I haven’t written about my quest to stop smoking since Day 2…there have been reasons. I’m not telling you what they were.
But I’ve realized a lot of things about myself during these intervening four days and I’d like to share some of them with you-
First: I hate you all. Individually and as a species. I hate my family, even those that were dead long before I was born. I hate my car, my job, food, bathrooms, and television. I hate wall paint. I hate carpet and bare wood floors. I hate dust bunnies. I hate regular bunnies. Fuck bunnies in general.
I hate the sky, the wind, the sun, the moon, the rain, clear skies, day and night. I hate mountains, cities, small towns and Birkenstocks. I hate gasoline. And houseplants- Christ, I hate houseplants. And housecats, housecoats, houseboats, house wares (and why the fuck can you write housecats, housecoats and houseboats without a space, but house wares needs one? I hate spell check.)…in fact, I hate houses and everything that goes in them.
I hate sneakers and loafers; loafers the shoes and loafers the people. I hate activity. I hate idleness. I hate, I hate I hate I hate.
I hate Barack Obama. I still think Michelle is a cutie, but I hate her too. I hate politics. I hate green sweaters. I hate Cooper 235/75-R15 4 ply snow tires. I hate newspapers.
Oh, and rivers…I hate rivers too. Rivers should have gone into the sun/moon paragraph somewhere between mountains and cities, but I forgot I hated them till just now. I hate forgetting things.
I hate Barclays Bank. A bunch of assholes work at Barclays Bank. I hate them all. Remind me to tell you exactly why I hate them sometime. It’s actually a funny story. I hate funny stories.
I love my dogs. Nothing, not even cigarettes, could ever make me stop loving my dogs. They’re just royal pains in the asses and are constantly driving me up the fucking wall.
I hate trying to write five hundred words for this stupid satire site. I hate writing in general. I hate reading…no, belay that. I’ve been reading like a demon every free second I have. I’ve been reading all the John Sanford ‘Prey’ novels featuring Minneapolis detective Lucas Davenport. I hate writing Minneapolis. It’s too hard a word to remember how to spell. I read the books in no order; I just pick them up and open them to any page and start reading. Thank you, Mr. Camp. I hate you.
I hate all this lovely weather we’ve been having. I hate the tan I’m getting by raking the leaves. I hate raking. I hate leaves. I hate tans. I hate the garbage truck I can see from my window and the noise it’s making. I hate sound.
Aside from this, things are going quite well. I’ve only shot and killed four people so far and I’m pretty sure I got away clean on all of them. I’ve noticed while I was running from the scenes that I’ve got more wind. I hate having more wind.
I’ve just done a word count and realized I’ve passed five hundred words. I hate passing five hundred words.