Hate - verb- “To feel intense hostility or animosity toward”
Hate is a strong word, one that has caused great rifts in our society and great pain in many bystanders along the way. It’s also a word that most of us utter nearly every day. I don’t think that I actually “hate” anyone that I know, but I hate dozens of inanimate objects and things that pop up on my TV. So I’ve compiled a little collection of a few random things that absolutely make me want to la-la. If you think this list is in poor taste, or that I am advocating legitimate, malicious hate, then send me your name and I’ll put you on the list……
Beano
This is the stuff that keeps you from dropping ass after a meal. Who the hell has ever gone out and bought themselves some Beano? I don’t understand how anyone would have the foresight and the initiative to make a preemptive strike against farting. As far as I can tell, for this stuff to work properly, here’s what needs to happen:
When you’re headed out to dinner, you have to stop and say:
“Hmm. I feel like getting into some steamed cauliflower tonight. In that case I better take some Beano so I don’t have to sneak out some Silent but Violents, or cough over some Loud and Prouds after we eat.”
And to pull from another school of thought, I have a buddy whose heart is bigger than his brain. Whenever a Beano commercial comes on (which is surprisingly often) he asks:
“Why would I ever want to stop myself from doing that? I wish there was a pill that made me do it more. I’d buy that.”
He’s a close friend of mine. And a parent.
Bad Kissers
Come on. It’s really not that hard. Don’t be a 7th grader behind the bleachers. Don’t be tight-lipped and frigid. Meet somewhere in the middle. Practice.
Reply-All
Why are there so many morons out there who don’t understand the difference between clicking “Reply” and “Reply-All?” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been one of 50-60 recipients of a mass e-mail inviting me to an event. -only to get another e-mail moments later from some unfamiliar name with the same subject heading and a message saying somethign like, “Out of town. Catch you next time. Thanks.”
It’s even worse when a friend sends out a mass “I lost all my phone numbers” e-mail, and some cock-knocker replies to the entire list with his digits. Although when this happens I’m always sure to take down the number and save it for a late night shit-canned prank calling session. Small pleasures are the key to life, I say.
Stupid, slutty L.A. “club girls”
This is self-explanatory. The kind of girls who make the “kissy-face” in every picture they’re in, most of which are taken while they’re partying like rock stars.
To paraphrase Maynard Keenan and quote Jack Napier-
“This town needs an enema.”
Waiting for Pizza to Cool
Why does Father Time always lapse into a coma whenever there’s a fresh, hot pizza in front of me? Seconds never crawl along slower than when I’m waiting for a pizza to cool down so I can bite into it without burning my mouth. A watched pizza never cools.
I sit there looking at the pie and I know that beneath the layer of cheese is magma-hot marinara that’s going to turn the skin on the roof of my mouth into a free topping. It’s more predictable than a Draw play on 3rd and Long. But I’ve done it hundreds of times before, each time regretting my impatience as I spend the next 24 hours tonguing the incinerated spot in my mouth. Yet as soon as I start to think I’ve learned my lesson and made the mistake for the last time, I’m face-to-face with a delightful cheese-and-sausage and I’m plunging into it like Jared Fogel at a Shakey’s buffet amidst a lapse in will power. Some day, I’ll learn.
Wanda Sykes
Talented? Sure. Irritating? Hell yes.
She’s the Black Kathy Griffin. A real channel-changer.
“Stalkers”
Why is it that every single young lady I meet insists on telling me about their “stalker,” or their ex-boyfriend who is “stalking” them? Are there really that many desperate, sociopathic 20something dudes out there? -or has having a “stalker” become a status symbol for insecure young women who like the idea of someone being dangerously addicted to them?
There are indeed a lot of disturbed, limpdick guys out there, I grant you this. A lot of them graduated from Penn. And I don’t mean to make light of legitimate, potentially dangerous stalking. I’m just saying there’s not as much of it going on as I’ve been lead to believe.
If an ex-boyfriend continues to text or call you after you’ve broken up and made your intentions clear- he’s not stalking you. He just can’t get over you. It’s really not all that fine of a line.
Now if you come home to find that he’s broken into your apartment and hung himself with your bedsheets, wearing nothing but a pair of your panties with a suicide note written across his bare chest in your lipstick… he may be stalking you. Inform the authorities.
I think the rule of thumb is that if your stalkage is something that you feel comfortable bringing up amidst light, get-to-know-you, first date conversation, it’s probably not authentic. From what I gather the real deal is pretty disturbing, and it’s doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue before we’ve even put in a drink order.
(orginally posted 8.15.07)
-Horny
I hate this word. Could it possibly be less sexy? I never use it, and when I have in the past I’ve felt like a total asshole. Even those (many, many) times I’ve been privileged enough to hear a young lady say it to me, it’s had the opposite effect that she planned. First of all, I don’t think it’s entirely coincidental that it contains the word “whore,” albeit with an abbreviated spelling. But more importantly, when I hear the H-word, it makes me think of actual “horns,” -not trumpets or tubas, but the kind on reindeers and rams. And is there anything less sexy than a goddamn reindeer?
-Disable Cookies
What the hell is this? Sometimes when I “stumble across” a website, my computer will ask me if I would like to “disable cookies.” How dare my computer ask me that, and more importantly, how dare some egghead put this term into circulation? I have no idea what it means, I have no idea why I would or wouldn’t want to disable my cookies. I like cookies a lot, maybe even more than the average Joe. Why the hell would I want to disable them? So naturally, when my computer asks me this I click “No.” Again, I have no idea what I’m passing on by doing so. But really, if they’re called “cookies” – they can’t be bad, right? Right. I want my cookies fully enabled. Was whoever dubbed them “cookies” just trying to be a smartass? Because if so, imagine if he/she had made another choice and every now and then I was asked if I would like to disable “Rice Krispie Treats.”
(By the way, for those of you who are planning on e-mailing me to explain what “cookies” really are, please don’t. I don’t care, and I’m not ever disabling them no matter what benefits doing so provides. If you want to e-mail me about conventional, oven-baked, betcha-bite-a-chip cookies, then by all means please do.)
-McCartney goes to Starbucks
Paul, Paul, Paul. Sir Paul. You’re the greatest, mate. And I love that you’re still doing it. But what the hell are you thinking with these posters I’m seeing at Starbucks? And I’m hearing that your picture is even getting plastered across Starbucks gift cards? Jesus, look at this thing:
Is this a promo for a new album from arguably the greatest songwriter of all time or the cover of Tiger Beat? Why is he doing that with his lips? I think Bret Michaels is making the same face (in full makeup) on the cover “Look What The Cat Dragged In” See for yourself:
And you know that McCartney posed for about 10,000 different pics for this campaign, all of which had to survive the scrutiny of Starbucks brass, record execs, graphic designers, creative collaborators, Sir Paul himself…. and they chose THAT picture? It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who produced album covers as iconic as “Abbey Road” or as dazzling as “Sgt. Peppers.” It’s also hard to believe I’m making fun of his effeminate looking picture by using words like “dazzling.”
-Bathroom Attendants
I’m sorry sir, I know you’re trying to make a living, but I just want to urinate without feeling guilty that I’m not giving you any money. No disrespect intended, but the only reason I’m in here is because my bladder is full of what used to be Ketel One or Stella. I’m not looking to shower myself in Drakkar Noir, or Abercrombie Woods, or any of the other 26 colognes you have set up.
And if I’m being honest, it makes me feel uncomfortable when you start chatting me up while I’m doing my business at the urinal- asking me how the ladies are looking tonight, if I caught the Dodgers score- because it just makes it all the more awkward when I leave abruptly without perusing your smorgasbord of candies and colognes. You’re operating under the guise of pleasant conversation, but what you’re actually trying to do is lull me and lure me into a transaction that’s going to result in a handful of singles in your bowl and some sort of Chiclets in my pocket. Can’t do it man.
-The Prince of Tides
I’m talking about the movie here, not the book. Any inexperienced, hack director can butcher a gorgeous novel. But it takes a true narcissist to cast herself as the lead female, despite not being nearly attractive enough to pull of the role.
Very, very few of you will understand this one, but the movie adaptation of my favorite novel makes me want to knock all of Barbra Streisand’s teeth out, one by one, with the edge of an ice skate blade.
-Wrong Side of Traffic
How much does it suck when you’re on a highway in standstill traffic, and the cars across the median traveling in the opposite direction are cruising congestion-free at 70mph? You can almost feel each of those drivers giving you the finger as you sit there and sweat.
-Guest / Customer
Have you noticed that when you go to stores like Target and Wal-Mart, they don’t say “customer” anymore? If a free cashier opens up, you’ll hear them say: “I can take the next GUEST over here!”
Enough of that. I’m not a guest, I’m a customer. If I’m a “guest”, then you’re the “host,” which means that we’re friends. It’s a crock. -a lightbulb over the head of some Suit whose assignment it was to sprinkle a bit more amiability throughout their 2700 locations. But I feel patronized when I hear it, it annoys me. When I stay at a hotel or resort, I’m a “guest.” When I swing by the North Hollywood Target on Victory Blvd. to buy toilet paper and listerine- I’m a customer. Are we clear? Good.
-Keeping Your Organs
When I got my driver’s license 12 years ago, the thought of becoming an organ donor and giving someone else my pancreas was disgusting, so I declined. Then a few months ago I visited the Seventh Circle of Hell, known more commonly as the Department of Motor Vehicles, and when the very helpful, cheerful, and visually fetching woman behind the counter asked me if I’d like to be an organ donor, the question hit me for the first time: “Why the hell not?”
I’ll admit that I don’t know a ton about the topic just yet (that’s never stopped me before), but I’m having a hard time figuring out why someone would not want to save someone else’s life once theirs has ended? Is electing to keep your organs after you die not the most selfish act? What do you care? I can’t help but imagine some kid who gets hit by a drunk driver and has to die in the hospital because they can’t find him a heart or a kidney- because someone stood at the counter in the DMV and decided that they didn’t want the little sticker on their license that gives post-mortem permission to take whatever is needed. I need to hear a logical argument why someone should not be an organ donor. Please e-mail me.
-PhoneTag! You’re it!
The go-to, lame pseudo-joke for anyone who finds themselves trading voicemails with someone. Let me tell you, if you’re the kind of person who says “PhoneTag! You’re it!” then I’m betting whoever you’re trying to reach doesn’t want to talk to you and is sending you to voicemail on purpose. The people who use this phrase (earnestly, I mean. Sarcastically is funny.) are the same people who feel compelled to send a “THANKS 4 THE ADD!” message on MySpace. It’s just as funny as “Horny” is sexy.
(originally posted 6.7.07)
-Deal or No Deal “That’s okay!”
-When it comes to mindless, entertaining TV that I can have on while I do laundry or shoot pool, there may not be anything better than Deal or No Deal. I enjoy the show, and I adore the campy theatrics and fake-outs of the sexy women when they open their cases.
(But I think it would be hilarious if they reversed their fake-outs, like if they made a really excited expression when they peeked in their cases, followed by a big farting sound and manicured middle finger when they turned it around to reveal the $750,000 case.)
But one thing I can’t stand is the whole “that’s okay, that’s okay!” thing that every contestant does. It’s like the producers, or Howie, tells them during commercial that if things go awry, they should just remind themself that everything’s “okay.” I think it’s a good idea to stay calm if you lose a big number from the right side of the board, but there are certain times when it’s not “okay.” Some of these contestants could be down to 2 cases- the million dollar case and the 1 cent case. And they decide to say “no deal, Howie!”
Then after Howie pauses, inhales, exhales and says “Open-the-case!” and the model does so, says “sorry” and shows the devastated Midwestern mother that picking 7 instead of 24 is going to cost her more money than she will make in her lifetime, and that her kids aren’t going to college, and that her wood-paneled station wagon is gonna have to last for another 300,000 miles, and that she won’t be able to pay for stomach stapling, and that her husband isn’t gonna make bail, and that if she would have just taken the banker’s $500,000 offer she would be able to buy back some of the self respect that her drinking has taken from her.
Her reaction? “That’s okay! That’s okay!” EVERY TIME.
Ma’am, maybe where you come from “That’s okay”
…translates to…
“Excuse me Howie, do you have anything in your pockets that can cut through arteries?”
But for the rest of us, your reaction is really, really strange.
Shopping for Cucumbers
I make a mean salad. Lot of ingredients- lettuce, tomato, avocado, baby corn, carrots, croutons, and cucumbers. But it’s only that last item that bothers me, because I don’t like shopping for cucumbers. There I am, standing with my basket in the produce section in front of the cucumbers. I look over my left shoulder, over my right, then I reach out and grab a cucumber, size it up, give it a squeeze and drop it into my basket. It sounds simple, but the whole time I feel like I’m doing something filthy. Cucumbers are just so incredibly phallic.
I don’t think I’m insecure, or homophobic. But I do think that cucumbers are basically just big, green penises. It makes me feel a little weird every time.
-Skechers
Los Angeles is the most casual city in America, my closet is usually locked and loaded with 2-3 pairs of sneakers, or “tennis shoes,” or as we called them growing up in Chicago- “gym shoes.” So if I see an advertisement or a store window that features “gym shoes,” I perk up and take a look. Unfortunately, every now and then I’ll come face to face with Skechers. Are these not the ugliest shoes on the planet? They’re horrible.
Who buys these things? I hate them!
-5 Hour Window
This is a great addition because it’s impossible not to hate. You know how when you need some kind of service in your home- like cable, plumbing, air conditioning, or perhaps if you’re receiving a delivery, the company will give you a “window” in which the service will arrive? Goddamn that’s the worst. Some woman who hates her job calls you the day before and says “They’ll be there sometime between 8am and your death.”
In my experience, the time “window” is usually about 5 hours, so either your entire morning or afternoon is annihilated, and if you think you can beat the system and run a few errands during the “window,” think again, or you’ll be rescheduling delivery for the next day. I had a situation once where I was getting a couch delivered “sometime between 1pm and 5pm” and I needed to send a package that afternoon. 3pm rolled around. Then 4pm. No couch. So I called the effervescent woman at the company and we had this exchange:
“Hi, my couch is scheduled for delivery today and it’s not here yet, so I was hoping that-“
“Invoice number?”
“Um, I’m sorry I don’t have it.”
(blatant, prolonged SIGH that she obviously wants me to hear)
“Last name?”
“Brandt.”
“B-r-a-n-t?”
(blatant, prolonged SIGH that I obviously want her to hear)
“No, B-r-a-n-D-t.”
“B….r…a…n.. did you say B-t?”
“No, D-t. You know, D, as in “Deficient.”
(Typing. Probably one key at a time, using only index fingers. More sighing.)
“Your delivery window is 1 to 5.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s 4:15 and I really need to mail a package.”
“I’m sure they’re on their way, just sit tight.”
“Well, is there any way you could find out… Hello?”
I won’t give you the rest of the afternoon’s play-by-play, but I’ll tell you that it ends with me driving like a maniac for all 6 miles to the post office, running in and sending the package, then getting back to my car to find that I have a “missed call” and a voicemail saying “Hello, uh, Mr…. Bran-dit, we’re here at your house with your couch and you’re not answering the door. I see your note here saying you’ll be right back, but allz I know is we’ve got a schedule to keep, so you can call and schedule a delivery for tomorrow maybe.”
Cut to me punching my steering wheel, and reaching new heights of passive-aggressive sarcasm during my delivery-rescheduling call.
-The Return of Digger
I just had to give a shout-out to my man, Digger, a HATE LIST legend.
Lamisil spent millions of dollars to make Digger the face of their product. This Bud’s for you, Digg. (scroll down to read the original ode to Digger)
(originally posted 3.30.07)
-”I don’t watch TV.”
I hate when I ask someone if they watch a certain show, and they reply by saying:
-like they’re so cultured and intellectual. It’s even worse when they hit me with this version:
(pause)
“I READ.”
Good for you. Would you like a medal? Or perhaps a helping hand to remove that stick up your ass? I love reading as well, and too much TV is obnoxious, but I’ve encountered people who give off such an air of superiority when they announce their disdain for television. Hate that.
-Losing Sneezes
I adore sneezes. They feel great. If I’m having a bad day, or if I’m just stuck in a logjam of L.A. traffic, an oncoming sneeze feels like a Nestea Plunge. It’s more exciting that winning BINGO! Sometimes I envy people with allergies that make them sneeze 30 times a day. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that people say “God Bless You” after you sneeze, because to me it feels like the Almighty has just given me a little gift from above to brighten my day. Sneezing is especially exciting when you’re driving because you have to close your eyes. I remember hearing in 4th grade that if you manually forced your eyes open when you sneezed, your eyeballs would pop out. Then again, that was around the same time I heard that if you burp and fart at exactly the same time …. you die. I’ve tried many times since then and I can never seem to time it perfectly.
Anyway, there’s nothing worse than feeling an oncoming sneeze, preparing for pleasure, tilting your head back, and then…. and then….. OH NO, it’s getting away! Shit! No- come back! COME BACK YOU BASTARD!
I learned a long time ago that staring at bright light, while lethal to Mogwais, is the solution to recapturing evasive sneezes.
Then I learned just a few weeks ago that saying “Elephant” while you’re in the middle of the sneeze-recapturing struggle will get it right back where it belongs- exploding delightfuly out of your noise.
So now when I’m in traffic and a sneeze starts to get a away from me, I launch into an almost involuntary reaction of hitting the vanity lights above me, staring deep into them and saying, “elephant-elephant-elephant-elephant.” Granted, it sounds more ridiculous than the premise for the movie about that black swim team, but it works.
3-2 Beer
(editor’s note: thanks to nearly two dozen emails from readers, I have learned that “3-2 Beer” is actually beer that contains 3.2% alcohol, which is far lower than the normal beer. If you read below, you’ll find that I contended the “3-2″ was actually some kind of ratio for the alcohol content. I considered sweeping my ignorance under the rug and editing what I wrote, but I thought it would be more appropriate to leave it as I originally intended. Carry on.)
This is bullshit. A friend of mine works for a pro sports franchise, and he/she told me recently .that all of the beer served at any major sports/concert venue is of the “3-2″ variety. When I had no idea what that meant, he/she was surprised, then explained that it meant the beer is diluted to a 3-2 ratio, meaning you would have to drink 3 stadium beers to equal the alcohol content of 2 normal beers. More importantly, you’d have to pay for three stadium beers. As someone who has consumed a veritable ocean of beer at concerts and ballgames over the last decade of so- I’m indignant. If THE HATE LIST came with rankings, 3-2 Beer would rocket into the Top 10.
Keep in mind that most beers and MLB games or Metallica concerts cost anywhere from 6-9 bucks, and you get a watery, foamy concoction that will more likely usher you into some rancid piss-stained portaPotty than it will bless you with any hint of intoxication. Since we’re already paying close to 5x what the beer is worth, if anything they should be serving 2-3 beer where I can pound two of them and already feel that 3-beers-deep-I-probably-shouldn’t-drive-because-there’s-a-chance-I-would-fail-a-breathalizer-but-I-will-anyway sensation.
So let’s say it takes 6 beers to give me a really nice buzz. -not the kind where I’m using way too much profanity, and I decide to leave the game just so I can go to IN-n-Out Burger- just the kind that loosens the joints a little bit, you know? That means that I would have to buy NINE 3-2 beers at the stadium, and that’s gonna cost be somewhere around SEVENTY BUCKS.
So what’s the lesson here for the kids? It’s obvious. Drink a lot in the parking lot. As much as you can. Or sneak in a flask of the hard stuff. Or drink like this thrillbilly and you’ll be good to go for 9 innings or 3 encores:
-”This one’s off our new album!”
Speaking of concerts, there is nothing worse than when you give into nostalgia and buy a ticket to see a washed-up band from 20 years ago, like Poison or Def Leppard or Warrant, and in the middle of a crowd pleasing set of their heyday hits, the lead singer says this:
You can almost feel the collective groan of the crowd as the guitarist starts playing some lame riff that is remniscent of the cheese-metal that made them famous when you were 12, yet it also tries to sound like something current and hip like The Killers or Wolfmother. It’s pathetic and sad. And it’s always my cue to wander off and pay 8 bucks for some diluted beer.
-Paying the bill at group dinners
This sucks. I’ve been going to a lot of bachelor parties lately, and most of them are nothing but 48 hours of drinking, decadence and tables of 18 people at restaurants. This sounds like fun, and it is, but I almost break out in hives when the check comes at the restaurant because it’s such a pain the ass. With steaks, shots, salads, etc. it can be almost 2000 bucks sometimes, and 12-20 drunken idiots have to figure out a way to stay coherent enough to throw down the proper amount of cash and plastic.
Usually one poor sap volunteers to be the Monopoly-style “Banker,” and as soon as he announces his title to the buffoons around him, they start pelting him with legal tender like they just landed on Boardwalk-with-two-hotels. I sympathize with The Banker. Every group of friends needs one.
But the person at the group dinner that I detest is the guy who strategically orders the cheapest thing on the menu (like the petit filet at a steakhouse), sips his cocktail and avoids the communal bottles of wine. Then when the banker tries to make things easy on everyone by announcing, “It’s $120 each with tip,” the cheap guys starts freaking out because he can’t afford that. So he turns to the guy next to him, possibly The Banker himself, and whines about how his steak was $20 cheaper than the Porterhouses the other guys ordered, and he didn’t partake in the last two rounds of shots, so he shouldn’t have to pay that much. If he’s a real ass, he will have been watching what everyone else ordered, and he’ll tell the Banker that So-and-So had a special dessert and four martinis, so in fact he should have to pay more than $120. Then the banker is annoyed, but not nearly as much as the waitress, who has to hear something like this:
You get the point.
I hate this. -maybe because I’m the guy who orders the Porterhouse and the rounds of shots. I’m also the guy who makes the shrewd move of offering the put the entire bill on his credit card and taking cash from everyone. This is the best move because it earns me 2000 frequent flyer miles with my American Airlines Mastercard. The downside, especially if we’re at casino, and we usually are, is that I now have nearly $2000 in cast in my pockets, and…. well… sometimes it’s fun to slap down some Ben Franklins on the Vegas felt.
Look- I sympathize with people who don’t have much money to spend on extravagant dinners, and it’s especially hard in your 20s because some of your friends might be making a lot of money, whereas others might still be in school and scarfing Top Ramen over the sink. But really, you’re going to dinner with several people. You know you’re gonna have to spend some money. Ordering an inexpensive item on the menu is one thing, but sitting around biting your fingernails while more wine lands on the table and saying “no” to the caesar salad because you plan on using it as rationale to get out of chipping in another ten bucks at the end of the night is quite another. If you’re going to a big group dinner, you’re going to spend some money. If you’re not comfortable with this, don’t go.
-”YES! I would like to receive news about special offers…..”
Whenever I buy something online, or sign up for any kind of service on the Internet, there’s a screen where I enter my name, address and personal info. And at the very bottom of that screen there are always 1-3 very discreet little check-boxes next to statements like:
What they’re really asking is if you’re interested in getting inundated with barges of junkmail from their company until the time of your death. And not only are these statements embedded discreetly in small print beneath the pertinent fields on the screen, the bastards who constructed the site took the liberty of already checking them for you. So you’ve gotta have the wherewithal to actually UN-CHECK the little boxes if you want to avoid becoming their junkmail bitch.
(originally posted 2.24.07)
-NEW KLEENEX ADS
Have you seen the new ad campaign for Kleenex? I saw a commercial yesterday where a woman tells a story about beating the odds, finding herself, blah, blah, and at the end she sheds a few tears. Then the new Kleenex slogan comes across the screen:
So basically, the good people at Kleenex Corp. are encouraging us to cry, so they can sell more tissues. They want us to cry. The more we cry, the more money they make. In their next commercial, maybe they should show a widow crying at her husband’s funeral. Or maybe a kid crying on the playground while some bullies beat him up. After all, these people are “letting it out” and there’s a good chance that the widow may ask the funeral procession to make a pit stop so she can dry her eyes with some Kleenex. It just strikes me as wrong. Their slogan might as well be:
-SCISSOR
The other day a friend was at my house and he needed to cut a tag off his shirt, so he asked me:
And I was like- “You mean some scissors?”
I’ve heard this before and it has always bothered me. In my opinion, a “scissor” is just a knife. When you put two knives together and throw some orange plastic handles on one end, you have scissors.
Asking for a “scissor” is just as ridiculous as asking if you can borrow a “pant”.
-ONE TEQUILA, TWO TEQUILA…
Yesterday I was at Best Buy, basking in the warmth of the impeccable customer service, and I spotted some dude wearing a black souvenir t-shirt that said:
I found myself staring at the guy for a few moments as my wheels turned. I figured he probably bought that shirt while on vacation in some sort of romantic locale like Daytona Beach or Tijuana. He meandered into a souvenir shop, perused the selections, and decided that he was going to spend $15 on the hilarious, once-in-a-lifetime Tequila t-shirt. I picture him laughing out loud, then pointing it out to his friends, who also laughed out loud and implored him, “Dude, you gotta get that. It’s hilarious!” Then he went over to the person whose job it is to sit behind the counter at a t-shirt shop, and asked, “Hey man, do you have that One Tequila, Two Tequila t-shirt in a Triple XL?”
I guess it’s just shocking to me that people find that kind of thing not only genuinely funny, but worth spending money on and wearing in public.
That day I saw him at Best Buy- He got up that morning, threw on some jeans, and decided, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna wear my Tequila t-shirt today. People always come up to me and tell me how funny it is. I feel like a celebrity when I wear this shirt. I’m gonna start wearing it more. I should have bought two of these things!”
And a final point- what kind of lightweight is on the floor after three tequilas? Weak.
-CHECKS AT THE CHECKOUT
I’m sorry ma’am, I suppose I can tolerate waiting for you to redeem that coupon so you can save 19 cents on your yogurt, just because it gives me some extra time to rifle through Soap Digest before I get to the scanner. However, what I really can’t tolerate is you then paying for your groceries with a goddamn personal check. This is 2007. It’s time to upgrade to a faster, more convenient option. Last time this happened to me, the lady not only wrote a check for $9.73 (I looked), she then recorded the transaction in her check register so she could stay nice and balanced.
Look, I know it’s called “the checkout line,” but that doesn’t mean you should pay with a check. You might as well pay with furs and pelts. As far as I’m concerned, the only person who should pay with a check at the grocery store is Jeffrey Lebowski. And if you don’t understand that reference, you’re either a female, old, or a guy who needs to start watching better movies.
-LOCKER ROOM NUDISTS
What’s with these old guys who stand around for 5-6 minutes, having conversations, while they’re butt naked in the locker room? Is this a generational thing? I know whenever I have to strip down amongst other grown men, I do it ask quickly as possible and I expect them to do the same. Yet sometimes as I’m passing through the locker room at my gym I see two grown men standing there talking about sports or their kids or something while they’re completely naked. I even saw one naked guy standing there reading the paper! Is it like this in the Women’s Locker Room? Gentlemen, get dressed as quickly as possible, and for God’s sake cover yourself as often as you can.
-THE POINT IS PROBABLY MOOT
Bad song lyrics bother me almost as much as bad names. I’ve impaled Vanilla Ice, Sir Mixalot and Cheap Trick on this list for this offense (scroll down), and now it’s time for another installment.
Everybody loves “Jessie’s Girl.” It’s fun, well-written, timeless. And it reminds me of Dirk, Reed, and Todd attempting to sell baking soda to Dr. Octopus.
Anyway, Jessie’s Girl is great. But there’s one line in the song that kills me. Check it out:
I wanna tell her that I love her, but the point is probably moot
This is a rock and roll song about a guy who wants his friend’s girlfriend. And he’s talking about moot points?! It’s such a dorky, uptight expression to use. It belongs in a courtroom, or on the tongue of someone who thinks they’re smart but actually says it’s “a mute point.”
I have a tradition here on THE HATE LIST. Whenever I bash someone’s lyrics, I come up with an alternative that works better. (again, see below). How about this-
I wanna tell her that I love her, but I know I’ll get the boot.
Not great. Not even good. But better. And not nearly as “square” as Ricky Springfield’s version. I think I’m a lot cooler than he is anyway. Judge for yourself, who would you want writing your song lyrics:
-DEODORANT AROMAS
Buying deodorant has become a pain in the ass. All I want is an invisible solid that doesn’t smell like some sort of fruity, tacky cologne. I spent the days between ’91 and ’93 showering myself in Drakkar Noir, so I know a cheesy scent when I smell one.
Yet everytime I’m standing in the Deodorant aisle at Rite Aid (that’s what we call “drug stores” here in this really cool city) I have to stare at a smorgaboard of deodorants that all have names like “Alpine Mist” or “Turbo Cool” or “Shock Chill”. So I sit there uncapping and smelling them one after another, like I’m at Pier One browsing for candles. I just went to RightGuard.com and looked at the products. Here’s what scents they offer, I’m not making these up:
-Fresh Blast
-Cool Peak
-Energy
(and my personal favorite)
-Artic Refresh
Give me just a small break- Artic Refresh?!. What a crock of shit. It’s ironic that the purpose of deodorant is to keep the customer from smelling bad, so the manufacturers create shit-smelling scents and flavors like “Artic Refresh” to mask the unpleasant odors. I’ve smelled these things, and trust me when I tell you, I’d almost rather smell like B.O.
It would be like if I pissed my pants and then rolled in my dog’s shit to cover the smell. Sure, I wouldn’t smell like piss, but I’d be covered in dog shit.
I just end up buying whichever deodorant has the weakest smell. Right now, believe it or not, I’m using “Fresh Blast” and not feeling happy about it.
*NEW 1.3.07
-I Want You to Want Me
You know that song by Cheap Trick where the guy goes on and on about “I want you to want me, I need to need me, I want you to want me.” It’s supposed to be some kind of classic. I can’t stand it. I want you to want me? What a pussy. If you want her to want you then go and do something about it, stop the whining. Maybe she doesn’t want you because you’re a sniffling little pansy.
If one of my friends was talking about a girl and said, “She’s so amazing. I’m so into her. I just really want her to want me, you know? I need her to need me!” I would give him so much shit for it. What a pathetic sentiment.
-Happy Turkey Day!
This last Thanksgiving cemented something for me. I hate it when people say “Turkey Day.” I don’t have a good reason. It’s just cheesy. “Happy Turkey Day!!!” No one calls Easter “Egg Day.” No one calls New Year’s “Booze Day.” No one says “Happy Jesus Day!” on Christmas either. Back in November, a friend of mine asked me, “So are you going home for Turkey Day?” What is this, kindergarten?
-Thanks for the Add!
This is just not necessary, like saying “You too!” when a cab driver drops you off at the airport and tells you to have a good flight. Someone who has a signature “Thanks for the Add!” jpeg that they make sure to send to their new quote-unquote friends takes MySpace way too seriously. Of course, it bothers me even more because half the time I get one that says “Thanks for the AD” as if I took out an “ad” in a newspaper for them. (For the record, between this and the Turkey Day entry, it’s obvious that I’m feeling especially bitter during this Hate List installation. I would apologize, provided that I cared.)
-Featuring….
Why do so many hip-hop albums have to “feature” everybody and their brother? I saw an advertisement for the new album by (does quotations with fingers) Diddy, and it boasted contributions by:
Christina Aguilera
Mary J. Blige
Jamie Foxx
Big Boi
Brandi
Keyshia Cole
Nas
Fergie
Avant
and some dude named “Pharoah Monch.” -I’m assuming he’s a dude unless Pharoahdom has now gone soft on their gender policies.
I don’t own enough rap/hip-hop albums to understand why this is necessary. Is it because one rapper gets boring after a few tracks and you need to hear a new voice or every track sounds exactly the same? How come the new Incubus album doesn’t feature contributions from Steve Perry, Joe Perry, Perry Farrel, and Jesus Jones?
-People Who Talk in Movie Theaters
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT THE FUCK UP!
*NEW 11.18.06
EVA LONGORIA PUBLICITY
Get….out….of…..my…..FACE. I get it. You’re on a very popular tv show. Good for you. A lot of people are. Jesus Christ, does this girl have any understanding of moderation? Must she be on EVERY magazine cover? It’s obnoxious. Get out of my face. I’m smack in the middle of the demographic that is supposed to stop and stare at her magazine covers while I’m in the airport (probably while making a beeline to the McDonalds in the terminal, just because it smells so goddamned good) and I don’t give a shit. She’s really not even that hot. A sweet, hard-working girl? I don’t know; I’ve never met her. But what the hell is her publicist thinking? Why is she such a big celebrity? She’s on a hit TV show and she was in a horrible Kiefer Sutherland movie that bombed, despite Kiefer playing Jack Bauer in a suit. And now she has reached that elite, white-hot level of overexposure that only Ashton Kutcher has reached in the last five years. Get out of my face.
-CHEER UP CHARLIE
You know the “Cheer up Charlie” song that Mrs. Bucket sings while she stirs the laundry? That song sucks. Worst part of the movie. Put me to sleep even when I was a little kid.
-KANSAS CITY CHIEFS’ UNIFORMS
I hate them. Every time I look at their uniforms I see ketchup and mustard. It’s like they’re playing for the McDonald’s team. I also can’t think of a major 1-A college program that has the same color combination. Iowa State I guess, but I don’t have to see them nearly as much. Any others? E-mail me.
(Ed. Note- They are not the worst uniforms in the NFL. The Buffalo Bills’ road uniforms get that distinction)
-”GUY”
Here I go again, another rant on bad names. Is this the worst name of all time? Who the HELL names their son “Guy?” Seriously, when the woman is pregnant, and she’s hanging out with her girlfriends, is this how the conversation goes?
Girlfriend #1- I’m so excited for you Amy! So have you and Mike talked about names?
Girlfriend #2- Ooh, yeah, what names do you like? This is so fun!
Amy- Well, we’ve talked about it a lot, actually. If it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Jessica- after Mike’s mother.
Girlfriend #2- Ooh, that’s so sweet. I love that.
Girlfriend #1- Yeah- me too. So sweet. Little Jessie!
Amy- Totally. And if it’s a boy, we’ve gone back and forth a bunch of times, but we’ve finally decided, and if it’s a boy we’re going to name him……Guy.
Girlfriend #2- Ooooooooh- wait, what? Are you serious?
Amy- Yeah, why? I love the name Guy.
Girlfriend #1- You’re going to name your beautiful little bundle of joy…..GUY??
Amy- Why not? What’s wrong with you guys?
Girlfriend #1- See! You just called us “guys.” You want to name your baby that?! ‘Oh look, it’s cute little baby GUY!” That’s absurd! How is that going to look on a birth announcement? Not Patrick, or Christopher or Michael Jr…… GUY??!!! That’s like naming a girl “Chick.”
Girlfriend #2- I think I’m gonna cry, you guys.
The thing is, there are many people out there named Guy. So have conversations like these actually taken place? Am I to assume that at the point where Amy says she’s going to name the boy “Guy,” her friends actually think it’s a cute, attractive and proud name for a baby boy?
Later on in Guy’s life, people are going to talk about him like this at a party….
Host of Party- Hey man, who’s that guy?
Guy Who Knows Guy- Which guy?
Host of Party- (points) That guy right there.
Guy Who Knows Guy- Oh, that guy? That’s Guy.
Host of Party- I don’t know that guy Guy.
Guy Who Knows Guy- Oh don’t worry. Guy is a good guy.
The whole thing is just horrible. How messed up must little Lourdes be? Not only is her name unusual, but her parents’ names are Madonna and Guy.
-EAU DE VALET
I already feel a little uncomfortable handing over my keys to the guy who has been sitting outside in the cold all night, and every time I do, I can’t help but think of those guys in Ferris Bueller who take Morris Frye’s Ferrari for a joy ride through Chi-town.
It’s a tough job they’ve got, but they’re working for tips, so can they at least roll down the windows or something?
-DON’CHA
You know this song by the Pussycat Dolls, where they sing about “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?” Damn this song to hell. Cast it down with the rapists and pedophiles. What an obnoxious, pathetic song. As I’m sitting here writing his, I really don’t know where to start. What do I say first. How about this?
You’re not hot.
You look like nasty, slutty tramps. What exactly is so hot about you? Pounds of makeup? Fake hair? Bad singing? Basic, tired choreography? And I can’t decide if you’re dressed like a stripper or a hooker. Cant figure it out. Throw me a bone. Is it hooker? It’s hooker isn’t it? I’m right aren’t I?
“Your boyfriend ain’t shit/
You’d rather be with me, girl/
I’ll beat his ass if I meet him/
Dump him and get with me, girl”
I guarantee you that guys wouldn’t be blasting it at keg parties and fantasy drafts. Yeah, there’s a lot of songs, especially rap songs, with lyrics about doing impure things to women. But none of them specifically target the listener, or the listener’s significant other.
Now, unfortunately I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment. This argument would be much better if I did. But I assure you that when the day comes that a young lady agrees with My Personal Ad I will not wish that she was “hot” like the tramps in the video.
Notice there’s no verse where they sing:
“Don’t you wish your girlfriend was Smart like me?
Don’t you wish your girlfriend had Depth like me?
Don’t you wish your girlfriend liked to cuddle and watch TiVo like me?”
It’s bad enough that this song won’t wither and die as fast as that “But Then I Got High” song did back in ‘01, but for some reason Heinekin Premium Light decided to use it as their theme song.
(sigh) (shake head) (deep breath)
WHY???? The commercials are nothing but shots of the beer with this song playing. Aren’t they advertising to men 21-35? Do they think we like this song? It just kills me because Heinekin Premium Light is my go-to beer. I waited years for Heinekin to release a light beer, just because Amstel can get really monotonous. Sam Light was huge, but Heiny Light was really going to be my savior. And it gets ushered in by the Pussycat Dolls and their horrible message? Why not Aerosmith, or Helmet, or Primus, or Buckcherry?
I heard a rumor around town that the lead “singer” had sex with 50 Cent. I hope my boy “Fitty” absolutely wrecked her, and I hope he raps about it in his next overrated album that I will still buy.
-MOST IMPROVED
Giving someone an award for “Most Improved” is such a back-handed compliment. “Congratulations! You don’t suck as much as you used to!”
-SYNCHRONIZED CLAPS
How awkward is it when you’re at a concert and the performer instigates a synchronized clap? God, it’s the worst. No one really wants to do it, but you go along with it because if you’re at the concert you probably like the singer and you don’t want him/her to look like an asshole. So you start clapping, unless you’re too cool, in which case you just stand there and bob your head. The beginning of the synchronized clap isn’t nearly as bad as the end though. No one knows when to end. I’m usually one of the first to jump ship, because I hate them, and even more so because I don’t want to be one of those saps at the end who is trying to keep it going when only 40% of the original participants are still clapping along.
It’s a lot like when you’re at a sporting event, like a Cubs game, and some drunk stands up and starts the “Let’s go Cub-bies!” chant. I never participate in these, but a lot of people do, because either they’re genuinely into it or they feel sorry for the guy, plus the Cubs are surely behind in the game. The chant will go on for a good 8-9 rotations of “Let’s go Cub-bies!” The guy who started it raises his Old Style aloft and feels like a celebrity because he started a chant, and he’s going to brag about it for the rest of the game, as well as when he’s wasted at Hi-Tops after the Cubs lose. But then people are going to lose interest, or they’re (understandably) just going to want to sit there and enjoy the game without having to scream some dumb shit. Slowly, the participants will taper off. With each rotation, less people will be involved, until it comes full circle and the drunken instigator is the only one chanting. That erosion process makes me uncomfortable, and the same thing happens with the synchronized claps.
The other day I was watching the Megan Mullaly show (for some reason, I find her sexy. I’m not kidding) and her guest was none other than K.Fed.
-BUZZING THE TOWER
You know when a fly or mosquito flies really close to your ear and buzzes into it, launching you into a convulsion of shoulder spasms and hand swats? I call it “buzzing the tower.” I hate that.
Come to think of it, it’s pretty ridiculous that we call it a “fly.” Did someone, whoever is in charge of naming species, just not feel creative that day?
It’s like calling a dog a “Run,” or calling a rainbow trout a “Swim,” or calling an L.A. socialite who is only famous because her father gave us “Dancing on the Ceiling” and “All Night Long” in the 80′s, a “Disgust.”
-SIDEBENDS OR SITUPS
I never thought I would utter these words, but I have a bone to pick with Sir Mix a Lot. First of all, I find it annoying that every drunken girl in the world feels compelled to sing this song at karaoke bars. That is of course, unless they choose “I Will Survive.” But more importantly, there is one lyric in this song that has driven me crazy since it was first popular back in 6th grade. Check it out- the whole song rhymes, right from the first line: “I like big butts, and I cannot LIE/ You other brothas can’t DENY” The whole song has a great rhythm, even through sections when Sir refers to his “anaconda” and suggests that “even white boys got to shout” (I alway shout at that part).
But there’s one part that doesn’t belong in the song, and I hate it. The part where he says “You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don’t lose that butt” is completely out of place. It doesn’t rhyme, doesn’t flow and actually haults the song for a beat. It’s horrendous. Check it out in context with the lines around it and see for yourself:
But Fonda ain’t got a motor in the back of her Honda
My anaconda don’t want none
Unless you’ve got buns, hun
YOU CAN DO SIDE BENDS OR SIT-UPS,
BUT PLEASE DON’T LOSE THAT BUTT
Some brothers wanna play that “hard” role
And tell you that the butt ain’t gold
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it
So Cosmo says you’re fat
Well I ain’t down with that!
It took me about 11 seconds to come up with that, and I’m sure I could do better if I was recording an album that one day, with the help of Malibu rum and Apple Puckers, would go on to karaoke infamy.
-”SURE”
The word “sure” is such a copout. An old girlfriend of mine use to whip it out all the time during arguments and she’s responsible for me hating it. When it appeared that the argument was reaching an end, I would say to her something like, “….that’s all I’m trying to say. Alright? Are we okay now?”
And she would just say, “Sure.”
Not “yes” or “no” or even “you’re an asshole.” (which I would have preferred) Just “Sure.” It’s a weak way of avoiding committing with either yes or no. On a first date- “So do you like sushi?” “Ummm.. sure.” That word sucks. Not nearly as badly as it’s bastard cousin “whatever,” but it still sucks.
-INSUFFICIENT FUNDS
Thankfully, I haven’t run into this one in a few years, but I put my time in during college. In my experience “Insufficient Funds” is what the ATM tells you when you attempt to make a withdrawal for a dollar amount greater than what you have in your account. It’s a slap in the face. You’re expecting to hear the pleasant flapping of the twenties as they’re filtered into the little tray, but instead the ATM barfs out a white receipt with the fateful words on it. “Sweet,” you think, “so basically you’re telling me that my funds don’t suffice. Awesome.”
And from my experience, you don’t get this message because you’re trying to withdraw 300 bucks and you’ve only got 260 in the account. There were times at PNC Bank in Princeton, NJ during the late 90′s that I was getting turned away from the rare ten dollar withdrawal. My funds didn’t suffice. I used to feel frustrated because I wanted to ask the machine if my funds were sufficient for a withdrawal of, say, 4 bucks so I could buy a Slim Jim and pretzel rods. I never found out. See below for another reason I hate ATMs.
-HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
Every year we have to spend 30 seconds sitting awkwardly and waiting while our friends/family to sing Happy Birthday to us. I hate this 30 seconds. You never know what to do, or where to look, and you just want it to end. Do you just smile? Look at the cake? Count the candles? Do you sing along? Is that like applauding for yourself?
Heaven forbid it takes place in public, like at a restaurant, because then the tables around you feel compelled to join in. But by the time they do, the song has reached the (insert name here) portion, and they don’t know your name, so they sing it late, once they’ve heard the family/friends say it, this puts them behind and the whole thing is just a debacle. And that’s just if it takes place at a normal restaurant. Olive Garden? Benihana’s? Forget about it.
And just for the record, I hate it when someone decides the fun needs to continue with the tedious “How Old Are You Now?” supplement. It’s the kind of thing that unfunny people do when they’re trying to be funny.
-BRAND NEW INVENTION
I’m an old-school Vanilla Ice fan, and I’m not joking when I say that. “To The Extreme” was the first album I ever bought.
NOW- what’s up with the first line of this song?
Ice is back with my brand new invention.”
Picture this. You’re a young rapper that’s about to release your first single. You’re about to make a first impression. Considering that rhyming is the key building block of rapping (as far as I understand) wouldn’t you at least want the first line of your new song to rhyme? I mean “listen” and “invention” aren’t even CLOSE. The song loses all credibility right there. At least Sir Mixalot tries to sneak in his one horrible line within the meat of the song. This is the first line. (I don’t technically count “Yo VIP, let’s kick it” because it’s more of a rallying cry than a rap).
And let’s address exactly what Ice means when he says he’s “back.” You can’t come back unless you were once here. If he was to release a hit single now, in 2006, well then it would be very appropriate to announce that he was “back.” Hopefully with a better rhyme though. Why couldn’t he have just said:
Ice is here with a brand-new edition”
It’s not a perfect rhyme, but it suffices. And again, I just came up with that in 11 seconds.
-SERVING SIZE
This is a scam. Have you ever been suckered by serving sizes? Who the hell determines these things? The other day I bought a burrito at Trader Joe’s because the label said it was only 300 calories. I took it home, nuked it, ate it, loved it. Yay. But as I was tossing the wrapper away, I noticed in the fine print that the burrito contained 2 “servings,” and consequently, 600 calories. I felt duped. What the hell is a “serving” anyway? Is it the amount you are supposed to eat per sitting? If that’s the case, should I have eaten half the burrito and then wrapped the rest in plastic and saved it for later? While I’m at it, I’ll drink half a coke and eat two gummi worms.
It’s like a doctor asking me how much I weigh and me answering “140.” Then upon his skepticism I would say, “Oh, I’m sorry I thought you meant just my arms, legs and head. I didn’t know you wanted me to include my torso in that tally. In that case, 190.”
What a crock. Just tell me how many calories are in the goddamn burrito because I’m eating the whole thing.
-CLOSER PARKING SPOT
I hate when you go somewhere with a big parking lot, like a sporting event or concert, and you end up parking really far away because it’s the only open spot you see after circling several times. You’re pissed, but you’ve been waiting for months to see Mr. Big, so what can you do?
-TACO BELL INGENUITY
I love making a run for the border. Along with Arby’s and IN ‘N Out, the Bell is my favorite fast food. But who are they kidding? They continue to release new items (the “crunchwrap,” the “chalupa,” etc) that contain the exact same ingredients. They’ve been doing this for decades. Take some meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, optional sour cream, beans and hot sauce- throw them together with any variety of tortilla and voila! A Taco Bell item. It’s all the same stuff.
The other day, amidst a 7/10 hangover, I ate a Crunchwrap Supreme. It was good. And you know what’s funny? It tasted exactly like a Taco Supreme. Or a Mexican Pizza. Or a Gordita.
My favorite chapter in this saga was the release of Border Bowls. Here the adwizards at the TB corp. decided to save money on tortillas and just dump the usual suspects into a plastic bowl. I remember thinking it was odd that the Border Bowls cost more than the burritos. It actually cost the customer to take what was in the burrito and dump it into a bowl.
The best part is, Taco Bell doesn’t need to come up with anything new. I’ll continue running towards the border until they build one of those walls that Schwarzenegger was talking about. Come to think of it? Has Taco Bell stopped using that slogan? Given the climate here in southern California, and the volatility of the issue, I bet they have. Hmm.
Okay, I just checked. How could I have forgotten that the slogan is:
*NEW 6.26.06
-ILLINOISE
It is not uncommon for yours truly to come across people in California who believe that I hail from a plural state. You see, I still have an Illinois drivers license, which I’m often required to display. At least once a month, a bouncer, checkout girl or teller will make a remark about my ILL-A-NOISE license, to which I usually tell them that there is only one of them. ILL- A- NOY. Do these same people pronounce Arkansas as AR-CAN-ZUS, just like the state of Kansas with an A-R on the front? -because it’s just as ignorant. Come on guys, it’s a state. There are only 50 of them. Let’s figure out how the hell to pronounce it. In college, I was was ticketed for some B.S. violation by a New Jersey state trooper who handed me my ticket and attempted to flash his would-be panache by thrusting the ticket forward and saying “I hope they don’t all drive like that in ILL-A-NOYS.” Having already been cited and therefore with nothing to lose, I replied, “Officer, I have great respect for what you do. As such, I don’t want you to appear ignorant or even stupid to the next cross-country driver you pull over who happens to come from the great Land of Lincoln- so just know that the state is pronounced ILL- A-NOY. Most children learn that in 3rd grade.” Of course, he then told me to “be on my way” which I agreed to amiably. I hope his wife reads this.
-FEMALE MIDDLE FINGERS
I don’t mind women who can be a little crass, in fact I think it’s funny when one of my female friends drops an MF or a CS. It’s all good. But I think it looks absurd when a woman gives the middle finger. There’s something about that gesture that’s just so distinctly masculine. It’s kind of the same reason why people rarely call females “assholes.” You don’t hear it much. Women are so good at giving looks and glares and body language to put men in their place, wheareas we are usually armed with only the F-word and our middle finger. I encourage women to use these tools, take the high road, and leave the finger to us idiots. It just doesn’t look right coming from your pretty little hands.
-110%
One of my pet peeves is when people talk about giving “One hundred and ten percent.” This is impossible. Absolutely unachievable. I don’t care how hard you try, you CANNOT give 110%. You can’t even give 100.000001%. Doesn’t giving 100% suffice? If you tell someone, your boss maybe, that you gave 100% are they going to accuse you of not working hard enough? Crazy.
-’72 MIAMI DOLPHINS
The 1972 Miami Dolphins are the only team to ever complete a perfect, undefeated NFL season. Every year since then, when the final remaining undefeated team loses their first game, the ’73 Dolphins pop champagne and toast to their own legacy remaining untouched. I hate this. I believe that when you set some record or garner a string of achievements, you should encourage your successors. You should be happy for them, proud. These gentlemen seem conceited and pompous to me as they celebrate the inability of hard-working athletes to be as perfect as they were. And I believe their record should have an astrix because their season was shorter. I was livid when the Colts lost to the Chargers last year and blew their perfect season, as I will be next year when the last undefeated team loses and I’m forced to watch footage of the ’72 Dolphins basking in their 32 year-old elitist glory.
-LAMISIL COMMERCIALS
What the hell is the deal with these Lamisil commercials? Have you seen them? These bizarre Dark Crystal castoff mascot introduces himself as “Digger” and then explains that he is some kind of toenail fungus.
These commercials disgust me. Have you ever seen The Fly? You know the scene I’m talking about. Jeff “Dino-Droppings?” Goldblum decides he no longer needs his fingernails. He and Digger should get together and go bowling. I don’t want to see someone getting their toe nail ripped off while I’m watching Pardon the Interruption, can you blame me?
And these things run all the time- are toe nail funguses really that big of a problem? I don’t know anyone who has one, I’ve never heard of any of my friends having one- so why is Digger in my face 24/7?
WOW. I just went to Lamisil.com. You have to go. Click on “Get Digger’s Story” on the left side of the page. I’ll let it speak for itself.
-GEOFF
Why do parents name their children this? WHy not go with “Jeff”? Unless you’re giving birth to a cartoon giraffe that sells toys, don’t name your son “Geoffrey.” I don’t care if it’s a traditional spelling or whatever your reason is, it looks like “GEE-OFF”. It’s just as frustrating as naming your son “Sean.” We had a kid in my first grade class named “Sean” and we all called him “Seen.” But it’s not as bad as “Geoff.” Ladies- can you honestly tell me that if you met a guy you wouldn’t think it was a tiny little turnoff that he spelled his name G-e-o-f-f instead of J-e-f-f? How’s that going to look on your wedding announcement? I probably made some new enemies with this one. Nice.
-”PORSH”
For the last time, it’s not a “Porsh.” It’s two syllables. Porsche. Por-sha. I know people who drive one and don’t even say it right. They’re the same people who write me e-mails that say “Your the best!”. Ignorant is a three syllable word. What I can’t figure out is whether my first name is one syllable or two. Help me out.
-FIREWORK TECHNOLOGY
It’s almost the 4th of July. I’m a big fan. I like fireworks too. In fact I saw a display in New Jersey a few weeks ago. I would give it an 8. Nice pacing, good finale. But it occured to me that I could have been watching a display from the early 80′s. I feel like nothing has changed. There has been no evolution in firework technology. I sat there watching a few weeks ago clutching a Stella Artois and my Blackberry. The fireworks looked exactly like they did in ’86 when I was slurping a Flinstones push-up and looking really cool in my Bugle Boy and Jordashe. This is 2006- fireworks should be able to write things in the sky, form shapes, dance, play music. What’s the deal? They’re still just, fireworks. Isn’t it someone’s job to blow his eyebrows off and come up with badass advances in firework technology. My cellphone is obsolete by the time I complete my first text message, so why can’t we see some novel fireworks this 4th?
*NEW* 2.19.06
-LOUD CELLPHONE TALKERS
As I’ve said before, we all have cellphones now, and I can’t remember what it was like when not being next to your homephone meant you were unreachable. Cellphones can be great, if you know the proper etiquette. A heinous group of people who clearly don’t know it, are those who not only talk on the phone in Starbucks and Borders, but really really loudly with no effort to lower their voices. Probably the worst example is when you’re on a plane after it has just landed, and the moment the “seatbelt sign” flicks off- some idiot whips out his phone and starts talking really loudly..
-and this is amidst that awkward period when everyone has already gotten their overhead bags and is silently waiting for the gridlock to start moving towards the front of the plane. I travel a lot. (I considered ranting about people who talk on their phones at the gym, but I don’t think my computer has enough memory space to contain the white-hot fury that would spew from my fingertips for those God-forsaken individuals.)
-THE CLOSE-DOORS BUTTON
Picture this, you’re on an elevator, going down to the lobby from the 18th Floor. You’re running late. You’re starting to sweat a little bit. The elevator stops at the 12th Floor, you sigh, and some dude gets on. The you watch him press the “11″ button and you curse him under your breath as you look at your watch. He gets off at 11, and you immediately start pressing the “close doors” button as fast as possible, just to expedite this glacial process.
But nothing happens.
The door doesn’t close, it just stays open, winking at you. You almost feel like pressing the button that is supposed to close the doors and get you on your way has actually caused them to stay open longer. Finally, seconds later, the doors slowly close- seemingly having nothing to do with the button, which you have now pressed 19 times. Why can’t that button just do what it’s supposed to do? When I press the “close doors” button, I want the damn doors to close, and quickly. I want those doors to become a horizontal guillotine when I press that button. But alas, that button does absolutely nothing.
As if that wasn’t enough, the “close doors” button has an ugly bastard step-brother: that button you press at a pedestrian crosswalk to change the traffic light. Let’s set the record straight about that button- IT DOES NOTHING. I’ve pressed that thing 57 times, only to watch the cars cruise by me, the drivers pointing and laughing because someone actually thinks that button does something. -which is why I’m a serial jaywalker. Damn those buttons, right to Hell.
-YOUR VS. YOU’RE
One of the most common typos and grammatical errors in our fine language. THe majority of the population doesn’t see a mistake in this sentence:
“Your so funny!”
-but it’s there, just like it is when you say, “Your the best,” or if you ask, “Your going to be there, right?”
What you are really trying to say there is, “You ARE so funny.” And if you want to condense that, you need to use the word-
“you’re”
It’s a contraction of “you” and “are.” Introduce yourself, make friends. And when your ready, use it. Hahaha.
-ATM MACHINE
I hate signs that say “ATM Machine” – and they’re everywhere.
That’s like saying, “My dad works for the C.I.A. Agency and he loves watching the NFL League.”
or
“I am a proud member of the S.A.G. Guild and I often work in NYC City.”
Automated.
Teller.
MACHINE.
-POSING QUESTIONS TO YOURSELF
Have you ever heard someone talk like this:
“Do I want to move out of my house? No, of course I don’t. But do I understand that I might have to? Yes, I understand that.”
-WHY do people talk like this? It’s bizarre, like they’re schizophrenic and having a conversation with themself. Athletes and coaches talk this way all the time during interviews:
“I don’t know what to say. Was today a good practice for this team? No, it wasn’t. Can we play better than we did today? Yeah, I think so. Will we this weekend? I certainly hope so.”
Why not just say: “We didn’t practice well today. But I know we can play better and I hope we do this weekend.” Drives me crazy
-ATHLETES HANGING ON TOO LONG
Please hang ‘em up, guys. It’s just too painful.
-COMPLEX HANDSHAKES
Sometimes people have lengthy, complex and funny ways of shaking hands or exchanging grips with their friends. This is cool. But there have been times when I’m getting introduced to someone for the first time and the guy shakes my hand, then shifts into some elaborate serious of pounds, snaps, slides and high fives that I can’t even begin to keep up with. So then I kind of just try to improv with the guy and it inevitably ends awkwardly and he and I have already started out on the wrong foot in our relationship.
But then I think- how the hell was I supposed to know what to do there? Am I the only one who doesn’t know the choreography? No, I convince myself, he’s wrong. When you’re meeting someone, you just shake their hand- that’s all. Call me boring, call me old-fashioned- but save all that other crap for down the road when we’re actually friends and I know what the hell you’re doing.
(NEW 9/21/05)
-OVERPLUCKED EYEBROWS
If obesity is the new epidemic for the 21st Century, pencil-thin, overplucked eyebrows run a close second. I’m an eyebrow guy- don’t ask me why. I always check out females’ eyebrows, and somewhat often I am turned off by what probably started as a little bit of upkeep and morphed into something just short of a wax job. I think I speak for all males when I say that a natural, full look with steady manicuring is really the best look, ladies.
Now if you like them really, really thin and you feel good that way- then by all means, pluck away. But I’m assuming that most women pluck their eyebrows at least in part to look attractive to men. Have you ever seen someone with their eyebrows shaved? Do you know how creepy it looks? Obsessive plucking can lead to something just short of that. The only thing worse is the look where they just say to hell with it, pluck the ENTIRE eyebrow and then draw it on. It’s like cutting your lips off with scissors then painting on some big red lips over what’s left of your mouth. Leave the brows alone.
-KETCHUP PACKETS
These little bastards should be #1 on this list. I like ketchup. I especially like it with fries, and for that matter I like a lot of ketchup with my fries. I want my fries to feel like Michelle Pfeiffer in “What Lies Beneath” when she’s paralyzed in the bathtub and Harry Ford is letting the water slowly consume and drown her. Except the water is ketchup and I’m Harry Ford.
The thing is, I only get about two fries worth of ketchup out of every packet. If I have a plate of fries, that could be 30 fries we’re talking about here. So that means I need to awkwardly open and squeeze out FIFTEEN ketchup packets to enjoy my meal. Now let’s say that I want to prepare the entire pile of ketchup, all fifteen packets, before I eat (as opposed to doing it on a fry-to-fry basis). Those things aren’t always easy to open. I will estimate that it takes me 20 seconds to rip open and squeeze out each packet (as your hands get greasy, it becomes more difficult).
15 packets X 20 seconds per packet = 300 seconds, or 5 MINUTES!
After 5 minutes my fries are getting cold. I hate ketchup packets. I don’t even mind pumping the ketchup into those little white cups. Fast, efficient. Just hate the packets. Why do they refuse to become obsolete? And why can’t I super-size my ketchup packets?
-”LITERALLY”
This has become one of the most misused words in the English language. It seems people don’t understand it’s meaning, because I hear erroneous usages every day. Dictionary.com explains that Americans have “a natural tendency to use the word as a general intensive.”
Last weekend, after the Eagles defeated the 49ers easily, I heard one commentator say, “Donovan McNabb and the Eagles went out there on Sunday and literally killed the 49ers.” Nope. Sorry. That didn’t happen. There were no homicides on the playing field. No one was “literally” killed. They may have been tackled very aggressively, and perhaps even injured, but no one was killed. Then last night I watched “The Biggest Loser” and one of the guys said something like, “I couldn’t believe it. In one week, I lost a ton of weight- literally!” Sigh. You were fine right up to that last word, my man. It’s very impressive that you lost a lot of weight. But last I checked a ton was not comprised of 24 pounds.
-COMMERCIAL EMPLOYEES
I go to places like Target, Best Buy and Home Depot quite often. You probably do too. The service at those places is almost always horrible, but you wouldn’t think so judging by the commercials. How come in the Best Buy commercials they portray well-dressed, well-groomed middle-aged employees smiling and giddy about helping out the customers? I’ve never had an experience like that. Usually, I have to hunt down some long-haired teenager who’s trying unsuccessfully to grow mustache so I can ask him if they carry a certain type of stereo cable-
“Uh, that’s not my department, I don’t know.”
Hmm, I ask- is there someone working in that department that could please help me?
“Uh yeah- but he’s on his break.”
He’s on his break. Yeah. Do you think he’ll be back soon.
“I don’t know man, sometimes he’s literally on his break forever.”
At this point, I’m done. And why is he calling me “man”?
Another time I approached an employee at Home Depot and asked for help in finding a rare, outdoor light bulb. He was on a ladder, busy placing some toilet seats on a high shelf, and he said to me “I need to stock these, I can’t help you right now.” While I thought, “get your ass down from that ladder and help me find this,” it occurred to me that Home Depot’s slogan is “You can do it. We can help.” Can you really? Does that promise become invalid when there’s an emergency run on toilet seats? My mind flashed to the commercial again. A proud and excited, yet flustered father stands in front of some lumber with plans in his hand. Out of nowhere, an outgoing and amiable employee comes over his shoulder and says, “Oh, you’re building a tree house huh? Let me help you with that!”
Where is that man?
Commercials showing happy and generous employees at these stores are just as false as perfectly melted cheese, crisp lettuce and fresh-grilled burgers in Wendy’s commercials. The burgers in reality are lopsided, mushy, greasy and absorbed in their paramount toilet stocking responsibilities.
(originally posted 6/11/05)
-SUBSCRIPTION CARDS
Okay, has anyone ever actually plucked one of these from their US Weekly or Hit Parader, filled it out and mailed it in? Damn these things. It’s hard enough to find the article I’m looking for about “The one move you haven’t tried yet!” without these things getting in my way and falling out all over the place.
-SIX FLAGS GUY
The dancing Six Flags guy gives me the creeps. I can’t explain it. I think he keeps little boys locked up in his basement.
-PAYING FOR AIRPLANE FOOD
Have you seen this crap yet? Look lady, I just paid $400 for this flight, am I not entitled to some free cheese and crackers?! How about some Craisins?!
-BIKES THAT THINK THEY’RE CARS
I don’t like when I’m in the turning lane behind some dude wearing full body spandex. Some of these cyclists are out of control. Riding on the side of the road is dangerous and annoying enough. You’re not a car!!
-COMMERCIALS IN MOVIE THEATERS
I’m fine with watching a trailer for The Chronicles of Narnia or King Kong. I’m not so fine with watching a goddamn commercial for Fanta or Fandango. There’s so many commercials and previews that I’m always done with my concessions by the time the movie starts.
-THE WNBA
I love how the WNBA’s idea of a “highlight” is a no-look pass and a layup. WOW! Did you see that! I hate that stupid bi-colored ball they play with, I hate when it’s been such a slow sports day that Sportscenter shows WNBA highlights. I hate how people used to suggest, “Lisa Leslie can play with the guys!” Give me a break. Just a small one. (wanna know something else that’s funny? When I typed in “WNBA” to Google, it asked me, “Did you mean NBA?” Even Google doesn’t respect it)
-”I COULD CARE LESS”
People- stop saying this. It doesn’t make sense. Say, “I couldn’t care less.” Tell other people to say it too. Help the cause.
-TIM DUNCAN
He’s an amazing player. But goddamn he is boring.
-GIN
It’s nasty. Tastes like pine needles. The sad part is that I will still drink it if there is nothing else.
-EOWYN
The worst character in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The futility of her attempt at Aragorn’s heart is matched only by the pitifulness of her settling for Faramir. The moment she kills the Witchking and says that absurd “I am no man” line is maybe the only part of the 3 films that I don’t like.
-BLISTER IN THE SUN
People love this song. You guessed it, I hate it. Especially the line “Big hands I know you’re the one!” Hate it.
-TIME BETWEEN TOOL ALBUMS
Come on guys. End the suffering. It’s been over 4 years. At least give us a single.
-$8.03
The other day I bought a sandwich and a drink. The total came out to $8.03. There wasn’t a little penny tray, and although I sighed and gave the cashier that “help me out, man” look- he didn’t offer to just take my eight dollars. So I had to give him nine dollars and had to take 97 cents. Hate that. Why do they price things to come out that way? Can’t you just make it come out to $8???
-ENDING OF HEAT
Heat is one of my favorite movies by one of my favorite directors, but I hate the ending. Deniro’s character is so much cooler than Pacino’s.
-CONTRA W/O 30 LIVES
I hate anyone who claims they have ever beaten the original Contra without the classic code for 30 lives. I don’t care how good you are or were at the game. It can’t be done.
-RYAN CABRERA’S HAIR
Dude, are you actually TRYING to look like a douchebag?
-AEROBICS INSTRUCTORS WHO LIE
I take some cardio and ab classes at my gym. They’re hard. I hate it when the instructor is counting down until you’re done with a hard ab exercise or something- “Okay 8 more! 8..7..6..5..4..3..2..1… I LIED! 8 MORE!!!” I swear under my breath, sometimes trying to do so loud enough that they hear.
-THE ENDING OF WAR OF THE WORLDS
I really liked this movie. The ending was a joke. AS IF the brother would live!!!!!
-NAMES THAT USE FIRST INITIAL
F.Scott Fitzgerald. M.Night Shyamalan. C.Thomas Howell. I hate names like this. What’s the point? Did their parents name them like this? Did they choose to go by this? Is it because they hate their first name? What do their friends call them, or how do they refer to them? “Hey man, we’re gonna head over to R. Jason’s and watch the game, you down?” From now on, I’m to be referred to as K. Robert Brandt
-BILL MAHER
Does anyone like him? I can’t change the channel fast enough whenever I see him. He is the embodiment of smug. Plus I’ve seen him out in L.A. several times and he’s always trying to molest some slutty Playmate who is one third his age.
If you feel I missed some key items the list, or if you like some of the things that I hate- feel free to e-Mail me.