Things I Hate, Part 1
by Lucas Witherspoon
I don’t have children for a reason and it’s not just because I like dick, it’s because I don’t like children in general, so what makes you think I care about the life of your baby? All babies practically look the same, and even if they’re ugly, it’s not as if any decent person is going to tell you, “I don’t want to see your ugly baby.” Until they can form coherent sentences and use the toilet by themselves, I am not interested.
While we’re on the subject of babies, what is with these ever-increasingly large baby carriers? My god, you’re transporting an infant, you don’t need a semi-truck for a stroller. As a rule of thumb, if the carriage your hauling your baby around in weighs more than the actual baby, you’ve gone overboard.
In the grocery hierarchy, it goes, from mildly annoying to I-want-to-punch-you-in-the-face annoying, slow-shuffling old people, people who park their carts in the middle of the aisle, and then couponers. For the love of god, I will give couponers the five dollars they’d save on their entire purchase if it means I won’t have to wait in line behind them. When I go to the market, I have everything meticulously mapped out so that I can be out of there in under 10 minutes, so I don’t want to stand behind someone negating the expiration date of a coupon so they can save 10 cents on a can of string beans.
If you’re going to take the time to pay to have someone’s obituary publicly posted in a newspaper, why wouldn’t you include the cause of death? Yes, it’s a macabre request, but I don’t know your relative that died. At least give me details to pique my interest.
On the topic of death, funerals are the worst. The only thing more morbid than my wanting to know peoples’ cause of death is people who want to see their embalmed and gutted loved ones inside of a wooden box that’s about to be thrown into the ground and left to rot until maggots eventually burrow through the coffin and feed on them. Not only are coffin burials environmentally unsound, they’re just fucking creepy.
Who in their right mind would want to wait in line for two hours just for three minutes worth of an adrenaline rush? I’m impatient as it is, but unless there are multiple beer carts while I’m in that line, my patience is shot within 10 minutes and I’m over it. Furthermore, amusement parks seem to never be lacking in people with fanny packs who look like they have nylon FUPAs.
I’m just going to say it: Nutella is gross. Even if I liked eating a spread that’s 58 percent sugar by weight, Nutella has gone the way of bacon, in that people rave about it so much that it’s become passé. It’s like the American version of Marmite: it tastes awful, yet people go crazy for it.
The louder you shout, the less likely I am to buy anything from you. It appears as if car dealerships are following Fox News’ modus operandi that entails shouting as loudly and aggressively as possible until people just give in because they’re tired of hearing you scream at them.
ID expiration dates
My ID has technically been expired since 2013, but rarely have I had a problem with bars and stores not accepting it. That being said, in the recherché event someone does deny me because my ID is expired, I have to wonder, what the fuck does it matter? My birthdate is clearly stated on my ID, thus it’s clear that I’m way older than the minimum drinking age. Calm down, Carrie Nation.
Zoos are fun because they give you an opportunity to see wild animals you’d likely never be able to see in their natural habitats. However, as much as I enjoy zoos, I always leave feeling sympathetic for the poor animals that are being barked at and guffawed over on a daily basis in pens that, for the most part, in no way come close to mimicking their natural environments.
It’s called tailoring. Learn your measurements and have you suit fitted accordingly. It may seem a little expensive in the present, but in the long run, you’ll be glad you did.