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October 2nd, 2008

Things I irrationally hate

Walking around with pyr8queen this weekend, I got in touch with my inner curmudgeon. And I realized, there are things that I hate for no good reason - though not without reasons that are completely arbitrary and random.

Renn Faire Pickle Sellers. I hate these bastards. I hate the way they make a ceaseless stream of pickle-based phallus jokes. I hate their snide tone, and presumption that because they're wearing tights and pointy-shoes, they can say punch-in-the-nuts-worthy insults. I hate their asinine hard-sell tactics...all for goddamn pickle. A pickle! On a stick! Never in my life have I ever been walking around somewhere hot and dusty (or cold and rainy) and thought to myself, "damn, I want a pickle." The size of the pickle is not relevant, nor is its firmness, nor its comparison to my member - it will not satisfy a lady, nor will it satisfy me. Fuck off and die, Renn Faire Pickle Seller!

Hummingbirds. Hate 'em! I hate that machine-like little noise they make that can't really be described as chirping or birdsong. I hate the way they hover in the air and buzz at me when I'm on the balcony -which out of the corner of my eye, seems like a gigantic freakin' bug. Piss off, you little bug-seeming bastards! Stupid hummingbirds.

DJ's - Man I hate DJ's. I hate how all their gear comes in metal boxes with black sides, like it's so freakin' special it has to have it's own freakin' aesthetic. Like any freakin' card table wouldn't do to hold up your precious gear, Mr. DJ - no, you've gotta have your special table, your special box of records - and probably stupid horn-rimmed glassed and an ironic hipster t-shirt. And don't get me started on those stupid two-light headbands they wear so they can see what they're doing, standing off in their special corner behind their special little table, doing an unfunky little dance while they gloat about how awesome they are, and how sublime and superior they imagine their taste in music to be. Stupid DJ's!

American Apparel: I don't care that it was made in downtown LA - every single thing you make is ugly. It's all paper-thin, stupid-looking, and something even the 70's, an aesthetically deprived decade if ever there was one, would reject as incredibly gross. Primary colors, skinny fit and way too thin... if it looks like something from a roller-derby themed porn movie, it's probably from American Apparel.

Extra low-cut V-neck shirts. Nothing says "I am a douchebag" like wearing your underwear as outerwear, and that redone to be extra, extra douchey. The only upside - people who wear them will have tan lines that are so risible as to immediately disqualify them from ever managing to get naked with a living human girl. What's worse - one of these douchebag specials with a hairy chest, or with a tweezed and waxed shaved chest?

Gnats. Does this really need explanation? There's a poem by, I think, William Carlos Williams about midges, but I can't find it. It might be Wallace Stevens. Anyway, it's about how midges really suck. And they do!

And there you are. Things for which I have irrational irritation. How about you?

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