Spreading the yang to the yin of love

As you all well know, I am doing my best to keep with the positive in these times of trials and tribulations, but...well, I can't help but love the haters. This here is part of a rant from the blog 'Monkeys for Helping' that was started by a guy I knew at Con College. (I've started dropping the second N after watching Trailer Park Boys. I can now proclaim my alma mater with something perhaps not unrelated to pride.) Thank you Eric for your rant. And, I hear you, man.

Monday, March 16th; excerpt from Sipping on Haterade: a brief but profanity-laden essay detailing why I hate the Subway.

I make an executive decision to keep my sunglasses on. Yes. I look like a douche bag. I don't care. I need them. They allow me to spend my 35 minutes of misery doing what I enjoy most in the morning: Rolling my eyes and sending invisible hate beams in the direction of those I hate. Specifically..

1: Anyone engaging in any form or variation of what can be considered Ipod dancing.

2: Those clever little Cosby sweater type dude he guy who thinks he's a Sommelier for microbrews, plays bass or DJ's in 4 bands, and definitely would have sex with Brooklyn if Brooklyn somehow transformed itself into a artsy Japanese girl.

3: Blissed-out passengers that whisper-sing Dave Matthews violin solos. Fuck the fuck off. Go buy another scarf and choke yourself with it, you horrible, horrible, person.

4: Air drummers. WTF? What's the functionality and purpose of air drumming a Rush solo at 9 in the morning? God help you.

5: Yawners, moaners, T-Mobile walkie-talkie people, and any and all that engage in repetitive motions, excessive paper folding, sneezing, chewing, coffee slurping, etc. you know what I'm talking about. To the dude grossing me out in the seat across from me: Eat your Everything Bagel like a ninja, not a Golden Reteriver, barbarian. Shut the fuck up already.

Wow, I'm kind of a dick, huh? Oh well. (PS: Don't call me a dick.)