You know what I love more than sex, pizza and breaking into a hotel sauna after-hours with a bottle of fortified wine?
Hate. I thrive off it. I relish it. I make it my own. I nurture it, caress it and get it off every now and again. I’ve banded together with a group of expatriates and founded a LEGION of it. Hate: It’s What’s for Dinner.
But it’s not a true, real, seething hate. It’s more a fun-filled, holy-crap-it-is-cathartic-and-hysterical-to-pretend-to-be-more-riled-up-than-I-really-am hate.
For example, I hate “Lawyers.” Many of my good friends are Lawyers. But they are also people. I do not hate these people. In my mind, “Lawyers” are not people. They are cyborgs. But they are, in fact, people. Now I’ve confined my lawyer hate to merely personal injury lawyers or Mergers & Acquisitions specialists – who certainly do not qualify as human.
It’s not so much a “person” or “group of people” that I hate. Really, truly, I don’t hate anybody. Not even Canadians or Sheep-fuckers. I’d have to care first, and I’ve been putting the pathetic back in apathetic since 1982. Baa-aa-aa-aa-aa.
But there are certain types of people that I truly would LOVE to despise, if people in general weren’t so interesting – or, more accurately, if I didn’t have such a burning desire to be liked.
The types of people listed below aren’t incredibly specific, nor are they all that general. They’re just an amalgam of composites that when probably taken in sum, represent 89-92% of the human population.
Like I said, it’s a good thing I don’t care. Or I’d be angry before I left the house every. single. morning.
1. The Wannabe Head Coach / Secret Agent Yapping-on-Bluetooth-while-walking-through-Target-or-Winn-Dixie. – Nobody’s that important. Especially you, Mr. I’m talking to my drinking buddy but it looks like I’m silencing the demons inside my head.
2. The Suit-and-tie, Arm Sleeve and Industrial Piercing Fashion Mash-up! – I’m all business, except for this little bit of edge I got that clashes with everything! You can take me home to your mom, who’ll think I’m adorable and pleasant, but your dad will want to wring my neck!
3. The DJ who screams commands or questions over the already-deafening music – If you wanted to bark out instructions, maybe you should have been a Drill Sargent. If you wanted to discuss something, you missed your calling in talk radio.
4. The overdressed pretentious prick at a casual summer gathering – I know it’s a barbecue, but I really found it appropriate to drape my Lacoste Sweater-vest over my baby-blue Oxford, tuck my top into my khaki shorts, use the finest pomade in my hair, and wear my hater-blockers long past dusk, before neatly stowing them where my shirt comes unbuttoned. My, that smoked brisket looks delicious, I hope don’t drop it on my new p … FUCK!!! BRO!!! NOT COOL! GRAB ME MY TIDE-TO-GO!!
5. The Spell-bound Supermarket Slow Walker – Look at this! Food! On shelves! I must carefully absorb this all in. My, oh, my. Breathtaking. It’s going to take me at least half-an-hour to inspect aisle 7. There’s nine different flavors of mint jelly!!
6. “The Book Was Better.” – Trick fucking question, buddy. There was no book.
7. The gloom-and-doom nay-saying mellow-harshing sad-monger– Sweetheart, how in the world does a Beer Bong remind you of statutory rape? And why does that prevent you from driving this golf-cart?
8. The Political activist who promote awareness of things we’re all very much aware of – You know, like, global warming, deforestation, racism, sexism and partisanship. I got it. It exists. It’s a problem. So’s Nickelback, but I don’t picket loudly or post reports from Huffington Post railing against their multi-platinum-ism.
8A. The Political activist who promote awareness of things we’re all very much aware of and blame everything on the Republican party – REPUBLICANS CAUSED ALL EVIL IN THE UNITED STATES. THEY ALL OWN SLAVES, LOCK THEIR WOMEN IN VANITY CHESTS AND CUT DOWN PRECIOUS SAPLINGS. THEY ALSO BUY NICKELBACK ALBUMS.
9. The Consultant. – Fancy-speak for “unemployed.”
10. The tourist who asks the Toll Booth attendant for directions to some residential street 14 miles away – It’s a state worker, not an oracle. Get off the highway and buy a map.
11. The Defector – Europe, is like, so much better. Everything’s legal. Wine flows from fountain spickets. Creeks are made of chocolate. All the men carry women on their shoulders and all the women go down on you in public restrooms.
12. The overly passionate philanthropist who is playing with her divorce settlement money – Nothing says “Turning lemons into lemonade” quite like blowing your golden parachute on starting up a foundation in your name, which aims to help privileged white people feel tremendous about their ability to help other less-privileged white people help unprivileged inner-city kids, without ever having to venture into the inner city. As an aside, please stop hitting on me. Your Chanel smells like a Yankee Candle store.
13. The hot bartender who you think you have a chance with, suckers you into tipping huge, then ignores you for the rest of the night – Get your beautiful, perfect C-Cups out of my face. Stop smiling at me with your bedroom eyes and crest-white teeth. Stop buttering me up. Stop telling me I’m cute and funny and sweet and smart and “I very rarely get customers like you.” You get 14,000 customers like me. They’re just not smart enough to leave a mere 20%. I am. Good evening, miss.
14. The random butterfly you see at every bar, concert and social function you attend, yet you’ve never said a word to. – Stop looking at me like you know me. You don’t. You just want to.
15. The OCD sufferer who, at a restaurant, staunchly insists on rigatoni over spaghetti because it tastes better, or vice versa. – Guess what, they’re both made from wheat and taste the fucking same. At least have the decency not to substitute noodle-for-noodle.
16. The dude who has like nine home towns. – It’s going to be so great to go back to Tulsa, I’m from there! (Didn’t you say you were from Portland?) I’m from there, too! Nothing says “I’m well-traveled” like walking into any airport, at anytime, and saying “It’s great to be back!”
17. The intelligent, semi-cute girl from high school who dug Pavement and Weezer who gets totally swallowed up by the ditzy in-crowd at State University and becomes a Alpha Phi pharmaceutical sales rep who’s totally into shoes and margaritas and OMG I LUV T-PAIN CHK OUT MY FACEBOOK PHOTOZ K LATERZ – wait, I had nothing to add to that.
18. ThE SiLLy-NiLLyS WhO TypE in MiXed CaSe**~~*!!!*~ – zOMG!!! My eyes!! THEY ARE BLEEDING!!!!
19. The scale-tipper in the tube-top. – I get it. You got a nice rack. The problem is, if your tits are a Double-D, then your waistband is a Triple-Q.
20. The entire collective of those involved in the Nursing Home community. – From the tar-pit-ready residents to the weed-slinging bedside “nurses” to the book-cooking Administrative Director. Sometimes, death really is a blessing.
21. The overly friendly panhandling scumbag. – One would think with that level of social comfort, you wouldn’t be living on the streets, but you might at least have a nice, cozy cubicle job. Which begs the question, WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU DONE TO DESERVE THIS?! GIVE ME BACK MY SON!!
22. The Greek import/export heir and the flawless fashionista, together at last (*at age 25), featured in Town & Country on their Connecticut Promenade – And their kids will be beautiful, and intelligent and wealthy and worldly. And they won’t have to work for a thing. Sorry, I must be lost. I was looking for “Jealousy”, down the hall, third door on the left. This is “hate.”
23. The Overzealous Drunk Bimbo with 48 yard-line tickets and a mouth like a trucker with Tourette’s, who mistakenly cheers for the road team and thinks Brady Quinn should play because he’s cute – Give your seat to the nine-year old cancer patient and go funnel another box of wine in the parking lot.
24. The Pot calling the Kettle black – Utican: “Say, you’re from Buffalo. Aren’t the winters there just brutal?” Buffalonian: “Say, you’re from Utica. Aren’t the people there just remedial, provincial and DUMB AS FUCKING NAILS? Is research illegal in Oneida County yet? I THINK SO! TRY A GLOBE: IT’S DELICIOUS!!”
25. The blowhard who says they are from “The City” but their driver’s license says “Chappaqua.” – That’s so cute. My driver’s license says I’m from Cheektowaga. But I tell people I’m from “The Moon.”
26. The camera-kisser – Your Ford Modeling contract is still in the mail. I believe it is currently a doing lap around your ego. It should arrive in 12-14 years. Right around the time AIDS will.
27. The 47 year-old drifter in a college bar – What’s that, Mr. rugged snowmobile jacket? You own a business? Is it this bar? No? Then get out. And stop breathing all over my girlfriend. She’s driving me home later, and I don’t want her to get a contact buzz.
28. The polite Midwesterner who morphs suddenly into a fire-and-brimstone lunatic when you mention you don’t know how to wash your own car – Hey. Some of us grew up without driveways, open fields or without the suffocating shadow of rusty, dilapidated meth labs. We simply handed the attendant $12 and rolled on through.
29. The harbinger of the decline of Western Civilization – Commonly turns the phrase, “This world is going to hell in a handbasket.” Actually, you know what’s awesome? We invented these things called backpacks, so now the world can be carried off to hell more comfortably and efficiently. It’s the wave of the future!!
30. The unscrewed-from-reality attention-whore who pretends to be knowledgeable about a variety of topics only as a springboard to talk endlessly about him-or-herself – How does this have to do with that time you got plowed by the entire Alpha house at Dartmouth? We were expressing our appreciation for Georgetown’s effortless implementation of the Princeton Offense!
31. The Dirty Tree-Hugging Hippie – Shower. Now. Water is all-natural.
32. The “Climate Change is not real” Creationist – What’s that? God is just temporarily turning up the temp in his EZ-Bake Oven? You’re so silly … I’ll bet the world is 4,000 years old, too! Forget about the dinosaurs! Those bones were planted there by that racist Ron Goldman!
33. The “auto-pilot on” mental vacationers who ignore conspiracies because “sometimes the simplest explanation is the best explanation.” – … except for when it’s, you know, the WRONG explanation.
34. The struggling middle-aged musician – Dude, you’re not an almost rock-star. You’re a substitute teacher who happens to sloppily play Journey covers at Bar Mitzvahs. Girls your own age have moved on to cheating on their spouses with surgeons, politicians, investment bankers and members of the nearest D-I lacrosse team. You should, too. Put down the guitar and pick up a book.
35. The Street-side Hobo Philosopher – “You want to know what the secret of success is?” I sure do, pal. But I’ll bet you won’t tell me, given that you haven’t exactly stumbled upon it yourself, either. Unless that success is hidden in a soup kitchen.
36. The movie theatre conversationalist (part I: With friends) – Actually, you guys are fine. It’s a movie theatre, not a library. And with the 1.21 jiggawatts of sound pumping through the walls, it shouldn’t be hard to hear over you. But it’s you, the SHUSSSSSHERRSS!! who really grate my cheese.
36A. The movie theatre conversationalist (part II: with the actors) – Yup. They still can’t hear you. Next.
37. The slanted parker in a straight lot – You don’t want your car to get dinged up? Keep it in the garage.
38. “The Earlier Albums Were Better.” – So because people begin to like a band, the quality of their work automatically decreases? Because they, what, haven’t explored new sonic territory or, conversely, went too far? Ironically, no one’s ever said that about The Beatles. Listen, Pabstsmear. I liked your earlier criticisms better.
39. The Friend-of-a-Friend. – You’ve never invited this straggler out, yet they’re somehow more ever-present than a parole officer. Very often, they’d be lonely otherwise.
40A. The pregnancy-as-collateral trapper – She doesn’t want to end up alone. She tells you “baby, it’s better without a condom”, or lies about being on the magical colored pills. Then she tells him she’s pregnant. WELCOME TO HELL, BROTHA!!
40B. The pregnancy-as-collateral weasel – Tells 40A, “If you abort the child, I’ll marry you.” 40A falls for it. In an awkward situation made even more awkward, 40B runs away, never to be heard from again.
40C. The Biological Snooze Button – “I WANT ME FIRST KID BY 24, 25, 27, 29, 31, 32, 35.” You know why your last six boyfriends left you and your last three engagements broke off not long after the dress shopping? Because life isn’t a race and they didn’t feel like running … except away.
41. The own-race racist – Guess what, it’s not because we’re white. It’s because we’re pricks.
42. The Overambitious Holocaust Filmmakers – Mass genocide still goes on. In Africa. Like, every day. And no one is paying any attention. IT SHOULD BE YOU.
43. The overly obnoxious debt collector – A peculiar cross between a DMV clerk, a bouncer at a nightclub and a financial planner. Still the most miserable person on the planet. If I had a job that rewarded me for being successful 7% of the time, I’d grin from ear to ear.
44. The high-end clothing store clerk – If you don’t have any money and are just browsing, they assault you with “Can I help you find anything?” If you have money, and know what you’re going to buy, they ask you “Can I help you find anything else?” If you actually walk into the store with money and haven’t a clue what you’re going to buy, you couldn’t find them with a SWAT team and an army of search dogs. And don’t ask them to answer you honestly when you ask them what they’d recommend. They know what looks good on their commission chart, not what looks good on you.
45. The exclamatory gym-rat – We get it, you went to the gym. The workout kicked your ass. You burned 1400 calories. Your arms look like watermelons. And you’re going to go back tomorrow. Thanks for sharing this with me … every day of your life. You know what I do every day? Shower. I don’t think I’ve ever commented one’s quality or length, ever.
46. The trust-fund jet-setter who earnestly has absolutely no idea that people just can’t fly to Asia at the drop of a hat – “You’ve never been to Thailand? Oh, you MUST go. The massage parlors are to DIE for. And, first class is the ONLY way to fly. Believe me.”
47. The serial killer – Well, because, really. They KILLED somebody.
48. The Simple Simon adrenaline-junkie – We all once took great pleasure in shooting a high-powered potato gun through the screen of a television set. Most of us moved onto other things, even after we started (and later stopped) drinking Keystone.
49. The front-porch sooth who responds to all your trials and tribulations with “builds character” – After a while, you get sick of character-building and you’d like to build something that matters. Like an actual life, without stupid shit getting in the way like pesky unpaid parking tickets or black-sheep friends wondering if you could pick them up from the drug house.
50. The bombastic knucklehead who assumes if he makes a list that reaches 100, it’ll be viewed as definitive, and therefore everyone will wish to read it – Yeah, fuck that guy. HEY! Wait a minute …
51. The anonymous internet bully – “Yeah, maybe if it weren’t for all the stupid LIBERALS running around, then this world would be AWESOME, and America would be STRONG. NEVER FORGET. By the way, your mom has AIDS. I know this, I gave it to her.” Two words: Go outside.
52. The overly perky, overachieving, tech-savvy social climber – Because, like, that degree from Stanford is totally justified now that I am a new media queen. I know 4,000,000 people with your exact skill set, only they weren’t born with an hourglass figure and bedroom eyes. They’re called IT “consultants.” They’ll only see a red carpet in an animated GIF or Easter Egg.
52A. The Lifecaster – For when being a “New Media Queen” totally justifies supplying the world with an endless parade of podcasts, viral clips and tweets. Because, most of the time, it clearly does. “zOMG @ da Apple Store!11!!”
53. The Linguistic Whiz who uses the term “Ironic” when no Irony is implied. – Remember how hipsters ride ironic bikes, wear ironic shirts and glasses and drink PBR, IRONICALLY? Can someone please document the irony in this? Ironically, I cannot find any.
54. The “Judge not lest ye be judged yourself” subscribers. – Folks will judge me regardless. It’s in their very biological nature. Therefore, I will exercise sound judgment and judge back. O we gon’ judge … and enjoy it.
55. The neat-freaks who eat BBQ with a fork and knife – Wear a bib if you’re frightened.
56. The unnaturally happy married couple – There comes a certain point when professing your love for all the world to see, when “missing your baby”; when your Twitter-bombing exclaiming surprise plane tickets to Ireland crosses into the realm of absurdity. I know this. You just sent me a picture of the two of you in Aruba, dressed-up to match, all smiles, sharing a martini … for the first time in nearly six hours.
57. The oversensitive jokester – Wait, so let me get this straight … jokes about raping MY mother are OK but jokes about blow jobs from Kimono Dragons make you cry? Noted. I’ll file that under, “Yeah, not filing that under anything.”
58. The bumper-sticker Olympian – Hey, you ran a 10K? Hiked all 5,344 ft. of Mount Marcy? Rode your bike for Breast Cancer Awareness? Really like Dave Matthews Band? That’s fabulous. However, unless you were shot into space or set a world record in the Nordic Combined, none of this is worth turning the back of your Volvo into the world’s most obtrusive and self-congratulatory post-it farm.
59. The unnecessarily-frazzled housewife – If you’ve updated your Facebook from the confines of your outer-ring suburban castle within the past 72 hours with, “Waiting for my baby to come home. Deciding what to make for dinner is SO STRESSFUL! **sad face**” I have some bad news, he’s currently boning the marketing intern, and will be an extra 45 minutes.
60. Tennis / Stage / Figure Skating / Tee-Ball / Flight School / Charm School / Golf / Olympic / Band / Orchestra parents – Your kid sucks. Enjoy paying for their rehab 10 years from now.
61. The opportunistic sympathizer – “Do you need anything?” No. “Are you sure?” Yes. “Ok, well … I called someone who might be able to help you with your fertility prob …” I SAID I DIDN’T NEED ANYTHING.
62. The young, urban, pilled-out, party-and-spend-like-a-drunken-sailor professional – And there are photos of you all over the internet funneling Coors Light with underage girls. You woke up two hours late for work AGAIN this morning. You took an extra-long lunch to go to the driving range. And you make twice what I do. And you just got promoted. Again.
63. The Really Really Famous Reality-Show Starlet – You got famous in the real world for pretending to act like a pretend caricature of an archetype of a real person on the Real World XXVII: Costa Rica. Or, you let Flavor Flav come all over you. Neither is worth me paying $7,500 for you to MC at my club.
64. The Fashion Completists – Just because the mannequin dons a jacket, a sweatshirt, a t-shirt, a button-down, khakis, a braclet, a necklace, a hat and sunglasses that all match each other perfectly, doesn’t mean you should wear them all at once. The mannequin is dead. You’re not … unless you go out in public wearing that.
65A. The smug sports announcer – Ahem, Joe Buck.
65B. The moral high horse-riding sports writer – Please stop condemning athletes for their transgressions. You’re still just the kid who got picked last in kickball, punched out first in dodgeball, and dunked on loudest in basketball. Merely standing on your soapbox, banging your fist on your desk, all while putting finger to keyboard doesn’t make you the “Voice of Reason in a sick, sad, crazy world.” It makes you a hypocrite, or something worse. Ahem, Mike Lupica.
66. The auto enthusiast with slightly off-centered priorities – A $9,000 Pioneer audio system with a 36-megawatt sub-woofer and six 12×15 wave speakers with ground effects and moving interior lights and a front deck that features full GPS and video capabilities while picking up Satellite TV still won’t hide the fact that you’re driving a 2001 Civic with a dented driver-side door.
67. The Wheelman – The man who believes he makes the whole place roll. Buys all his friends’ drinks. Hits on anything with a pulse. Attempts to lure your friends away to that “bangin’ after party.” Tucks in his T-shirt. Gels his fading hairline. But enough about me. I assure you, you don’t want to run into this guy.
68. The Norwegians – Nobody ever complains about them. Highest standard-of-living in the world? Easiest access to the doomsday vault? These friendly caribou crunchers cannot be trusted and must be stopped!
69. The Compulsively Hung-Up Ex – OMG I CAN’T GO THERE, THAT’S WHERE MY EX’S BEST FRIEND WORKS!! By the way, they broke up 18 months ago.
70. The entire student body at Ginormous Southern/Southwestern State University. – Good God, they don’t grow people that pretty up here. So those are the benefits of repeated exposure to this “sun” I’ve heard so much about.
71. The regressing middle-aged suburban mother born in the wrong generation – You know who appreciate you? Men my age. You know who despise you? Women my age. You know who misses you? Your husband. You know who wishes you’d stop stealing her sundress? Your daughter.
72. The proud new parents of a three month-old chihuahua – Once again, the reason why men make all long-term investment decisions. That dog will never give you back what you sink into it. It’ll piss on your rug and bark at your goldfish. Oh, and it’s not a baby. The sling and sweaters aren’t necessary.
73. The Doublemint Twins that dress alike and have been mollycoddled Ab Aeterno – What’s that I see dragging behind you as you both walk into the restaurant and order the same salad and giggle? Oh, that’s right … it’s an umbilical cord.
74A. The walk-into-a-wall gorgeous girl who asked me for help on her calculus homework – You walk into class and grab my arm, and stare at me and giggle and sweetly ask me to come over. And after 90 minutes of derivatives, I am no longer an integral part of your evening. It’s flip night at Molly’s. Oh, and you’re welcome for the A-.
74B. The walk-into-a-wall gorgeous girl who asked HIM for help on her calculus homework – You walk into class and grab his arm, and stare at him and giggle and sweetly ask him to come over. And after 90 minutes of derivatives, he’s cosigning your tangent all night long and accompanying you to flip night at Molly’s. Oh, and congratulations on the C-, anyway. And on the three other grades you got this semester, an H, P and V.
75. The Brazilian Disney Tour Group – No, this isn’t a knock on Brazilians. This is a knock on tour groups. I didn’t think they could teleport the entire city of Sao Paolo into and out of EPCOT for 11 months out of the year.
76. The NYC Cabbie who runs lights and cuts people off yet still somehow takes the long way. – Or, as they call it in the industry: minimizing costs while maximizing profits.
77. The spoiled professional athlete who six year-olds admire – … Were once the same high school athletes who slammed his father into lockers a generation ago.
78. The entire city of Wichita – Why? I ask why not.
79. The inventor and purveyors of the contractual “Z” at the end of words – including, but not limited to, tomorrz, whenevz, whatevz, bestiez … it’s not a possessive, and it is not as if you need to combine two words like tomor and row to make tomorrz. While we’re at it, a moratorium on “Just sayin’.” Especially, when you’re using it to imply that you really aren’t JUST sayin’ it at all.
80. The superficially modest narcissist – “I couldn’t believe it when the boss asked me if I’d like to move into upper-management! Can you believe it? ME? They could have picked anyone! I didn’t think I did that great of a job! AMAZI … [/tranquilizer dart]”
81. The somewhat off-kilter dot connector – Man, and FUCK stop lights! As if people wouldn’t be able to self-police their own driving! That’s just another everyday example of our government trying to keep us on the grid by not allowing us to get to work or the club at our own pace. Oh, and you know those flashing street lights? Those are cameras. They’re snapping photographs of us while we drive to make sure we’re on our best behavior. Trust no one …
82. The perfectly prissy gym rat social butterfly – After 45 seconds of crunches, can be found staring blankly into the abyss, usually in unison with her “training partner.” Can be found giggling, texting, watching Law & Order SVU. All while using the big exercise ball you absolutely need to complete your ab-blast regiment, or slowly meandering through an hour on one of three un-broken ellipticals.
83. The Hop-Scotching Serial Monogamist – Had a first boyfriend, then a high-school sweetheart, then a boyfriend in college who opened up her eyes then broke her heart, then another college boyfriend who treated her right and could have been the one but wasn’t because she needed to be FREE finally, then a rebound dude who immediately became an after-college boyfriend who she’s totally going the distance with. They’re getting married next week. Total time spent single in 12 years? Seven months. But every boy was an upgrade, so that’s personal growth.
84. The “brah” in a backwards cap who rushes the stage, hops convulsively and fist-pumps a black eye into your face at, of all places, a Third Eye Blind concert – Yeah, I remember you from Canisius, brah. You had seven beers in the parking lot, but you were really just ‘feeling the music.’ I haven’t heard someone scream the lyrics to “Losing a Whole Year” so passionately since 1997.
84 (addendum). The “brah” who believes all acoustic singer-songwriters played “a good set” and “sound like John Mayer” and asks that person, “Yo, do you know any Sublime?” – Not that this has ever happened to us, we’re “just sayin’.”
86. The face-stuffing thruway terror – The reason they have rest stops on the turnpike is so you can finish your meal without having to use two hands to eat and your knees to steer. Slow down, finish your Filet-O-Fish and save us the sudden urge to drop three Xanax and arm our minivan with twin-blaster honing missles.
87. The Overactive Fantasy Football competitor – You sit alone at the bar on game day, in your Eli Manning jersey, cheering against your home team because you’ve “got him on your team.” You make seven add/drops per week. You bring your roster to the bar. You keep track of points by hand. You’re actually not worth my hate … you’re worth my pity. You haven’t been laid in months.
88. The sweet party animal who asks if you are going someplace so she can sweetly ask you if you’ll pick her up so she doesn’t have to drive there, then doesn’t take full advantage of having a free night to get wasted and asks if you can drop her back off home early – Yeah, it’s more convenient (for you) and environmentally friendly if we car pool, but one of these times, I’m not going to want to drive back, I’m going to want to take a handle of bourbon to the face, and you’re not going to want to be in the car for when I inevitably wrap my BMW around a telephone pole on the QBE.
89. The parents who name their kids different alliteratively similar names – Jessica and Jennifer, Erin and Erica, Dan and Dave, John and Joe, Mike and the Mad Dog. You’re only making it harder on yourself when your little one draws in sharpie all over the bathroom mirror and you’re having trouble finding the moniker with which to follow “You stupid little shit!”
90. The hired-gun pop songwriter – Dianne Warren, this category is for you. You’re singlehandedly responsible for penning “Solitaire”, “Because You Loved Me”, “Unbreak My Heart”, “How Do I Live”, “For You I Will”, “I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing”, “There You’ll Be”, “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” and “Rhythm of the Night.” That’s nine of the Top 40 most Soul-Killing Sap Songs of the Post-War Era. Jerry Bruckheimer might enjoy your work, the rest of us are still trying to engineer a species without ears.
91. The superserious mass-texter – “OMG my father is back in the hospital, pray 4 him.” See, I would, except God charges an extra $15/month for the unlimited prayer plan, and I used up my allotment on asking for the Sabres get into the playoffs.
92. The Most Interesting and Accomplished Artist in Human History. Ever.– Incredibly, we weren’t just talking about your love life. We were actually talking about Film Noir. Did you really go to school with Humphrey Bogart’s grandson? Fascinating. You say you’re writing a film noir and it is slated for production in 2013? Please, do remind me to call in sick to the theatre that day.
93. The Drug Dealer – Not for dealing drugs, or killing the competition, or for being one step below a bank robber but one notch above a rapist, but for making me feel awkward that I don’t want to stay and blow lines with you till 3am. I didn’t come here to party, I came here to leave.
94. The Bland-as-Tomato-Soup Prophet who lives the most charmed life in world history – THIS GUY somehow throws the wildest parties, drives the fastest cars, melts the hottest women and lives the quintessential playboy lifestyle. He’s not so much a revelation so much as he’s the absolute best at everything you’d expect. Sometimes to transcend is just too much transcendence.
95. The Soup is too Hot – Wait five minutes. Scaldapalooza should cease by then.
96. The Soapbox-Stepping Singer in between Songs in a Set – Lest you think Dr. Seuss penned this one, let me remind you that there are a million bands out there who would kill to power through an epic wall-to-wall 30-song rock show with furious guitars, chill-inducing keyboard freakouts and vocal histrionics in the middle of The Garden. But that’ll never happen, because all they know is once you become famous, you suddenly have to talk VERY SERIOUSLY for 14 minutes in between songs while your guitarist tunes to Drop-D.
97. The Limo Driver – Yes, really, that’s all I’m giving you.
98. The Queen Alpha Bitch Grandmaster General Starring In THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE ROOM (Depending On the Room) – We get it, you happen to be the sexiest of all your friends. The rest of the girls flock to you and desperately trip over each other to earn your respect and friendship. And how do you reward them? By sleeping with every guy they are interested in? Spreading rumors about their supposed “VD”? Ordering your friends Mexican Takeout but secretly sneaking off to vomit so you stay thin? You’ll outearn them, outmarry them, outclass them and outwit them. But … actually, do yo thing, girl.
99. The Flakes who believe since they offered you alternate extra stuff, like – for example – A’s and B’s and C’s under some numbers, that it somehow makes up for the fact that they skimped on giving you what you came here for – Or, as my mother calls it: Christmas.
100. The bombastic egomaniac who spent five hours writing about his life for every hour he spent living it and hasn’t gone 24 hours without staring into some kind of screen since 1995, yet somehow believes he’s a once-in-a-generation voice for his, err, generation – Yeah, seriously. Fuck that guy. Prick.