I’m going to try to make this a weekly feature since, well, I’m filled with a lot of hate and anger for no particular reason, other than it keeps me warm during cold nights. Feel free to offer up suggestions for my weekly hate list.
1. Bryant Gumbel: Listening to him call an NFL football game is quite possibly more painful than hearing your mom giving your dad slurpy fellatio in the other room. Could he be any whiter, smarmier or more condescending? It’s like having the geeky kid from the A/V club doing the announcing. Is there any doubt that a young Bryant was the student the teacher would ask to watch the class when she left the room? And I’m sure he actually took down names of people who got out of their chairs. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s Gumbel or Kermit the Frog doing the announcing. Get some fucking bass in your voice or some lead in your balls. Your brother may have a horrible haircut, but at least he has a man’s voice. People complain about not getting the NFL Network; after listening to three Gumbel broadcasts this year, those people should feel fortunate. I’m not alone in my thinking.
2. Brody Jenner: Just look at the picture. Isn’t this reason enough to hate him? I realize he’s a Z-list celebrity, and deservingly so since he has no redeemable qualities and no discernible talent other than growing a stubble beard, but he does have plenty of money and plenty of fine women. He’s even managed to hook up with Unsportsmanlike favorite Lauren Conrad (far left), and that’s just unacceptable. He has no job, he’s rich, he’s got his choice of women and he gets paid to party — he’s living my dream, that’s why I hate him.
3. Jamie Lynn Spears, the Mom: You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. Why is anybody shocked or surprised that the younger Spears got knocked up at age 16? Look at the fucking calamity that is her sister. Was she somehow supposed to know better, especially with a mom who’s more concerned about her own book deals and self-promotion? I honestly think Britney may have sabotaged Jamie Lynn’s contraception to draw the media attention away from herself. My big question is this: What do you name the kid? If it’s a boy — Cletus or DUI (pronounced Dewey), It it’s a girl: Methwhore, Chlamydia, my personal favorite, “Chastity.”
4. Stuart Scott’s return to ESPN: Look, as hateful as I am, I would never wish cancer on any man. Notice I said, “any man.” So Stu’s absence after an emergency appendectomy and the finding of a malignant growth wasn’t something I wished for. Don’t kid yourself. I’ve wished for his absence for any number of reasons, namely overall suckiness and blatant self-promotion. But I will say that his absence and the absence of his constant insertion of urban slang (most of which is out of date or has no particular bearing in the conversation) and his crazy, hypnotic lazy eye was a pleasant reprieve. Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t make SportsCenter good, but it was somewhat more tolerable. That is until Sean Salisbury made an appearance. Having met Stu once, I can tell you this, he wears an obscene amount of cologne. I think that sums it up pretty well.
5. New Year’s resolutions: I don’t hate the idea of New Year’s resolutions, and I’m not above making a few myself, even though, like most people, I won’t keep them for more than month. No my hatred of New Year’s resolutions is that every orca-fat, Krispy-Kreme eating, nacho-cheese drinking, camel-toe having, cellulite-covered, disgusting excuse for a human decides to make going to the gym and getting in shape their resolution. And what happens? Well for the entire month of January my gym is overcrowded with bloated rhinos and heaving hippos taking up space, monopolizing cardio machines and sweating chocolate on everything. Plus none of those people understand what type of workout clothing to wear. Nothing like seeing a 335-pound guy wearing John Stockton shorts and a wifebeater, or his 275-pound wife sporting the light teal stretch pants, complete with ass-sweat leaking through the crack, and a T-shirt that doesn’t even cover her bon-bon-fueled belly.
6. Prosecution of file sharers: Maybe it’s stealing. Maybe it’s sharing. It’s like wondering whether masturbation is sex. It reminds me of a religious girl I knew back in the day who claimed she was a virgin because no penis ever penetrated her vagina. But let’s just say several college basketball players penetrated every other orifice of her body on countless occasions, and yet her claims of virginity held steadfast. Sharing on some level is stealing. But forgive me for not feeling sorry for Kid Rock, Jay-Z or any other shill of an “artist” for fans finding ways to get their music for free. Instead of prosecuting these random people for doing what millions of people around the country do every day, figure out a way technologically to make it impossible to share the songs. Until then, we’re expected to pay for overpriced CDs with three decent songs and concert tickets that are a shade under a rent payment for music that isn’t even that good. If you think music isn’t going downhill check out this recent No. 1 hit.
7. Mike Huckabee: Tick, tick, tick. Do you hear that, Governor or Reverend or whatever you call yourself? That’s your 15 minutes of relevancy slowly coming to an end. God damn, at least I hope so. Yes, Huck. I just used the Lord’s name in vain, and Goddammit, I’ll do it again. Sure you’ve paraded on the scene and made a bit of an impact in your quest for the Republican nomination. But look at the other retards you are going up against. At some point the intelligent portion of the Republican party (a small group to be sure) will realize that you’re nothing more than a creepy zealot who doesn’t believe in the existence of dinosaurs or evolution. You’re more preachy than 10,000 Mitt Romneys and his collection of elder missionaries. There’s also some Falwell-esque money issues with campaign funds, and I have to admire the way you and your wife registered at Target and Dillard’s before moving out of the Arkansas Governor’s Mansion and into that cozy little 7,000-square-foot shack in North Little Rock, but I think the real reason I hate you, Mike Huckabee, well besides the fact you’re a crazy Christian kook who might pray us into a national security debacle, is that you think it’s cool to play the bass guitar. The fucking bass? Are you serious? Besides Jeff Ament, name one cool bass player in the world? Umm, Flea, Kip Winger, Billy Sheehan? Even Sting was only cool when played the standup bass in “Every Breath You Take.” It’s the easiest instrument to learn for the love of Christ. Do we really want a guy to be president who can’t didn’t have the ambition to learn how to play lead guitar? He might as well be play the fucking tambourine.
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