As an exercise for the standup class, I had to compile a list of things I hate. Here’s what I came up with:
I hate people who do bad things in the name of religion, like molest children or launch jihads.
I hate people who do annoying things in the name of religion, like distribute pamphlets or condemn masturbation.
I hate religious conservatives who are always telling other people they’re going to Hell. You know what, for me Heaven is wherever you’re not. That’s where I’m going when I die. See ya.
I hate people who try to make me feel guilty about what I’m eating. Yeah, it’s a hamburger. And it’s none of your business if I’m going to the gym later to work it off. Eat your rice cake and watch the juice drip down my face, you fucking food nazi.
I hate cancer. I hate when people die of cancer. I hate people who say “get cancer” to somebody they don’t like. I hope all those people get cancer.
I hate guns.
I hate people who wear sunglasses all the time. Even Stevie Wonder. Seriously, is he really afraid of damaging his eyes?
I hate “How are you doing?” and “What’s up?” They’re meaningless and interchangeable. “I’m fine. How are you?” “Not much. What’s up with you?” I hate how some people don’t know the rules. Like you’ll ask them how they’re doing and they won’t respond. “How are you?” “I’m fine, and you?” [Silence…] “How? How! Answer me! I need to know!” I feel tricked, like they bamboozled me into giving away some personal information that they weren’t prepared to share themselves. The only thing worse is when you ask someone how they’re doing and they actually tell you. I went to the kitchen in the office where I work and saw a woman from down the hall. I asked her how she was doing, and she said, “Oh, my Mom died.” I’m like, “I really just came in to get a Coke.”
I hate people who pierce their newborn baby’s ears. Yeah, it’s cute. Cute like prison. That’s where you belong for mutilating your child.
I hate how every pair of conjoined twins becomes a news event. I’m sorry. I just don’t like looking at two newborns rolling around on a SpongeBob blanket with their skulls fused together. Does that make me a bad person?
I hate people who tell me to “cheer up”. They don’t know what kind of day I’m having. And sorry, but “cheer up” isn’t going to do it. If you want me to cheer up, don’t say, “Cheer up”. Find me a new job. Clean my apartment. End world hunger. That’ll cheer me up. When someone tells me to cheer up, it always makes me feel worse. I think, Man, am I that mopey that someone would be so rude as to comment on it just out of concern for my well-being, or are they that much of an self-deluded asshole that they need everyone around them to be happy all the time? You know what cheers me up? The thought of those people getting cancer.