Poor Mojo's Two Minute Hate

I affirm that I am everything that is wrong with the Weblog. I have poisoned it with a particularly wicked and scat-tinged humor that only a 27-year-old female non-theology student could deliver. I offer myself to you, the readers: do with me what you deem necessary to once and for all cleanse the Weblog of this scatological, non-intellectual, pop-culture-obsessed pestilence that I have introduced.

I hate that I am staying up late to write the hatreds.

I hate that I have volunteered to be the first female homo sacer in the history of the Weblog.

I hate that the people at the bakery are now afraid of me because I constantly stick out my tongue.

I hate that I overdosed on Haldol and ended up soiling myself at work.

I hate that, like the sea otter, I have more hair in one square inch that a human has on its whole body.

I hate that my co-worker is so anal retentive that he can't let me set anything on his desk.

I hate that this co-worker speaks in clipped Chicago speech and looks like he will explode into mess of pizza puffs and cheese fries if he has to utter a full sentence.

I hate that I give out commemorative lapel pins to all those I have fisted.

I hate that there are still some fucktards out there who can't come to terms with my existence.

If you still don't believe, maybe you should read the Tuesday Love.