Hate is a strong word.
And it’s one that I don’t use lightly, because fellows with some pretty serious street-cred, gentlemen like Ghandi and Martin Luther King, had reasonably successful careers campaigning against it.
But as Floyd Mayweather just discovered, there are a lot of haters out there who love nothing more than hating.
I’m here to put my hand up and say that I’m probably one of them. In fact I know I am, because I’m one of the haters that hates Floyd Mayweather. But most of my hate, violence-against-women-boxers excluded, is directed at inanimate things. And it’s this hatred, of weird, little things, that really seems to rile people up. And I’m a sensitive guy, who maintains the right to hate things when I want to, so that riles me up right back at them.
So it’s time to set the record straight and officially (it’s not in Wikipedia, but this is an official website, yeah?) proclaim my hatred of a few shitty things, whilst also lodging my objection against those haters who hate me for hating them. Confused yet?
I don’t like mustard. It’s a dirty, crappy condiment, in all of its manifestations, and I’m sick of pretending otherwise. If Floyd Mayweather were a condiment, he would be a thick Dijon. Fact.
Much like the ring of power, mustard overpowers everything it comes into contact with, seeping into the very pores of a previously precious sandwich. In this spiel, the sandwich represents Golum.
Sure, some mustards are worse than others. As indicated, Dijon lives in a particularly black place of my heart. But if I were to get my old-school stereotyping on, I’m going to say that they’re all bad.
And all you mustard lovers out there – which seems to be most of you – quit being so damn defensive. You tap each other on the shoulders with sly grins and point at me, as though you’re in some exclusive Mustard Club I’m not invited to. “This guy,” you say to each other. “He doesn’t like mustard. Who doesn’t like mustard?”
I don’t, you smug bastards. You didn’t make the mustard. You don’t work for Heinz. So stop acting as though you’re the authority on whether everyone has to like it. Go have a mustard party – I hope you all choke on your hotdogs.
- Roast Dinners.
I should start by acknowledging the fact that I didn’t always hate roast dinners. I used to be a bit Switzerland about it all. But public reaction to this neutrality has forced me to re-examine my indifference to it all and side with the Allied Forces.
Yes, you heard that right. If Pro-Roast-Dinner people and Anti-Roast-Dinner people were divided according to WW2 loyalties, the Pro-Roast-Dinner people would be the dirty fascists. And like any good citizen, I stand up against fascists.
The following is an actual transcript of conversations I have experienced. And when I say actual, I mean kind of close.
Me: I don’t really like roast dinners that much.
Fascist: Of course you do. Everyone likes a good roast.
Me: That’s probably true. Everyone does like a good roast. Because the word ‘good’ implies it is liked. But no such thing as a good roast has ever been created. They’re all shit.
Fascist: Nah. You just haven’t had a good roast. You haven’t had mine.
Me: I’ve had millions of roasts. It’s literally one of the most cooked meals in the world. And, as a normal person, I’ve had all sorts of roasts – from ones that are supposed to be good, to ones that are probably not that good. Except they’re all bad.
Fascist: You’ve got a problem, man. Nobody doesn’t like roasts. What about lamb? Chicken?
Me: I love lamb and chicken. But not in roast form. The only one who has a problem is gravy. Because poor old delicious gravy has been lumped in with the roast dinner for too long, and it’s about time he had a voice of his own. Gravy is delicious, and roast dinners have been hindering its potential for too long. It’s time to let him fly, to give him a chance to cover such delicious meals as schnitzels and sandwhiches without the old prejudices.
- Air Conditioning.
It’s too cold. Or too hot. Either way, nobody ever wins. It gives me a headache and makes me sick. Open a window, or put on a jumper. They say that Artificial Intelligence will be the end of humanity, as we’ll eventually create technology that can conquer us. I think we’re already there. Thanks a lot, Mitsubishi Electric. You’re killing us, one gust of artificial breeze at a time.
- Cold Water.
Again. Just too fucking cold. If we were meant to drink cold water we’d all be living in Antarctica, dipping our cups into the water off the edge of icebergs. But we’re not doing that, are we? We’re enjoying temperate conditions and temperate is how our water should be. Millenniums of Darwinist conditioning has trained humans to prefer room temperature water. Beer is the scientifically proven exception (Find source and insert footnote).