I don’t hate a lot of things, I’m just not built that way but a few things have crept into my conscious that I deem awful, unbearable, and I hate them!
Roaches . . . need I really say more? I hate these flying miniature bugs of burden and disgust and they make my damn skin crawl just thinking about them. I believe with all of my heart that these nauseating little cusses are not God made but made by Lucifer himself to torture us and good golly Miss Molly, if one takes flight, I about stroke out and die, especially if the little sucker is heading in the direction of my face. I HATE those demon roaches.
Men that talk to my boobs instead of my face . . . need I really say more? The last time I checked, my boobs don’t come with a set of eyes, no, those are nipples and you can’t see with them. My belly button is not my mouth so don’t expect sentences to come out of there. The next time one of you hateful boob staring while I talk to you men stare at my boobs, I will taze your junk, that is a promise. And if I have forgotten my tazer, well, I will knee you in the balls instead so you can liken the pain that I have just caused you to the pissed off pain you cause my insides when you talk to the girls and not to me.
Drunk sloth drivers going negative 12 in the left aka faster lane . . . need I say more? I really don’t have to as I am sure 124% of you have experienced this. I HATE this! Go back to the drunk sloth zoo you drug yourself out of, we don’t need your lazy ass on the road anyway.
Mimes . . . I will say more here. Mimes freak me the hell out and their freakishly white pasty faces do not help their eerie I’m stuck in a box and have to use my hands to feel my way around this box cause. Who in the hell came up with this shit and better yet, why? I saw a mime a few years ago in a park somewhere and it was everything I could do to not to violently shove him out of his box, kick him in the ass, and hope for sound to come out just so I knew he was a real human being. This is not art or a normal way to express yourself. If you want to paint your face white, not speak, and move your hands around funny, visit the psych ward, ask for a straight jacket, and have a jolly good time in the damn rubber room alone, since you don’t speak anyway. Y’all are freaks!
Buying a used car for my soon to be 16-year-old . . . need I say more? I HAAAAAATE buying used cars. Hate it so much, I’d rather drive behind a sloth in the left lane going negative 12 miles per hour, with a boob staring passenger as he talks to me riding shot-gun, a mime riding in the back seat stuck in his box, and a roach sitting on each shoulder. I kid you not, I hate used car shopping. Here’s why . . .
- I will NEVER feel as if I’ve gotten a good deal. Never!
- You used car people, not all of you, are sneaks and liars. You know who you are! Shame on you and I’m telling your mother.
- As you lie to me and sweat and I see it glistening down your shiny red face, I want to stick you in a box with a mime and a mess of roaches licking your lying sweaty face.
- I am to the point that I don’t even believe the CARFAX anymore. This point was proven to me today as my husband and I arrived at a used car dealership only to find out that the car we were interested in had a paint job done my Mrs. Scattergood’s kindergarten class in the parking lot only after all the kids had consumed spiked punch that the mime, who visited their class that day for some reason, spilled into the punch bowl trying to get out of his box. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I honestly wanted to punch someone, maybe like a mime, yes a mime would do.
- We are shown another car and it smelled like someone had sex in it, afterwards, up and died, then a mime climbed in and got stuck in his box and began sweating profusely, followed by a bit of Fabreeze to cover the stench. Fabreeze can only go so far, y’all.
I know hate is a strong word and I don’t use it a lot, I really don’t, but certain things just get the best of me. Did I mention how much I hate mimes?