I hate life. You know? I hate it, and I, I want to eradicate it to the greatest extent that I can without, you know, killing myself. What would be the point of letting that happen? But I hate life. I hate love, and I hate life, and I hate all good things, and...all good, really. I hate all good.
I also hate when people say, "hey, it's all good." Fuck you, pal. It's not all good.
I hate life.
I hate all good things. You know? Good things, like flying kites, or a really good book, or amazing oil paintings or, you know when you're at a cookout and you're there, you've got your plate ready with that nice, fresh, toasted bun - still warm from the grill! - and you're sort of waiting for your chance at a burger, you know, sometimes there's a bit of a backup at the grilling station and you wanted one without cheese, you know, and practically everyone else wants one with cheese so, there's a lot of those going on and getting nice and grilled and ready, but not too many plain ones. And you have to wait a bit. But you've got that nice, toasty bun, all nice and - God, by the way, I hate nice, I really hate nice and I hate all nice things - and anyway, you're waiting for your burger without the cheese, you ordered it without the cheese because you hate cheese, you hate cheese like you hate all good things. And you're not really looking forward to this burger, you only ordered it for nutritional purposes, not enjoyment, but still it's kind of galling to have to wait for it. And this cookout, you don't care for any of these people, standing around in their upscale beige patterned shorts with the multi-toned cross-angled pinstripes, and their tasteful monochrome tank tops with some animal emblem on. You couldn't care whether they live or die, really, but given your druthers you'd probably rather they just hurry it up and get the inevitable over with already. Leave you to your thoughts. Premium-beer drinking mother fuckers. And then finally, you've jockeyed into position for that burger just as it's coming at you, and it's SERVED! All smokin' hot and griddle-crisp exterior, but you can just tell from the pink trickle it's got a juicy little rare action going on in there, too, like anyone would like it!
Anyone but you, I mean.
And then you amble over to the condiment table, slap a fat beefy slice of tomato on there and some ketchup and mustard, a few ring-sections of raw onion, a butterleaf of lettuce, crunchy, put the bun lid on, grab it in both hands and you BITE INTO IT! MAN!!! THAT'S GOOD!
And you HATE it. You can't stand it, because you hate good, and you hate all good things! You hate life and love and everything nice, good, or just right.
And honestly, you know what?
I feel sorry for you.
I really do. Because somewhere, somehow along the way, you didn't learn how to appreciate things properly, did you.
Go ahead. Take another bite. Maybe...it's not too late.
I also hate when people say, "hey, it's all good." Fuck you, pal. It's not all good.
I hate life.
I hate all good things. You know? Good things, like flying kites, or a really good book, or amazing oil paintings or, you know when you're at a cookout and you're there, you've got your plate ready with that nice, fresh, toasted bun - still warm from the grill! - and you're sort of waiting for your chance at a burger, you know, sometimes there's a bit of a backup at the grilling station and you wanted one without cheese, you know, and practically everyone else wants one with cheese so, there's a lot of those going on and getting nice and grilled and ready, but not too many plain ones. And you have to wait a bit. But you've got that nice, toasty bun, all nice and - God, by the way, I hate nice, I really hate nice and I hate all nice things - and anyway, you're waiting for your burger without the cheese, you ordered it without the cheese because you hate cheese, you hate cheese like you hate all good things. And you're not really looking forward to this burger, you only ordered it for nutritional purposes, not enjoyment, but still it's kind of galling to have to wait for it. And this cookout, you don't care for any of these people, standing around in their upscale beige patterned shorts with the multi-toned cross-angled pinstripes, and their tasteful monochrome tank tops with some animal emblem on. You couldn't care whether they live or die, really, but given your druthers you'd probably rather they just hurry it up and get the inevitable over with already. Leave you to your thoughts. Premium-beer drinking mother fuckers. And then finally, you've jockeyed into position for that burger just as it's coming at you, and it's SERVED! All smokin' hot and griddle-crisp exterior, but you can just tell from the pink trickle it's got a juicy little rare action going on in there, too, like anyone would like it!
Anyone but you, I mean.
And then you amble over to the condiment table, slap a fat beefy slice of tomato on there and some ketchup and mustard, a few ring-sections of raw onion, a butterleaf of lettuce, crunchy, put the bun lid on, grab it in both hands and you BITE INTO IT! MAN!!! THAT'S GOOD!
And you HATE it. You can't stand it, because you hate good, and you hate all good things! You hate life and love and everything nice, good, or just right.
And honestly, you know what?
I feel sorry for you.
I really do. Because somewhere, somehow along the way, you didn't learn how to appreciate things properly, did you.
Go ahead. Take another bite. Maybe...it's not too late.
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