So, this week's meme is "I'm not sure why I hate <subject>."
All right. All Goddamn Right.
You want to talk hate? You want to talk bone, gnawing, teeth-grinding, vile bile-spewing loathing?
Fine, Daily Kos. We'll go there. We'll talk about hate.
I'm pretty God-damned certain I hate everything.
People. God Almighty, do I hate other people. One or two at a time, up to small groups, that I can do. But get a group of you together and shove a Bible or Koran or Mao's Little Red Book or a Season Three Star Trek DVD in your pants and you become raving homicidal sociopaths bent on telling me, me! what to do, what to think, how to behave, where to go, who to have sex with, and all kinds of fucking bullshit that's none of your Goddamn business.
Let's get this straight - want to talk to me about Survivor? Hate it. American Idol? Loathe it. Dancing With the Stars? Dancing With Talentless Wastes Of Perfectly Good Oxygen. Pretty much every aspect of modern American culture? Hate it, and if I don't hate it I will learn to, just to piss you off.
I hate Brittney or Christina or Lindsey or Paris or whatever the fuck she's calling herself this week. I do not care if she has sex with the Rockettes, the New England Patriots, the lemur exhibit at the San Francisco Zoo, and the entire contents of Orchard Supply all at once. I don't care if she has a kid, or two, or twenty, or deposits an egg sac filled with the squirming larvae of her planet-dominating brood.
I hate television. What I do like on TV isn't when I can watch it, is opposite some brain-numbing reality show other people want to watch, or is preempted by self-mastubatory awards programs or decade-long sports competitions filled with closeups of unattainable women and sweating, hairy men screaming. If I wanted to see sweating, hairy men screaming I'd go kick over Harleys at the biker bar. Again.
I hate language. All it is is a vehicle by which people can piss me of. Hell, I piss myself off with it - "is is" upstairs looks idiotic typed but makes perfect sense spoken. And how the hell do I show inflection and emphasis? Fucking language.
I hate air. Every single fucking breath I take is killing me, and it hurts to do it, and I can't stop. I hate sex - the fucking torments of Hell, and I can't stop thinking about it, and I don't fucking understand how people go about agreeing to do it. And you base your entire society on it. What the hell? Why not something that makes sense, like Dungeons and Dragons?
I hate gravity. Every fucking step I take feels like demons gnawing on my joints. Move a few hundred-pound monitors, and you'll feel the same visceral loathing I do when I awaken and realize I have to get up.
I hate time, because there's so God-damned little of it, and so fucking much to do. I hate space - there's so God-damned much of it, and there's so much I'll never see that I weep with frustration at the thought that there may be a God that would torment me so.
I hate the fucking weak force for shacking up with electromagnetism and nobody telling me. I hate physics for making less sense the more you learn about it. Same with mathematics. Fuck, I expect it from people, but when numbers start fucking with you, Goddamn! I hate alternate universes. I hate superstring theory. I hate any theory of everything that sounds like it was made up by stoned college kids at three in the morning when they're too wasted for sexual experimentation, probably because that's the one that's going to be right, and I hate that.
I hate hate. What the fuck is wrong with people hating on someone because of what they look like, or what happened three thousand years ago, or what gender they say they are, or who they like to fuck? Who the fuck cares? How the fuck is it going to help hating someone for reasons you, they, and God Almighty Herself couldn't control.
Given all the loathing and disgust that fills my too-brief sojourn in this cherry-blossom World, you'll have to pardon me if I don't get around to hating on your candidate. Because, frankly, I don't have time.