Hate

Two Minutes Hate (part 2)

I Hate Public Service Announcements

Fasten your seat belt, don't smoke, wear a condom, look both ways before crossing the street, don't drink and drive, say no to violence, only shoot clean heroin, etc. All you lames that think college students (or anyone else for that matter) give a rip about all your "we know what's best for you" crap have another thing coming. Here's a private service announcement for you: save it! You people are wasting my tax dollars and valuable billboard space with your pitiful ads. You folks at the Ol' Dirty Emerald never get tired of printing that tired "80% of UO students have 4 or less drinks" pseudostat. I sure wish my neighbors who smash beer bottles at 4 a.m. every Friday were among this elusive 80 percent.

I've got an idea for the public service department of lames and sympathizers. Let's do something proactive here: improve the gene pool. How about an ad campaign targeted at those of lower-than-average IQ (jocks, transients, Democrats) that would accelerate natural selection? I see a bright future for the "safe sex with bobcats" program or the "national headlight turn-off night." Perhaps the "sharing and caring: with needles" campaign would be a hit. Or how about "Upgrade the gene pool: join the Army."

I Hate My Cerebral Cortex

Damn cerebral cortex. Without it I wouldn't be able to process visual stimuli and have the ability to recognize, critique and grow to loathe much of what I encounter on a daily basis. I would be incapable of hate or even irritability. Pet peeves would be a foreign concept to my central nervous system. Life would be bliss. I'd just sit around all day in a lukewarm pile of my own excrement, eating my meals out of a tube - never thinking, barely breathing and drooling all over the place. Wait, did I just say I hated my cerebral cortex? I meant to write "SUVs." Nevermind. Damn my $40-a-day Country Breeze Pinesol habit!

I Hate the Oregon Voice

The Oregon Voice's very name is a malicious insult to every Oregonian and/or University of Oregon student past, present, or future, in that it claims to somehow express what it is on our minds or in our souls. I can accept, and even welcome, the notion that Oregon should express itself as an essentially hedonistic entity, but the very thought that the incompetent twerps who people that magazine should be the outlet for that expression and offer up, not a rebel yell, but a needy whimper is enough to make me wonder if we'd be better off embracing the Puritanism of our counterpart states to the east. Why in Bacchanal's sweet name were the points of sexual interest "censored" from the drawn bodies on the "Nude Extreme Sports" back page of the Voice's annual Sex Issue? Because we aren't hardcore enough to handle true hedonism, or because the "artist" who scrawled those disappointing fantasies doesn't know a nipple from a nose ring? If we lived in a state in which terminally bored politicians with depressive disorders actually took it upon themselves to censor this sort of thing, our shame would be less overwhelming than our current situation in which sex is offered up as our central interest by a paper that claims to be our voice, and then treated minimally. It's their self-appointed status as the artistic personality of this campus that gives me the biggest headache. Rarely am I ever so annoyed as I was when I read a column titled "A Touch Of Art" by Lee Straney in the February issue. Straney's thesis, unless he's very bad at needless irony, was that blind people cannot "see" art by touching three-dimensional Braille replications of paintings, and that anyone who tells them that they can is duping them, helping them to transform into incompetent asses who will walk into traffic and get hit. Who is "blind" here? Why does the Oregon Voice pose as something it cannot be and spoil everyone else's enjoyment of life? I smolder with hate for these blundering, senseless, mediocre boobs who call themselves my voice.

I Hate my Next Door Neighbor and all his Irritating Stoner Friends

Earlier tonight I was chased out of my dorm room yet again. I had work to do and was looking forward to getting it all done in the tiny cell I pay $600+ a month for but my neighbor had no intention of granting me this. Being a freshman, and an especially insipid one at that, the "cocksucking fuckball" as I like to refer to him, had decided to put off his Spanish 101 busywork in order to have a few hundred of his closest friends over for bong hits and cigarettes. Everytime the kids next door ignite something, the smoke flies through the ventilation system into my room. Sure, they could do me a favor and open their damn windows or put a towel over their heater, but that would take, gasp, "effort"! My dorm room has smelled like a Springfield tavern since the first day of fall term. Not only does my neighbor and his friends smoke nonstop but they absolutely love playing hockey video games on his N64. They love it so much that they go on 4-hour binges every flippin' night during which they shout at the screen and pound on the walls.

And when I dare start watching Rocky 3 at 4 in the morning with the volume on max or accidentally urinate on his door, what does he do? He starts bitching. What a rube.

I Hate Lungs

What's the point of lungs? Sure they're good for freebasing smack, but really, why the hell do we need lungs? Why must the human body be dependent on air? What does air do for us? Jack! I say we as a species wean ourselves off the whole lung thing and replace those suckers with a pair of tiny stomachs. Or gold-plated hamsters.

I Hate Driving

In this state, people drive with their head up their ass. People stop where there are no stop signs. There are old ladies out there running red lights, almost hitting cars and then looking at you like you're crazy. I once saw someone back up on the shoulder of a busy Portland highway for a missed exit. I wonder if others out there take any note of this stupidity.

When on the freeway, the sign states: "Slower Traffic Keep Right." Simple enough, right? If you are driving 65 and there is no car in front of you, but headlights pouring in your rear window, then you are in the wrong lane pal. By the way, my flashing high beams are saying "get the fuck out of the way!"

I have been driving for a while and it isn't that difficult. Talking on the phone, eating, and getting high are all things we sometimes have to do in the car. Just pay attention while you do them. It's that simple.

The BMW your parents bought you doesn't impress me. Nor does the thousands of dollars you wasted on your trunk-rattling stereo. The ability to drive, which is lacking in you all, is what impresses me.

I Hate Everything

Everything sucks. Everything's irritating. I wish everything would just go away and take the whole shebang along with it. God, everything is such a little bitch. It still hasn't paid me back for those Wesley Willis tickets. And it never empties the goddamn dishwasher either. Vacuum the rumpus room or clean out the litter box? Everything doesn't even know how. Screw everything.

Two Minutes Hate was compiled by Brandon Hartley, Skye Tenney, Ted Whitaker, Brandon Oberlin, Billy Pilgrim and Aaron K. Breniman