"Ah hell, not this douche again." This is a phrase we've all heard at least once from strangers, grandmothers, pastors, or therapists. You probably think this to yourself a few times a day about various people, and they think the same about you!
Waiters hate everything about you from the moment you walk in.
The instant you sit down, they have to take a break from sitting around doing nothing. And they don't like that. The only thought running through their minds as they smile their mind-piercing grin of death is "this guy better give a tip that can buy me a new car."
And if you're retarded enough to do something ridiculous like ask for a refill on your drink, or special order your food, well, let's just say I hope you like the taste of pubic hair in your food.
"I didn't order clam chowder... oh crap!!!"
It's happened to everyone. You're in line at the store, ready to purchase your copy of 27 Dresses on DVD, and the idiot in front of you in line is trying to purchase some stupid item like a pack of sugarfree gum with an expired coupon and exact change. Then he argues with the clerk (who is the only one currently checking people out) for approximately 56 hours. After this experience, when it comes time to proceed to checkout, you charge for the cashier in a blind rage, and if you wind up behind someone, you instantly hate their guts for not going fast enough. Even if they're buying like 2 things, you still hate them. Well the same goes for you. Whenever you're in line, with your Playboy magazine and whatever random object you're using to hide it so noone else notices (they do, by the way), the guy behind you can only think about how great it would be if God chose that moment to smite you where you stand so he can just purchase his god forsaken Diet Coke and go home.
There's murder burning in the eyes behind those sunglasses
When it comes to guys, there's nothing worse than walking into a public restroom and smelling the horrid stench of whoever it was who previously thought he was alone in the literal craphole in which you stand.
When guys walk into public restrooms, there tends to be "that guy." The guy who is dropping a deuce, blissfully unaware that he is making the facility smell like the sulfurous crap of Satan himself.
Noone wants to be "that guy."
Which is why, when it comes time to evacuate those bowels, and the closest option is a good ol' public restroom, all the self-conscious crappers can be certain that everyone is staring at their stall thinking to themselves how horrible the smell is. (Even though they're not.)
This is exactly why whenever you're in the stall next to someone, they want you to drop dead right in your own piss so they can flush, make sure they're alone, and emerge from the stall as if nothing happened.
They're all waiting on YOU.
And ladies, I have no idea what the hell goes on in womens' restrooms...
(Artist's rendering of the inside of a womens' bathroom)
People are easily distracted. This is well evidenced by how our generation has pioneered and perfected such multitasking technologies as multiple computer monitors (for watching porn on more than one screen), to internet with mutliple tabs (for watching lots of porn all on ONE screen).
This baby has a boob-to-viewer ratio of 48:1!! How's THAT for a sales pitch?
That said, have you ever been to a movie theater and had some obnoxious baby-boomer with Marge Simpson hair come into a movie theater and sit directly in front of you? The first thing you want to do is take a pair of hedge clippers and just chop off the monstrosity.
Try and watch your precious movie NOW, Mr. Bond!! Muahaha!!
Okay, so that's probably never happened to you. But we all know how the slightest movements can distract people nowadays. If someones going to sit in front of you, they better stay pretty freaking still for the entire movie. And if they stand up to go the the restroom, well, it's time to die. www.youtube.com/watch
Road rage. It's like Jerry Springer with no commercials! The quickest way to make a mortal enemy out of someone is to do something they disapprove of on the road.
JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!
Take, for instance, red lights. Most of us know what it's like to be at a red light, but then miss the green and have to wait for it to cycle through again because some idiot at the front of the line was texting, or doing her nails, or washing his dog.
You're number one!!
Everyone wants to be at the front of the red light line, but with great power, comes great responsibility. The INSTANT that light turns green, you better put the freaking pedal to the metal. If you don't burn rubber, it's not fast enough for the people behind you, who will beat their horn like Rocky beats meat. Stop giggling.
To put it simply, the person in front at a red light is to everyone else in line what New Jersey is to everyone else in America.
Willy Wonka called. He said to stop screwing around and get back to the factory!
It's not secret that Americans treat Canadians like Rosie O'Donnell treats a salad bar. We know of it's existence, but we really couldn't care less. Canada is America's hat, and they've been looked down upon ever since someone realized there was actually someone to make fun of up there.
People constantly joke about Canada and their Monopoly money and their constant use of the word "eh."
I'd like to put a hotel on Park Place
But what we don't think about is what THEY'RE thinking about. How's THAT for trippy? While we're sitting here in America, watching our reality shows and eating bacon cheeseburgers, the Canadians are sitting up there in their mountian fortresses, chuckling manically to themselves as they gaze down upon our country. "It's only a matter of time, eh?" They think to themselves, as they plot our untimely demise.
They sit up in the Yukon, and Ontario, stroking their moosen like a bond villain strokes his cat. (Note: "Stroking their moosen" is not a euphamism.)
Those damn Canadians
All we can do now is try to respect our Canadian neighbors, and stock up on canned food and batteries. But for now, try to loosen up. Which brings us to....
What if there was a job where women paid you to rub your hands all over thier oileed-up bodies? Oh wait, there is. It's a massage therapist!
A masseuse can't typically turn down clients, so instead of massaging hot women like the employment brochure told them, they're stuck with you. The entire time while they're mssaging your lumpy, sweaty body, they can't stop thinking to themselves how much they just want to grab one of the fire-hot stones and shove it where the sun don't shine.
(Above: Not you)
So you really can't blame them for hating you. But maybe you should opt out of the hot stone therapy.
You're 16. You need money. But you don't want to work. What do you do? That's right! You become a prostitute!
But if you're a male, you get a job at some crappy department store. These teenage guys absolutely despise everyone else on the face of the planet. It's part of their teen angst and rebelliousness that makes them feel better about themselves. As soon as you walk up to the counter to purchase your latest issue of Dog Fancy, it means that the chain-smoking teenager has to stop watching porn on his iPhone that he waited in line for for 3 DAYS (see #8) and ring you up. He hates your guts.
"Cash or Check? Paper or plastic? Blunt force trauma or asphyxiation?"
Haha just kidding, it's not a secret that everyone there wishes you were dead!