The Hate Escape

There's a little Silky Johnson inside each and every one of us.

There’s a little Silky Johnson inside each and every one of us.


“Hate is baggage.”   -Daniel Vineyard, and look how he ended up


“I endorse hate speech, I don’t give a fuck.  I want hate speech.  Like why can’t I hate you—in speech?”   -Patrice O’Neal


“Hate!  Hate!  Hate!”   -Audience at the Playa Hater’s Ball


For obvious reasons, there’s been a lot of discussion about “hate” lately, and it appears the new cliched position—especially for the pussified Left—is the frankly idiotic notion that it’s an either universally harmful or phantom phenomenon.  Droves of douchebag talking heads across all channels are all pretending human emotions are somehow beyond their comprehension.  They’re like Spock.  Over and over again you hear asswipes claim, “I don’t hate anyone,” often followed by a sixty-second self-indulgence fest about hate being a bag of bricks or something else heavy or maybe some other dumb shit that’s supposed to define it is only a burden in one’s life.  Are you shitting me?  Fuck that, hatred is great.  It makes the world go ’round.

It’s such a corny sack of high horse manure to pretend otherwise.  Everyone honest will admit that there’s nothing more satisfying than seeing something horrible happen to someone you justifiably hate, and thus, couldn’t deserve comeuppance more.  It’s like a mental orgasm.  That’s why so many people buy Mayweather Pay-Per-Views.  It’s certainly not out of love.

And oftentimes, there’s no other way.  I can’t stand when some fuckface relative of a murder victim forgives the killer and forgoes not only acts of vengeance, but their grand consolation prize of burning, undying hatred as well.  Their dead-ass family member must be spinning in their grave over that faggy shit.  Or trying to come back as ghosts to haunt their fam’s bitch-asses.

Any rational person on the planet would and should hate somebody who stole their spouse, ran over their dog, burned their house down, molested their kid, or was a Jets fan.  But the holier-than-thou hooey spouted by certain sob sisters suggests otherwise in the face of all reason.  You gotta admit, that alone makes those phony crybabies pretty hateable.


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