I hate photographers, who think it their right to ask you to move out of the way so they can take their oh-so-important photo, and are always asking you to hold the lens but don’t get your fingers on it, and don’t get dust on it, and are always oh, I wish that kid would get out of the way, I wish there was less cloud cover, I wish you hadn’t taken so long getting ready because the light was better half an hour ago.
I hate it when your mate’s kid hates you.
I hate it when you have found a seat on the morning Tokyo commuter train, and are sound asleep, and a loathsome Aussie woman who has been up all night getting her tits out to her workmates in a karaoke booth, vomits on you while you sleep, and you don’t wake up, so you lie there asleep all the way to your station, covered in chuck, and everyone is too polite to wake you.
I hate that there is a tablet for absolutely every single goddam fuckin’ thing.
I hate Europeans, who don’t wait until the water from the tap is hot before they start washing the dishes with it.
I hate it when you have cocaine just at parties, and then end up partying every night just to have cocaine.
I hate it when you decide to only smoke when you drink, and then crack open a beer first thing every morning.
I hate it when you have sex with a girl, not realising at the time that this is the last time you will ever do it.
I hate Australians, who don’t rinse the soap suds off the cleaned dishes.
I hate it when an old bird has her cleavage out, and it’s not that great, but you still can’t stop looking at it.
I hate it when you you’re drunk, and you roll a car, killing the passenger.
I hate it when you get busted by your flatmate’s friend having a flog.
I hate writers who think that that makes it ok for them to behave like pricks.
I hate new mothers who think everyone gives a shit about their kid.
I hate Poms, who wash their dishes in a plastic bucket in the sink.
I hate that every mall, every suburb, every town just looks the same.
I hate it when you’ve quit smoking, and you have a smoke.
I hate newly returned backpackers who think anyone gives a shit about their trip.
I hate it when you are surfing for porn, and then a sheila you’re trying impress sends you an msn, or a Facebook instant message, and it snatches the cursor off the URL line or the Google search field, but you don’t notice, and you end up sending this sheila you’re trying to impress an instant message which says www.chickswithdicks.com or midget porn amputee anal cunt.
I hate that there are still sheilas out there I am trying to impress.
I hate that writing crap like this is not going to help the cause.
I hate cyclists in the Middle East, always poring over their maps, thinking that they are the only ones truly experiencing the Middle East, even though that bikeride that just took them two days of excruciating pain being neutered by the bikeseat, only took me an hour and a half on the bus and cost me three bucks twenty.
I hate pregnant women who think they are the focal point of the universe.
I hate artists and musos, whose stuff you have to pretend to like.
I hate it when you find out that all your flatmates have spent the last six months sniggering about you behind your back for a blob of cum that someone found in the shower and that everyone blames on you, even though everyone in the house is sharing a room except you, and so you would have less recourse to need the public space to masturbate in, and when it was quite feasibly just a blob of shampoo anyway.
I hate that as soon as you buy land you chop down all the trees and put a fence around it.
I hate it when someone’s telling you a joke and you’ve already heard it, but for some reason you pretend you haven’t.
I hate it when you break something that’s not yours.
I hate having blood in my stool.
I hate kiwis in the dole queue.
I hate it when your ex empties the urn full of your son’s ashes out the front window, and then, when you go to beat the fuck out of her, she slams the glass door in your face, and you punch through it and then your ex grabs your arm and forces it down onto a spike of glass, piercing the plump blue vein in that soft spot behind your elbow, causing you to lose 2.8 litres of blood and to die twice, once in the ambulance and once on the operating table.
I hate that the road less travelled doesn’t have any fuckin’ service stations.
I hate it when you buy a sheila a drink and then she won’t go home with you.
I hate cane toads, that hop away after they’ve been driven over by a car.
I hate cabbies who drive like maniacs when they don’t have a fare, and like old women when they do.
I hate that we have to rely on rednecks to grow our food.
I hate it when you’re depressed at work, so you quit, and you go to the doctor, and he says that you have depression, and you get another job, which sucks even more, and then you realise that your earlier job was actually pretty good, and it was just that you had depression which made you think it was shit, and now you have a crappier job, which makes you even more depressed.
I hate it when you go limp in a girl’s mouth.
I hate it when someone doesn’t put the toilet paper roll the right way round.
I hate it when someone pisses on the toilet floor and you walk in it in your socks.
I hate it when the Paris streets are jammed with parked cars, and someone hasn’t quite parked theirs close to the car in front, leaving a space, so all the housewives use that spot to toilet their dogs, and then, being a naive and freshly arrived immigrant, you use that gap between the cars to cross the road and slip up and fall in the enormous pile, and get your denim jacket covered in the shit from thirty terriers, on your way to a dinner-date that you’ve been nervous about all week.
I hate human trafficking and war and and that stuff about the environment.
I hate it when something really awful happens to you, so terrible that you live that moment for the rest of your life.
I hate it when you’re playing pool, and you just can’t ever seem to quite be able to manage to sink a fucking ball.
I hate it when a girl goes round telling everyone you’ve got a small cock, just because you had sex with her and now she hates you.
I hate it when a bloke is really into football, and he goes on and on about it, and even though you tell him you never watch it, it doesn’t register with him, and he keeps going on and on, and you’ve got no idea who these people are he’s talking about.
I hate it when you don’t realise you’re pregnant til you’re, like, six or seven months gone.
I hate when you tell a Jew joke and there’s a Jew in in the room – I think they should always wear those little caps so we know.
I hate it when you have an abortion and then really regret it later.
I hate cliffhangers, and stories that end in a question.
What do you hate?
honest dave