break and blow by honking and giving that old clickity-clack bitch the finger.
Strangely, I saw something in Boston that trumpted that guy by miles. Before I start, I know, I know, bad drivers in Mass? Trust me, I'm as shocked as you are. This douche was driving with his hazards on, but not on the side of the road, but right in the middle of Commonwealth Ave (for out of towners - major road with 3 lanes that is a clusterfuck at various points on the roads that were based on the paths used by WAGONS BEING PULLED BY HORSES). This sets up an interesting dilema - this car lets you know it can go right, left, or straight, but what's it going to do? It's like a game show, except you can very easily be killed by guessing incorrectly! ...so it's like a Japanese game show. I should sell the rights to that idea....
Next, we have ole' Anonymous:
this group of fat bottomed girls that walk right in front of you once you entered one of these construction passerelles. Its always when you're in a hurry and there's no way out and you must suffer the slow pace stayin behind bcause you cannot be rude and say "yo ass is blocking the sidewalk, move it bitch". Also those people that wander in the mall when you, you have a target and its at the other side of the mall. you must go through all these obstacles, push all these people that have nothing else in life to do but to walk in the mall looking for things to buy they just dont know what, say excuse me 1000 times...one of these days im going to shout i have a bomb with me and they'll all let me through, yes it'll be a fine day! Cool blog by the way!
First off, fat bottomed girls and construction passerelles? Btw, passerelle isn't a word (I just checked to see if I wasn't as smart as I always assumed) but I'm guessing it's one of those scaffolding-like situations. Usually I have a problem with anyone walking slowly, but chicks (and also guys) with fat asses certainly have weight, gravity, and I'm sure inertia working against them, like trying to walk on the beach holding up a sail. What pisses me off even more is when there are like 3 people walking as fast as Christopher Reeves would and they are completely impassible. Being a tall drink of water, naturally the speed of my walk is a tad faster than others, so I would understand if they couldn't keep up to my pace, but fuck, enough's enough.
Malls are a whole different culture though. Being from Jersey, the Mecca of mall culture, there have been many a time where I would be at the mall for up to 5 hours doing nothing, since there was nothing of equal or better entertainment value to try (excercise is for pussies). Therefore, I can't fully shit on people who walk slowly in the mall. There are occassions, though, when there are a gaggle of 12 year old guys who are from obviously white neighborhoods and they're acting thug and walking in the mall all slow like to look cool, and I want to beat them all with a aluminum baseball bat until they scream "PLEASE MISTER GEE GOLLY!"
I could also accomplish that by having a black man who looks like he's strapped walk by. You can't make something turn whiter unless you had a fire hose spraying white paint out of it.
Not sure about that whole bomb thing though, unless you want to be raped in jail by fat ass prisoners for the next 8-10 years. And thanks for the compliment, I could use all the self-esteem boosts possible.
And finally Maggie:
I hate alot of people but a specific example that I noticed lately.. those people in art classes, they think that since they are an art student it is necessary that they ONLY paint pictures of john lennon or jimi hendrix to prove how cool they are, its horrible. I also hate one specific boy in my math class who raises his hand every 5 seconds and kisses our 94yr old teachers ass
Art kids make me want to vomit all over them. I was faced with the possibility of going to an art school, like Emerson College, and realized why half the student body want to kill themselves (I'm sure Ali's gonna comment on this one). There was a kid named Eugene who came to talk at my tour of Emerson to give us the "student perspective." He was a 6'2" asian man who was built like Baby Huey, and could have easily have been mistaken for the football on the top of a Homecoming float. What he was wearing was equally attrocious. He had one of those red Champion sweatsuits (sweat pants and the non-hoodie sweat shirt) all one uniform color of awkwardness; clothes my dad would proudly wear. To top it all off, he had spray painted some old Adidas shoes gold, so proudly smiling behind his square glasses. "Hi, I'm Eugene," the monstrosity said, "and I love it here!"
I immediately walked out, never to return. Fuck you Eugene. If you love it at Emerson, I will surely hate it.
Wait what are we talking about?
Oh yes. Well, the College of Fine Arts boasts a whole lot of Eugene-like characters, except that for the most part they are rich, wear designer labels, but try and hide it by wearing dirty looking designer labels, showing that they are truly beatniks-worthy. I'll see 6 or so standing outside the building smoking, looking miserable, right under the "no smoking" sign to be punk ass rebels. I know they all go home and watch Pokemon: The Movie. You're not fooling me, painter boy - you're still a sissy. You were the kid who struck out in kickball and no, no we didn't forget.
Other figures that they would paint to look bad ass: Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Morrison, Jerry Garcia, and never Ringo. Never ever Ringo. George, yes, but Ringo? No.
Well that concludes the first abomination of a mailbag. Thanks to Pam for writing on her own, Anonymous for piping in, and Maggie for letting me force her to comment cause I felt embarassed as shit that I only got 2 responses. To the other 2 of you, damn you for being quiet! ...why do I sound like someone at the Nuremburg trials?
Coming up for all of you loyal readers is going to be one random piece and then my epic 3 part series on Boys and Girls, their differences, obatining one as your mate, and then keeping what is called a "relationship" happy and healthy.
All that means is you're gonna hear stories about how I've fucked up with chicks, pretty much. I'm sure you're all eager for that like it's the results to your HIV test after waking up in Brazil with 3 prostitutes and no condom in clear sight.