You love your dog. You love your parents. You love your girlfriend or boyfriend. You love your favorite band or movie or book. You love a lot of stuff and you always seem to tell people about it. I'm here once again to put an end to that; to spread a little much needed hate around. Welcome back to the 16th installment of the Famous Hate List.

Remember, if you want to vent, rant, mock or openly hate on a particular kind of person, email me your submission at suxatlife@hotmail.com.

MINE:

The Human Thermometer: There are many ways to find out what the current state of the weather is in your locality. The easiest is to simply go outside and see for yourself. Of course, this being America, there are plenty of other options; you could check the internet, watch the weather channel or simply wait for the human thermometer to inform you as to the temperature. "GOD" It's so hot today!" No shit? Maybe that's why I'm sweating bullets, my ice cream is currently sliding down my arm and my dog seems to be having an asthma attack. It never occurred to me that all of these things were happening until you, with your perceptive senses, clued me into this thing called "heat." Isn't it nice that you take the time to complain to everyone about the heat like you are the only person who has noticed it. Do you expect people to say, "Oh" you're right, it IS hot today!" Why don't you get inside an oven and tell everyone when it starts getting hot in there? Take your bitching elsewhere because my sweat-soaked shirt and bright red face want none of it" I Hate You!

Dead-Air Darrel: Ring" ring" ring" "Hey, what's up?" "Nothin" "Ok, ummm" how ya been?" "Aight." "Do you wanna talk about anything?" (long pause) "Not really." Then why the hell did you call me, you useless shit? Normally when making a phone call, the executor has some sort of purpose. You can call someone to see how they have been, to ask a favor, to tell them a story, but not dead-air Darrel. His phone call to you will be one of awkward silence followed by a cough and then some more silence. Tyr as you might, you will never obtain a definitive reason for his call. You will query about everything under the sun only to be met with stubborn, one-word answers. After a few minutes, you will even begin to feel bad about the state of call, forgetting that he was the one who called you. Hey Darrel, if you want to call me, have something to say. I don't really enjoy sitting on the phone waiting for a topic to be decided on while listening to you breathe. You waste my minutes, you're boring but most of all" I Hate You! "Whatcha think about that, huh?" "I dunno."

Mr. Obscurity: I like to joke around with my friends. Sometimes we make up fake movies and TV shows and discuss plotlines. Sometimes we enact ridiculous scenarios merely to pass the hours. But whenever a lively game such as the aforementioned ones take place, Mr. Obscurity feels he must lend his two cents. Me: "Oh man, wouldn't it be funny if there was a guy who fell down whenever someone said the number 3?" My Friend: "Oh and he would also scream a swear whenever someone said his name." Mr. Obscurity: "That's like that movie "The Unknown Man"" did you guys see that?…No?…Oh dude, it's the best, let me tell you about it!" And then Mr. Obscurity will regale you with the plot, basic characters, and conflict of a movie made in 1968 that fifteen people have seen. You won't care, your friends won't care but he will act as if he is bestowing ancient knowledge on you and will expect you to thank him for his efforts. He really is a sad figure; you can almost picture him sitting in his basement alone watching obscure movies just so he has something to talk about at parties. Hey Mr. Obscurity, have you ever heard that song by "Geordie McGardy?" It came out in 1926 and they only printed three copies of it. It goes like this" I Hate You!

YOURS:

Reader Andy G. Really hates: LITTLE MAN SYNDROME SUFFERERS: This is the guy that is 5'4" or shorter, 130lb's and smaller, and for some reason thinks they can kick or pummel whoever's ass that gets in their way. Hey shorty, I almost stepped on you a second ago, and now you want to fight me because that girl over there seemed to "glance over you." Look, in no way am I jacked up or ripped, but I DON'T ACT LIKE I AM!!! You seem to start fights or get attitudes with people, then if someone actually gets riled up enough to do something about it, you call your boys over. Yeah real tough having someone finish the job that you couldn't do yourself. Hey midget, get some lifts, take some hormones, or get a life or something. No one can see you at parties, no one can see you when you drive, and no one could care less that you think you can have any girl in the bar. If I need to put my beer down for a second, ill find you and use your head as a coaster. Hey toto, I hate you!!!

Reader Flyboy Steve really hates: The Boasting "Playa" If you're good with the ladies, that's great, but please don't regale me with tales of how enormous your cock is and how every girl at school wants you. This is the kind of guy that gets off on the sound of his own voice and probably masturbates to a picture of himself every night. He's the kind of guy that when he's forty, he'll buy hair plugs and cheap cologne and talk his way into the pants of drunk high school girls and middle aged housewives, not that he doesn't do that now, of course. Now, I'm not a genius, but I know that when you try to convince me that your manmeat is 12 inches long and four finger-breadths in width, you're so full of shit that Slick Willy Clinton would call you a liar. Do you like to make up things about your John Thomas, or do you actually harbor a delusion that your penis is a FOOT IN LENGTH? Because last I checked, that's damn near impossible. And while I'm as confident of the size of my junior airman as anybody, I'm not going to a)follow it like a divining rod to anything with a hole and a pulse or b) tell all my friends that my dick is comparable to that of an average elephant's. This binaca-spraying assclown will try to tell you that the girl sitting at the next table over is "totally checking me out, dude." No, you shitcock, she's looking at you, the giant quivering mass of narcissism sitting accross from me, and wondering when you'll shut your irritating pie hole. Reign in your raging hormones and unjustifiably inflated ego, wash off your VD, and start hounding for skirt somewhere else…preferably in traffic…I Hate You!

Reader Vinny really hates: The "Every time is a good time for NEXTEL" Kid. You're sitting down in a restaurant talking to your friends and from the table behind you "BEEP BEEP! WHATUP YO!" BEEP BEEP "Yo that party was so tight! I can't believe I fucked that girl AND her sister!" BEEP BEEP "Yo the whole restaurant just heard you man!" BEEP BEEP "Really?" BEEP BEEP "HAHA Yea man that's so funny!" BEEP BEEP "FUCK DUDE HAHA!" I might not like the easy listening bullshit playing over the speakers but I'll take Kenny G. over your fucking Nextel conversation, thanks. Seriously, I'm glad someone invented a way to connect to your friends across the country in .06 seconds so that you can talk about what bag of STDs you got to rompin' last night. I don't need to hear that shit while I'm eating my boneless buffalo wings. I know those fuckin things come with the option to turn that shit down, so get to it. No public place is safe from the Nextel kid. Can I buy some toothpaste at CVS without BEEP BEEP "YO DUDE, (nasty story that will eventually end in him learning he has the clap)" please? The people that abuse the Nextel service like this also usually have an antenna that glows such a bright green that you're sure to get radiation poisoning when they get an incoming call, and a battery with flashing colors and chaser lights that make my Christmas tree cream itself with envy. Does your phone have to be able to guide a 747 to the fucking runway? They also like to make sure all their clothes are arranged so as not to obscure this lighthouse from your sight as it dangles from their hip. Hey guess what? BEEP BEEP "I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

Reader Mike from New Haven really hates: The Beast Girl: There are two variations of this girl, the disgustingly fat girl who has so much body hair she looks like the wolfman, yuck. Then there's the slim girl who would be hot if she didn't have more fucking body hair than Grizzly Adams. I haven't shaved in a week, why do you have more facial hair than me? Oh, you think bleaching your arm hair will make it less noticeable? Guess again freak, you have more arm hair than Robin Williams, I could weave a fucking rug out of that shit. Get a wax for fuck's sake you wookie bitch, I HATE YOU.

Mike also hates: Ten Kid Tina: This fucking woman has to go to the store and bring all ten of her fucking out of control kids with her. You're kids are running wild, learn some fucking discipline for Christ's sake. Tell your God damn kids to shut the hell up and behave. Next time leave your kids at home, or better yet, drown them in the tub you worthless cumrag. I hate you.

Reader Greg "G-Unit" really hates: People who own Hummer H2's in the lower 48 states: What the fuck is your problem. There is no God damn reason for you to drive something like that. The weather will never get that bad where your overspending ass will need a fucking H2. "Oh but I live in Montana." BUY A FUCKING SNOWMACHINE (I used to call them snowmobiles until the Andrea the Alaskan said otherwise) you fucking douche. The damn things get horrible gas mileage and they're dangerous to everyone else driving normal fucking vehicles. You loose control of that thing everyone's fucking dead even the people on the other side of the median. You want to show the world you have money, buy a fucking Escalade put some twenty-two inch rims on and drive to your local Sheetz, then we'll all know you're a rich, overspending vaginal scar. I REALLY FUCKING HATE YOU.

G-Unit also hates: The whisperer: This ass monkey sits next to you in a calculus or chem class and whispers answers under his breath AND MOST OF THE TIME THEY'RE WRONG. Look, you have no idea what you're doing, I'm over here trying to figure out the right answer and you're whispering the wrong fucking answer. I swear you either shut up, or I will reach over, rip out your vocal cords and hang you from a light post with them Spiderman style. DAMN I HATE YOU

Finally, reader Shelby S. really hates: the girl that has constant guy problems and thinks that everyone wants to hear about them. Here's a hot tip: NO ONE CARES. She always talks about Kyle or Brian or Shane or Sean or Seth or the hot guy that she made out with at the concert and never got his name and she thinks that he might be gay because he never called her back and I mean, yeah, if someone didn't call YOU back then he MUST be gay because who wouldn't want to sleep with you, you STD encrusted whorebag? Here's another tip: You're not really all that sly. We all know that you're just talking about all these guys because you want to make yourself seem cool and popular and like people actually like you. You don't really want anyone to comfort you and feel sorry for you! You just want people to step back and say, "Wow. That girl has fucked every guy in the last three graduating classes. Now THAT'S admirable." Shut your stupid mouth and go find some other fuckface loser to screw that will never call you again because he realized what a whore you were. You know what, on second thought, DON'T. Because I'm going to have to hear about it for the next week, you skank. I hate you!

That's all the hate for this week. Check back in a mere seven days for fresh hate and new, inventive derogatory terms. And remember, if you want to see your hate posted on the internet and read by untold millions, email suxatlife@hotmail.com but please, please capitalize your "i"s. Thank you and goodnight.