I Hate Everyone...Starting With Me (13 page)

BOOK: I Hate Everyone...Starting With Me
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I hate how chefs dress.
What’s up with the pants? For no apparent reason every chef, cook or kitchen worker wears grotesque, polyester, black-and-white checkered pants. Is this an ego thing so everyone knows that you’re the chef? We know. You’re already wearing a giant white hat and you smell like day-old veal.

I hate sitting at a table near the bathroom.
I don’t want to see the chef coming out, zipping up. The
only thing worse than seeing the chef in a restaurant coming out of the men’s room is one going in, then stop, say, “Too late,” turn around and return to the kitchen.

I hate it when the cook in a diner refers to himself as a “chef.”
Anthony Bourdain is a chef; Daniel Boulud is a chef; Emeril Lagasse is a chef. But the sweaty guy behind the counter in the diner? That’s Nick from Astoria.

I hate people who refer to chocolate cake as “decadent.”
Sara Lee licking the chocolate off of your thighs is decadent; the cake is just fattening.

I hate restaurants that have drive-thru windows.
Unless you’re a cult member on a killing spree you shouldn’t be able to drive through a restaurant. Remember the nut job who shot up the McDonald’s in Texas? My first thought was,
How bad could the onion rings have been?

I hate McDonald’s. I don’t want to order dinner by yelling into a plastic clown’s mouth. If I want my face in a clown’s mouth I’ll tongue kiss Glenn Beck.

I hate “Happy Meals.”
McDonald’s seems to think that eating these meals will make you happy. It won’t. It may make your cardiologist and his accountant happy, but all it will make you feel is fat and bloated.

If McDonald’s wants to make a really happy meal, they ought to make it two cheeseburgers, large fries
and Prozac. Your arteries will still clog, but you just won’t care. In fact, you’ll be the happiest one in the morgue.

I hate the slogans in cheaper restaurants.
Like “Have it your way.” “My way” would be in a better restaurant where the tables and chair are not cemented to the floor. Unless the restaurant is located on the side of the San Andreas Fault, the tables and chairs should be movable. If I can’t move, turn, breathe or burp, then it’s not fine dining, it’s a Scientology social.

I also hate it when restaurants lock their bathrooms and you have to get a key from the manager to get in.
Why are they locked? Do their customers tend to steal the urinals when their meals are done? And what’s with the gigantic key rings? The keys to the bathrooms are always attached to huge sticks or hangers that clank and make noise. Give me a normal-size key ring and I promise I’ll alert all the other patrons by yelling, “I have to pish, now.”

I hate the sign in the window that states: “Shirt and shoes required.”
Is that really necessary? Does that mean pants are optional? That as long as you have on some kind of footwear and sleeves, it’s okay to have your cooz hanging out or your balls stuck to the chair? I experienced that in a restaurant one day and not only was it disgusting and unattractive and unhygienic, I also got very cold.

And finally… I hate vegans.
God gave you incisors, so what’s the problem? Not only are vegans annoying, they look sickly. Right now, fast, name twenty vegans you’d like to bang. They don’t eat meat, they don’t eat poultry, they don’t eat fish, they don’t eat anything with a face.… You know what? They can eat me.

THINGS NOT TO SAY AT A DINNER PARTY
The table looks great; most of the place settings match.
There’s a pubic hair in my soup and it looks like Uncle Jack’s.
Does anyone know the difference between the early signs of chlamydia and syphilis?
This steak is delicious! Ever been to a slaughterhouse? They kill the cow by driving a nail between its eyes.
You’ll never guess who lost a baby and left it in the toilet? No, really, c’mon, try to guess. I’ll give you a hint.…
Are these capers or droppings?
Did anyone ever notice that all Down syndrome kids look alike?
They said it was SIDS, but to perfectly honest, I never trusted the mother.…
How come you never see really old midgets?
Fuck the Jews.
Is it just me, or does foreskin taste funny?
Please, if I start to smell just tell me and I’ll change the bag.
BOOK: I Hate Everyone...Starting With Me
13.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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