To all those asswipes who hate me

It’s time to turn the tables! Let’s switch roles. Like those ridiculous movies where the daughter switches roles with her mother for a day to the effect of humor without the laughs.

I’m going to turn this mofo inside out. For a change, I’d like to talk about those who venture to hate me as opposed to a detailed and obsessive recount of one of my many and varied hatreds which I devote most of my creative juices to. This is not to diminish my loathings, for there are many. And they control my life. My hatred of just about all segments of the human population is legendary, at least in my own mind. Lest you get the idea that I believe I am unnapproachably perfect, you got another thing coming! Behind this curmudgeonly and misanthropic snide appraisal of humankind, there resides an incredibly realistic and non-delusional guy who is well aware of the wrath he inspires in addition to that which he feels for others. See, I don’t mind hate which is explicable or based on something I can spell out.

If my railing about attention whores or corporate executives pisses certain people off enough to hate me, oh well. So be it. I have no problem with grounded hate, hate with a source and a tangible reason. Hate that has a name and a home. Hate away!

Essentially, I don’t care what people think of me. And I surely do not care if they hate me. Hatred of moi does not perturb me. In fact, I find it amusing and hilarious that some exert the effort and energy towards an active animus towards the very wonderful Yours Truly. If you desire to waste your precious time finding reasons to despise me, be my guest.

But.

In spite of this, I would be a big fat scumsucking liar if I said I am never bothered by other’s hatred of me.

Sometimes it bothers me. A lot.

I thought of being hated, today. I was thinking of how a few people hate me, and why they choose to do. I tried to recapture my feelings when I sense a sort inexplicable reflexive hate on the part of other asswipes. After all, in our modern, civilized world, it is very rare, very, very rare, that someone simply comes out and tells you they hate you. Not happening. And when women are involved, hatred involves a thinly veiled disgust and aversion and avoidance, one deep and free-flowing melange of feminine alienation. Women are ashamed of feelings of hatred so they channel it in the form of other appalling behaviors which equally decimate your humanity. This is the disingenuous thing about female hate. It does not reveal itself candidly but instead creates puzzlement and incoherence and thus, it becomes a speeding train wreck of mistaken motives and ad hominem suspicions. Female hatred is not quantifiable and if you listen to your instincts, you will know when a woman hates you. She will never scowl openly at you or call you a turd, but she will have no problem treating you like utter shit, which is worse, for the masculine path is one of transparency and bluntness.

Back to those who hate me.

There are people who instinctively hate me. This I know. It is beyond my control and beyond my concern, or it should be. I find that I don’t fixate on the hate aspect of this dynamic as much as the reason! Being disliked is a non-issue for me. In fact, I prefer to be disliked than ignored. Don’t ignore me, or you will ruin my day. Dislike me and I’m pleased that you’re thinking of me. That’s how pathetic and starved for attention I am.

But if you intend to dislike me, I need to know why.

See, you can’t simply hate me. An explanation or justification is required, a why.

In fact, I work with this chick who I know dislikes me. She truly abhors me and her demeanor towards me is unflattering and rude. My frame of reference is that she treats other people fine. She talks and mingles with everyone but with me. She is a cunt x 2. She is ugly, Jewish, flat and pale, but the way she hates me unconditionally drives me bats and I fixate on this chick’s motives as if she were the love of my life. It’s sick! I want to know why she hates me. She treats me like dirt. I don’t want to fuck her but I want to hear her reasons. I’m a great, intelligent, average-looking guy. What on Earth have I done do deserve this? Is it because I’m uncircumcised and I love to eat carnitas? WTF?

I thought of those random survey handouts you receive at hotels or restaurants or any number of places where you deal with a service employee. The questionnaires seek to elicit your opinion of the establishment and the service. In pre-printed curiosity, they ask if you liked or disliked your stay. If you disliked it, they want to know why.

Give us more detail, please. It’s not enough that we know you hated our lodgings. Tell us fucking WHY???

That’s how I feel.
I need create and print out one of these field surveys to people who hate me for no apparent reason. This would make me happy and satisfy all my nagging self-doubts.

Am I too short?
Too Mexican?
Too dark?
You don’t like the way I dress?
Am I too ugly?
Am I too handsome?
Am I too manly?
Am I too dorky?
Am I too hairy?

The possibilities are endless and this random survey I hand my detractors would clarify much.
And my life might be…clearer.