Based on yesterday’s blog post about not allowing my kids to use the word “hate” and how I thought it was hypocritical for parents to wrinkle their ugly mugs at swear words but allow their kids to say that word, I would like to say one thing…
I hate hypocrites.
So, I don’t really hate hypocrites, but it’s kind of funny, right? No? Piss off, chimpass!
After my post I was thinking that there should be a very short list of things that one is allowed to hate. It’s like that list of celebrities that you’re allowed to have sex with and your spouse or partner cannot get upset with you. I have that lust list, but have yet to hear back from Jason Bateman or Ewan McGregor. I did meet Nathan Fillion once and we had a moment that didn’t lead to sex, probably because my husband was there and more giddy than I was. Amateur, pull yourself together.
I hate peppers. I see them in a store and they mock me with their nutritional beauty. Red, orange, yellow and those fucking green bastards. Such a staple of healthy-yet-flavorful cooking and yet I am pretty sure they are organically grown in hell by Satan himself.
Early on in my marriage, Mike and I ordered a pizza and did it halfsies because we are so fucking cute. I told him it was okay to put green peppers on his side, but you know what? It wasn’t…it wasn’t. As soon as that pizza box was opened I gagged and ran away, probably screaming. I knew my side of the pizza was totally tainted by the smell and no matter what I would be gagging on every strange texture or flavor because those bitches at Pizza Hut can’t cut a pizza exactly in half without orphan toppings migrating to the wrong side of the tracks.
I hate squeaking. No, that does not mean that if you pick up a dog toy I will kill you with blunt force trauma. I hate it when you’re eating and your teeth squeak when they rub together in a specific and terrible way. It’s much like the squeak that happens when a fork hits a plate in that very same terrible way. I am sure it’s the same reaction for some people when they hear nails on a chalkboard. The tooth/plate squeak will make my instantly draw my shoulders up to my ears, go rigid, fall over and convulse for a solid 5 minutes. Then I gag and run away. Probably screaming.
I hate clowns. This fear/hatred is not uncommon, but those assholes are so fucking creepy that I still feel it needs to be said.
Why do clowns still exist? There have been many entertainment styles that have gone away with the evolution of culture. Vaudeville isn’t a cool thing anymore because there just isn’t an audience in these modern times. I highly doubt there is a large audience for clowns. Kids hate them for good fucking reason, they are scary as fuck. Plus, clowns are neither spongey, nor do they wear square pants, usually, I am assuming.
I feel that clowns are an antiquated entertainment form that was just fine in the days when headaches were thought to be caused by demons, but at this point they should be treated like a pox and eradicated. Forever. Immediately.
And lastly, I hate filling my Keurig. I don’t know why, but that is the most demanding fucking small appliance in the world and it pissed me off. There is an intense spark of anger that blooms inside of me when I brew a cup of coffee and then the damn tank starts flashing and insisting that I feed it. It’s like a machine from Little Shop of Horrors, “Feed me!”
Before you guys start rolling your eyes and telling me that those water reservoirs are clear for a reason, shut the fuck up. I know. I have eyes. My hatreds don’t have to be logical. They’re allowed to exist without your Goddamn approval. Sheesh.
One more thing to say before I move on, I do realize the waste that comes from using a Keurig machine. I am certainly on board for a recyclable pod and will buy it when available, but until then it’s not going to stop me from drinking a delicious cup of Italian roast first thing in the morning because, much like crack, I need it. Besides that, I don’t drive so my carbon footprint is small anyway, you emmisions nightmare!
Not driving does make it hard to pick up more Keurig cups, though. Well, eff.