I HATE THE DMV

Further specifications need to be made in the requirements for being an employee of the Department of Motor Vehicles. True, at one point in time, I’m sure that “basic motor skills” and “ability to be arrogant yet incredibly stupid simultaneously” was sufficient criteria for hiring. Maybe that’s why the entire DMV is staffed by French Chimpanzees. Sure, they can sharpen pencils and know basic sign language, like “birthday” and “bathroom.” And they’re arrogant as hell; no one’s doubting that. But are these really sufficient pre-requisites for a government agency? And should I really have to bribe them with bananas and mopeds every time I want a copy of my driving record?

I HATE SHO IKEDA

Who’s the most evil, reviling and sneaky member of the OC staff? You may be surprised to learn that it’s none other than Sho Ikeda, photographer, pornographer and man about town. I know what you’ll say, what they all say. “Sho’s so nice. You can’t really hate him. Look how cute he is. He’s even house-broken.” To which I reply, “On all counts you are wrong.” He is hateful, vindictive, he’ll steal your women and eat your food. Also I have photographic and anecdotal evidence that suggests that Sho is not, indeed, house-broken. Word around the office is that next year everyone’s favorite Sho Dawg (I hope you get the pun) will be taking on a managerial role within the magazine. God help us all if he ever gains a foothold of power because we’re all screwed from there on out. He has black eyes, a black soul and a long memory. Finally, a fun fact: apparently, “Sho” means “rising sun.” You bet your ass he’s taking it to heart and he’s gonna lead a campus coup to further his ASUO candidacy agenda of “more big-breasted women on campus,” and “kill whitey.” All those reasons are just jokes. The real reason I hate Sho is because he constantly resists my advances. “I like women,” he lies. Why does he fool himself? I see the way his eyes light up when Richard Simmons is on the tube and how primly he dresses. Why don’t you just come to terms, Sho? That is why I hate Sho Ikeda. And why I love him in the way only a man can love another man.

I HATE DIO EL CLUB DE PLATA DOLAR

Cuandos las chicas desnudas balan en mi silla, esta mucho mejor si estan llorando. Lo que odio mas que toda es evando estoy en el bano mientras que un hombre a lado de mi esta gustandose con la memoria de las nalgas de una chica desnuda en su cara. Odio evando estoy muy listo para mi diala especial con dos chicas desnudas y un hijo de puta intenta a robar mi momento especial. °No me gusta que pago mas cue cuatro dolares para una cerveza! Necesito ahorar mi dinero para dar propinas a las chicas desnudas tal vez una de ellas va a venir a mi casa conmigo. Estoy segura que una chica desnuda quiere estar conmigo.

I HATE PEOPLE WHO ARE DIFFERENT FROM ME

When discussing an issue so inherently rife with irrational emotion and tendency toward overstatement, I choose rather to calmly identify and examine one very specific category of people that offend my sensibilities so powerfully as to raise my ire enough to say I hate them. With that said, I hate people who are different than me. I really hate people who are physically different than me. Especially people who are more than two inches shorter or taller than me. Those tall bastards are arrogant and exude some misguided belief that their societal value is somehow intrinsically linked to their towering physique. And those short little freaks (anyone shorter than 5’9”) like to use their spry little legs to dart around life like so many antisocial, angel dust-crazed leprechauns. And what about the people who purposefully choose to alter their appearance with ill-planned body scarring, piercings and tattoos? You bet, I really hate them. As if this world needed any more freaks than Jerry’s Kids already provide, there is a dirge of people who believe their bodies are canvases just waiting for some Picasso-wannabe to splatter liberally with the ugly stick. But looks are indeed just superficial packaging. I hate people who think differently than me. For some reason, there is a ridiculously over-patronized paradox within American politics that on one hand claims Americans must continually become more democratic in its decision-making processes, while at the same time believes the role of American government is to solve all of its citizens’ problems. That logic, while pervasive, is as flawed as believing that an English major will ever find a job that doesn’t involve fast food, coffee grounds or a spooge mop. Either America trusts its citizens enough to make decisions about their own lives and their own government on a fundamental level or it puts its trust in its government. And speaking of that, I hate people who think everyone should trust the government to make decisions for them. If any attitude better betrays a lack of self-confidence and a willingness to let others take on the task of deciding one’s fate, I have no knowledge of it. But those are the larger groups of people who appear or behave differently than me. To be more specific, I also hate people who are better at hiding drug convictions than me, whose mere appearance doesn’t cause children to run away in horror - in horror - those who aren’t afraid of to show their sensitive sides to common street whores, and finally, I hate people who are different than me by an ability to successfully pull off the pick-up line “I was tested three months ago, everything seems OK, wanna get drunk and screw?”

I HATE THE SUN

Goddamn that bright yellow ball in the sky. Nothing in the universe keeps me from studying more efficiently than the sun. The sun comes out, it becomes warm, people are playing frisbee and women don’t wear a lot of clothing. How the hell am I supposed to study with that going on? The sun is too bright, too warm and has the ability to make any classroom really uncomfortable. The sun will inevitably raise the temperature so that not only are you swimming in your own sweat, but the hippie next to you becomes exceedingly ripe as well. Of course, any motion to open a window will be immediately killed by the exchange student from Ecuador who claims to be quite comfortable. Eventually I get to leave the EZ-Bake classroom and my eyes are greeted by the full brightness of the sun. Most often I am forced to retreat back into the building, hissing like Dracula. More than anything, the sun is reminder of what I could be doing. While I sit in some lecture hall listening to some professor drone on about some topic I couldn’t care less about, the sun is peeking through the windows, mocking me: “Hey, it’s a beautiful day, come outside and play... No, wait. You have to sit in class for another hour and then you have to spend the rest of the day writing a paper that will be assigned in about five minutes. Ha ha ha, loser!” Sometimes the sun can be a really cruel bastard. My life would be much better if the sun disappeared. Well, actually that would turn the earth into a dark ball of ice; that could get nippy. Either way, I hate the sun.