Author Archive

I hate trampolines

April 14, 2008

When I was at school, I opted for trampolining in PE because it meant getting to jump around aimlessly with your friends while watching Sophie West’s boobs bounce up and down quite vigorously, rather than having the boys from the year above slide tackle me in the rain. Anyway, I digress, the trampolines we had were huge things that folded up like sandwiches and had to be wheeled out by us like we were armies of ants carrying a twig, and then opened out. This opening out bit is where my problem with trampolines first arose.
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I hate perfumed toilet paper

April 9, 2008

PerfumedIf my flatmate buys another roll of perfumed toilet paper I swear I’m going to stuff her mouth with it until she chokes. I’m allergic to perfume so every time I wipe I get nervous, like my bum is about to break out into a rash or something. Anal itching aside, what’s the point of it? Who is sniffing her ass so much that she needs to disguise its odour with chemical flowers?
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I hate bicycle couriers

March 27, 2008

Bicycle courierI was starting to worry that my capacity for vitriolic rage and hatred was depleting of late. Then, on my way to work today I saw something that brought it all rushing back. Bicycle couriers. These specimens are a filthy sub breed, dare I say unter menschen. They congregate in central London with their stupid bikes with mini handlebars and they drink raucously on the streets dressed like gabba ravers from Bristol or Italian lycra-clad rapists. They get drunk then do wheelies while all their decrepit friends cheer like a pride of gibbons in the Savannah. But their greatest sin is the way in which they clearly consider themselves to be a sort of SAS of postal services, an elite force. While, in fact, they are a load of dossers who realised they could make money jumping lights, bunny hopping over curbs, swearing at cars, not stopping at zebra crossings and generally being total cunts. I can’t wait for the day I get to witness one of them being slowly crushed under the wheels of a large white van after going the wrong way up a one-way street.

I hate the “And finally” section of the News

March 19, 2008

Trevor MacDonald

Switch on the news any day of the week and you’ll see the the same thing:

33% will be terrible events that 99.999% of us are powerless to stop.
25% will be pointless bullshit such as the McCartney divorce or the Diana investigation.
19% will be disproportionally-hyped personal interest stories, such as a kidnap or a murder.
12% will be sport.
7% will be weather.

And the remaining 4% will be a gently amusing tale to round the show off and prevent the viewer from feeling too traumatised.

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I hate brain training

March 11, 2008

waste of time I must admit I was tempted when the Nintendo DS came out. I’d gone off games when they all started to involve getting De Niro-like into the mind of a traumatised Vietnam vet for three days before you were allowed the knife you needed to stab your way out a 3D jungle prison camp. But this new machine looked like fun, and was a pretty nice bit of product design.

When I finally did get to test a friend’s, it was for the greater part of a week after a big break up. I spent the whole time sat on a couch in a house in Sydney drinking chocolate milk and whisky, playing Advance Wars until I started dreaming in square arrangements of neon Panzer divisions. At the end of the week, I gave it back, and resolved to get on with life.
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I hate the Animals in War Memorial

March 10, 2008

Animals in War Memorial

This is a monument on Park Lane to animals killed in war. I have nothing against animals but I can’t help but be irked by this. Can you even imagine how much money it cost to construct this vapid pile of filth?
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I hate hand dryers

March 8, 2008

Dryer

I really hate hand dryers. This is no common or garden hatred. This is seething, seeing red, want-to-rip-my-hair-out-at-the-sheer-audacity-to -even-exist hatred. If I walk into a bathroom and see one on the wall it makes me wish I had a nice weighty flat-head shovel so I could lever the fucking thing right off like I was ripping a rusty old nail out of a rotten piece of wood. Conversely, if I see one of those big roller-wipe-your-hands-dry things I dance a jig of joy right there on the spot like Michael Flatley in the middle of a chronic bout of haemorrhoids he happened to contract while walking bare foot over hot coals.

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I hate plaid

February 28, 2008

Plaid party

You’re not a lumberjack. You’re not a cowboy. You’re not in a grunge band from 1991. Stop it.
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I hate washing powder

February 26, 2008

DazI remember watching a film about a transsexual Muay Thai boxer on a Cathay Pacific flight once. The sensei character in this movie died not from a sneaky death poke or rabbit punch, but from developing cancer from his day job in a laundry. Now maybe I missed the finer points – and the dramatic purpose of this death was to establish the main character’s battle against the nemesis of well pressed, laundry-folded menswear – but the thing is, I ‘m starting to worry this is going to happen to me. Living, as most people I know do, in shared rental accommodation in London, I do not have a seperate utility room, and hanging pants over kitchen furniture is a little undemocratic – a scant step up from territorial pissing in the corners. And so washing ends up on a rack by the radiator in my bedroom. And in winter months, with the radiator blaring – I wake up every morning with heavy lungs, a sore throat and a newly stoked hatred of the vile smell of washing powder.

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I hate soya milk

February 19, 2008

Soya AKA pukeThis oily, gritty, white puke is disgusting. Even a splash of it renders a cup of tea useless, carpet-bombing the subtle flavours with its crusty granular blandness. It’s the same thing Superman tastes when someone spikes his chips with kryptonite. If I saw anyone putting soya milk in my tea, when I made the next round I’d put my own little cocktail of sewer rags, iron-filings and phlegm in theirs. Then when they complained or went into seizure, I’d say, “Oh sorry, I was just following your lead by putting the most revolting substance I possibly could into your tea,” then walk out, slam the door and never return.

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I hate sachets

February 9, 2008

SachetI hate them so much that thinking about them makes me want to tear off Ronald McDonald’s head and stick it up Colonel Sanders’ ass. The Colonel would probably be into that and would just keep smiling. Anyway, sachets are the bane of my life. Everyone likes condiments – they make food taste better. Ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard. These things
are like food enhancing drugs that you want to spread liberally on every meal you eat. The last thing you want when you are starving and want to drown your processed fake burger and cardboard chips in red and white gloop is to have to struggle for five minutes ripping, tearing and biting at some pathetic little plastic rectangle that will only yield a pea-sized amount of the gear. Fuck that. I want gallons of the stuff.

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I hate dentists

February 8, 2008

DentistI know that this one is a bit like saying I hate murderers or I hate AIDS or I hate famine, but dentists can eat a bag of dicks. Now, I need to make it clear that I’m usually pretty good about dental hygiene. And even though I’ve started eating more sweeties since I quit smoking, I brush and mouthwash twice a day. Yesterday however, I awoke to an sharp, alien, tear-inducing pain in my mouth. It felt like a molar had exploded and was now a popped kernel of corn. I couldn’t stop tonguing it, but every touch triggered excruciating pain – like I was snogging an exposed nerve. Drinking water felt like swallowing molten lava. I clearly needed emergency treatment. So I phoned around and found a dentist to do it. She quickly assessed the damage; I had a very deep cavity and the rotting had caused a bit of tooth to break off. Despite her prognosis and the forecast of forthcoming pain, she assured me that it would be OK. When she injected the local anesthetic it didn’t hurt. I didn’t even flinch when she dug out all the shit that was clogged up in the cavity. I didn’t even feel her peg in the silver filling. But you know what did fucking hurt? The £190 bill she hit me with. Ouch.
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I hate long nails

February 2, 2008

When I was in sixth grade I cut all my nails into sharp points because I saw a photo of Glenn Danzig with his nails like that. My knife-nails, as I called them, were evil and menacing and cool, or so I thought. Thankfully, since sixth grade I’ve grown to detest long nails, be they sharpened or dull. They don’t even have to be talon-like for me to hate them; any bit of nail extending beyond the fingertip is enough to make me vomit on my dick and use the puke as lube. Actually, that’s a bit harsh. But just imagine getting a hand-job from that hand. Worse still, imagine her inserting a pinky.
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