It touches me greatly that people related so strongly with Gumby and Al’s sordid love affair. Even green hunks of clay need nookie, I suppose. What a beautiful world.
I love Goldfish, she is a sweetheart.
I wanted to do something special for my guest post. I thought very long and hard on this, then it hit me! I would do my own list of things that I hate!
I get these every now and then. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, either. They are so vile that I can’t even stand being in the same room with myself. I have actually woken up from a sound sleep at night because they are so nasty. Obviously my nose is right by my mouth, so there is no escaping the sulfuric eruption from penetrating my dreams.
Damn you, egg burps.
I am not allergic to them, but they creep me the fuck out regardless. Small and fuzzy, wily, sneaky little bastards. I think it has something to do with how they buzz about, just looking to ruin the day with the threat of attack. I will watch one out of the corner of my eye, as it lazily bobs and weaves through the air. If it gets within my comfort zone, I freak out, waving my hands around like this will actually scare the little shit away. Usually it just gets all excited, so I end up having to run as fast as I can to save myself from a sting.
Damn you, bee’s.
I hate yellow mustard. I go to the corner store where they make really kick ass corned beef sandwiches. The guy behind the counter asks me every time if I want mustard on it. I say no, just some horseradish, please. No mustard? No. I hate mustard. I am starting to think now that this is just a game we play. I will never like it, even the smell makes me queasy.
Damn you, mustard.
Damn you, corned beef guy.
Naw, just fucking with you. I am a lover, not a hater. Unless we are talking about my ex. Then yes. I hate him.
Damn you, ex.
I can’t stand the sound of motorcycles, lawnmowers, trains, or anything that interrupts my internal dialog. I prefer a quiet atmosphere, unless I am listening to music. Then, I like it loud. But I have control over it. I can’t just go up to the landscaper who is mowing the grass and tell him to fucking stop it, can I? I suppose I could, but that wouldn’t be nice. I can’t expect the world to stop because I am sensitive. Cry me a river, lady. You can take a nap when I am done.
Damn you, lawnmower.
My dad gave me a clam when I was a kid. He told me not to bite it, just swallow it. What the hell is the point of eating something if you can’t chew it? I didn’t listen. I should have listened. He told me I wouldn’t like it. He was right. No food should squirt out gross liquid. I do not understand clam bakes. I would be the person who brings my own food, perhaps a nice pizza. What you see is what you get.
Damn you, clams.
So, that does it for this edition of what I hate. Thank you Goldfish, I loved visiting your fishbowl. I am sorry I ate all your fish flakes.