Oh my, the Famous Hate List sure is getting up there in age. Yet, the hate stays fresh and new. This week, we see hate from yours truly and a bunch of other bitter assholes from all over the world. Without further ado, here is the twenty-third installment of the Famous Hate List.

*Guess what? You can be a part of the Hate List. Just email your submission to suxatlife@hotmail.com!

MINE:

Internship Ian: Ok, you got yourself a good internship at some huge company. I'm very proud of you and I bet your family is too. But could you maybe just shut the fuck up about it? I don't really care what Larry from development had to say about the Anderson file. In fact, I don't know who the fuck Larry or Anderson is. Why can't you understand that I don't really think corporate accounting is exciting or funny? All Ian can do all day is tell stories about his "cool"� internship and all the "awesome"� people who work there. "Dude, the other day, me and Jenny - she's from accounts receivable - were in the business park and she told me that Winston - from filing - got so drunk the other night that he tried to make out with her. Can you believe that?"� Shut the fuck up, you tool. Nobody cares about your work friends and chances are they're just 30 year-old burnouts who don't lead exciting lives anyway. It sounds like you have a bright future with Larry, Anderson, Jenny and Winston, but me"¦I Hate You!

My Dishes: I see you there, sitting in the sink. Am I going to wash you? Probably not. Why must you pile up so quickly? It seems like just when I finish washing you, you're dirty again. I guess I can be blamed for some of that, but you're the ones who get dirty, not me. Are you guys a bunch of babies? Can you not clean yourselves? Why am I relegated to the kitchen twice a week to rinse you off? Well, I can tell you this, you filthy dishes, when it's my turn to wash you; I just rinse you off with water and put you away. That's right; I'm not wasting any soap on you assholes. Why should I, you're just going to be dirty again in an hour. If you guys keep this shit up, you're getting replaced permanently with paper towels. You hear that, dishes"¦I Hate You!

Sleepy Samantha: Nobody likes going to class early in the morning. A lot of us don't like going to class at all, regardless of time of day. But going to class in the morning is made so much worse by Sleepy Samantha. She'll sit right down next to you and drop her bag heavily on the floor. Then she'll rub her eyes and yawn. That's when you know she's positioned to strike. "Oh my god, I'm soooooooooo tired."� she'll say. "I hardly got any sleep last night."� No shit? That's strange, I get 9 hours every single night of the week and have no conception of what it feels like to be tired. You dumb bitch, don't you realize that everyone is tired at 8 in the morning? Nobody in college gets any sleep so stop pretending like you're the only one. What do you want from me? A hug? How about a kick in the crotch. The worst part is Samantha's always ready with an explanation about why she is so tired. "I was up all night studying for my calc midterm."� Weird, another concept I have no idea about? I don't know anyone who has ever crammed for a test all night? How interesting. Guess what, Samantha; you're not special and nobody cares that you're fucking tired because we all are. Maybe you'll be awake enough to hear this"¦I Hate You!

YOURS:

Reader Jon C. really hates: Emo fags. They are just downright poor excuses of men. Their music is clearly horrible. It takes no skill to play and their vocals sound as if they put a 16 year-old whose balls have not dropped to the mic and just had him whine about his small penis and ugly mug. They're music is more than music, it has evolved into a style, a trend if you will, that is taking over young Americans at a great rate...it truly pains me to watch. Their taste in clothes is the worst, the hair and everything; not to mention they've officially killed tight pants. All they do is complain about life, cut themselves, and cry when drunk, fucking pussies. God I just want to snap their necks and put them out of their misery. I HATE YOU!!!

Reader Nicole really hates: Speed Limit Sam: I cannot stand the fuckers on the road who cannot just live a little and drive over the speed limit at a comfortable rate like everyone else. No you can't go 36 in a 35 Sammie can you? Why no, of course not because that would be against the law! Lucky me though, I get to be behind your law abiding ass don't I? And do you care that I'm hung-over, irritable, and late for my 8:05 class? No of course not, because you probably don't drink either and you probably are on your way to your 9:00 class but you just want to be early don't you?? I hate being behind you Speed Limit Sammie, you drive the speed limit and make it known to all of us behind you. And for the truly blessed ones who are in front of you, you're the asshole who when one person inches up about a centimeter, you too must inch your way up their ass to make sure that you are not going to be late. Thank god for that one centimeter or else you wouldn't have made it to your destination on time right?! Hell, now that you have inched up, you have time to stop for coffee and doughnuts too! But I can bet my last no-doz you'll be doing the speed limit the whole way there. So this is for you speed limit SHITHEAD because I HATE YOU!!!!!

Reader Carlos really hates: Richard the Fundamentalist Repugnican: So...I'm having a hard time understanding why you feel that Christ all-mighty compels you to tell people to that they should vote for Bush because he speaks to God and he shares the same "good Christian values" that you do (yea I'm talking to you Mr. Stephen "making a filter" Baldwin.) Hmmm...let's see. Oh yeah! Cause you're a pole-smoking, dingleberry nibbling, chode-sniffing, bible-humping gutter lunatic. Jumping fuckin Jehosaphat! How the fuck do you live with yourself? Bush doesn't have a single redeeming quality, yet you think he's the cat's ass. The man has lied to us for 4 years and you want more of the same? If Jesus were here right now, he'd staple your grundel to your forehead for being a such a stupid fuckbean. Do us all a favor...go bury yourself in Bush's ballonknot, bring your bible, a warm blanket, and don't come out until "the Rapture." By the way, God hates you, Allah hates you. Jesus hates you, Buddha hates you, and...and...shit who am I forgetting? Oh yea...I HATE YOU!
(Author's Note: Good use of insulting terms. See: Fuckbean, pole-smoking, and ballonknot.)

Reader Brent F. really hates: retail stores that do not sell shorts anymore in Florida b/c they are "out of season"...These fucktards do not realize that it is still 80-90 degrees out during the day here in Florida. Yes it is October, and yes it is cold in other parts in the nation. But not here bitches. All I needed was a simple pair of khaki shorts for work so I wouldn't sweat my balls off while running around, but noooooo, Old Navy, Super Target, Ross, Sears all refuse to sell them to me. Take a step outside, is it cold yet??? NO! So get on the phone and order me a pair of god damn shorts fuckers! I Hate You!

Reader Sergio O. really hates: The bandwagon baseball fan. Every time October rolls around, there are certain people who decided that they are going to be rooting for "the underdog team" simply because they think its the cool thing to do. And when their team happens to beat your team, they make it their personal mission to hang banners, wear shirts, get hats, and put up witty away messages... even though you have no affiliation with the city of the said team, nor have you even been to one of their games, you still act as though you have been for years. Only come next year, you forget about your team and I find all your "fan" paraphernalia in the local thrift store because it's not cool anymore. Here's an idea, stop being a fucking dumbass and start thinking for yourself for a change. Because a true fan doesn't bail out on their team every year unless they make the post season......I FUCKING HATE YOU

Reader Justin C. really hates: Psychotic Bush/Kerry Supporters: These are the people who are zealously devoted to their candidate of choice and who will go completely out of their damn day to tell you just how great their candidate is and how much donkey nuts yours sucks. Shut the fuck up already! As if I didn't hear enough political bullshit every 5 seconds on the goddamn radio or tv! I simply want to drag my ass out of bed to try to make it to a class on time and I have to deal with you throwing buttons and stupid pamphlets in my face!? Shut the hell up and take the self-righteous stick out of your ass!!! These fuckbags feel the urge to vomit whatever "facts" they have about either candidate which may or may not be completely based on A) something their "smart, politically-aware" friend told them (read: some fuckface who knows as much about politics as a freaking cucumber), or B) From other similar fanatics who regurgitate the same bullshit with no regard to any idea of objectivity. I don't care who you support: Bush who has enough trouble getting a fucking point across, or John "I'm not Bush" Kerry. Get informed you assholes, or don't vote! This is also directed to the
MORONS who say stupid shit like, "if (insert name) gets elected I'm moving to Canada." SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!! You whiny, politically-challenged ass! You couldn't pick that fucking country out on a goddamn MAP, let alone get off the free-ride your parents have given you in life to actually go! I say, go to Canada! Then we won't have to listen to your "I'm smart and cultured" BULLSHIT anymore! I hate this election and I HATE YOU!!!!!!

The drunkest hate list entry for the week comes from Kevan H. who wrote the following: I am a DJ at the hottest bar in Flagstaff (which is awfully low on the list of cool college towns) but Sweet Caroline is one of the hottest last songs that I could play.
speaking of which...
I hate when you play "sweet caroline" or "american pie" or some Van Morrison
at last call and eventually somebody will come up and ask for "yeah" by usher
or some other played out hip hop track. Hey focker, this is a great song and
7/8 of the bar is singing along. Learn the fucking words. I hate you, you
non-great song loving motherfucker.

street, i am so drunk on a monday. i hope that was all coherent.
(AN: Despite the drunkenness, I believe I understand what you are saying)

The biggest hater of the week award goes to reader Heather F. who really hates the following people: Mr. Liar Liar Pants of Fire, hey asshole omission is still a lie you dirty bastard. You make me want to rip your damn lips off. You master manipulator, I despise you to an almost inconceivable degree. I am pretty sure I wouldn't drop my pants to piss on you to put the fire out. Asshole. Oh and stop calling me, bother your new girlfriend. I hate you!

Larry the late merger, screw you I won't let you in my lane. You saw the same signs 2 miles ago that I did. I am not afraid to run you into the construction barrels or hit your brand new BMW with my Sunfire, hell my insurance isn't much I might go out of my way to hit you twice. Fucking loser, I hate you!

Peter the Pompous Ass, brother to Larry the late merger, Hey fucker every time you mess with me on the phone you should keep in mind I may be a lowly secretary, but I am the lowly secretary at your attorney's office. I could fuck your life up. Yeah you know those contracts I was proofreading whoops, I didn't notice the opposing counsel gouge the interest on this deal and your attorneys missed it too. Oh well. And when you call asking stupid questions about your divorce- hello are you retarded??? Do you really want legal advice from a college student/secretary who gets paid 10 lousy bucks an hour?? I will give you 10 bucks worth of lousy legal advice asshole- the next time your wife hits you why don't you utilize the anger you have saved up for me and punch her in her fucking face? Then I can laugh when they drag your ass off to jail. You pompous jackass. Your attitude won't get you anywhere when you are spending the night downtown with the crack heads... I really fucking hate you.
(AN: "A Word From The Streets"� in no way endorses spousal abuse"¦even though it's warranted sometimes)

That's all the hate for this time. I'll be back again with a fresh batch of anger and a whole lot of bitter, bitter contempt. Till next time, this is The Famous Hate List saying"¦I Hate You!

Remember, you can be in the hate list too. Just email your submission to suxatlife@hotmail.com.

Ok, I have to admit something to all of you. For the last week I've been obsessively listening to Vanessa Carlton's "White Houses."� Five days ago, my roommate Tim and I were driving around New York aimlessly when the song came on the radio. We looked at each other - "Oh man"¦this song again."� I said.

"Yeah,"� said Tim, "I mean"¦it's, like, kinda good, I guess."�

"Oh definitely. I mean, I can listen to it without killing myself."�

"Me too"¦I dunno, it's kinda catchy."�

"For sure"¦ok"¦I have a confession"¦I really, really like this song."� Tim was taken aback.

"Are you serious?"� he said, "So do I. This song is fucking awesome."� That being established, we proceeded to let ourselves sing along at top volume. I played steering wheel drums while Tim focuses on dashboard piano. It was magical. When we got home, we both downloaded the song and I have been smitten ever since.

This brings up a curious subject: musical masking. Don't try to deny that you have a secret CD somewhere in the car, perhaps hidden in your glovebox or mislabeled in your CD book, that you never let your friends hear. You may love punk or hip hop, but when no one's around, you also love "Sweet Caroline."� You can't fool me.

When you drive your friends home, it's always the same thing.
"Ok guys, I'll call ya tomorrow. What? I can't hear you, let me turn this Led Zepplin Cd down on my car stereo. Ok, bye. I'm gonna turn it back up until I'm out of earshot. Later!"� As soon as you get out on those back roads or on the highway, you pop that Zep out and pop in the Ashlee Simpson. Why do we hide these habits from the outside world?

There are many reasons. One being that you would never hear the end of it if your friends caught you rocking out to the "Rent"� soundtrack. They would call you derogatory names even though they probably have a burned Hillary Duff CD labeled "70's Rock"� somewhere in their car. So why do they make you feel insecure about your musical taste if they have a secret CD too?

The real culprits behind our shame of catchy music are music snobs. We all have a friend that knows everything about music"¦except how to play it. They know about all the cool bands before they are famous. And then when they get famous, they disown them and say that "their old stuff was soooo much better."� They like crappy indy bands that never made it and somehow convince us that those bands are the real important, talented ones. They listen to Swedish people screaming into a mic over the sounds of car accidents and say that "it is so"¦forward."� Maybe nobody has ever done that before, but that doesn't make it enjoyable to listen to. I could record a CD of myself on the toilet and these kids would probably hail me as the next Hendrix. We listen to them because their archives of musical knowledge far surpass ours and that is intimidating. They make us feel like idiots for liking popular music or watching MTV.

Well, I, for one, am taking a stand. I'm sick of being shamed and bullied by music snobs. I may not know about an indy band out of Topeka called The Farts and how "they probably had more influence on modern rock than The Beatles,"� but I know how to play music"¦which is more than they can say. I like "corny"� music. I like catchy songs. Why? Because they're good, that's why. Have these people ever wondered why famous bands are famous? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that they write songs a lot of people like? Of course, there a lot of shit bands out there that don't write their own songs and don't sing in concert (see: Ashlee Simpson, SNL appearance), but they still recorded a catchy song, didn't they? These kids act as if any band that got a record contract somehow "sold out."� Obviously, they have never been in a band. If they had, they would know that the only reason kids start bands is to get girls, money, and fame. And you're a fool if you think otherwise.

The bottom line is music is about taste; there is no way to classify something as good or bad. The music snobs fail to see this and foist their opinions on everyone else. Well, you know what? I'm going to sit here and listen to Vanessa Carlton and then maybe I'll listen to Queen or Men At Work and I will enjoy it. Now, if you'll excuse me, Ms. Carlton is calling my name.

When you're as big and jolly as I am, you have a lot of love to give. I've always been the type to fall for women easily and hard, so my relationship history is littered with broken hearts and condoms.

So, to all the girls I've loved before, let me just say that"¦

*I'm mad you dumped me because that meant I had to lose weight and start shaving again.

*I want my DVDs back"¦especially "Blue Crush."�

*I'm better in bed than I was then...maybe.

*The longer I'm without you, the better you start to look in my mind.

*I hope you haven't gotten fat because that would be awkward for me whence we next see each other. "Well"¦you look, ummm, filled out!"�

*You're not the first one tell me that I'm distant so stop thinking you figured that out.

*You were never that good at figure skating; I just said that to get you in bed.

*I didn't run over your cat on purpose; how was I supposed to know it was under the tire?

*I didn't tell anyone about that time you farted in bed and I know you told everyone about the time I did.

*I don't like your cooking. "Mmmmm, mashed turnip pie again"¦how did you know?"�

*Your boobs were not as amazing as I made them out to be.

*My boobs, however, were not as bad as you made them out to be.

*Even though I said you'd be really successful someday, I really think you'll turn out to be white trash (or, in Shanelle's case, African American trash).

*I don't like your Mom and I don't like you Dad and, by no means, is your sister cooler than mine is.

*You still owe me for gas when we drove to Massachusetts that time"¦no, the $30 you gave me was for the hotel, not the gas. Stop trying to get out of this.

*You kind of smell in the mornings.

*That pumpkin you carved on Halloween sucked"¦no, it sucked ass.

*You're no good at rubbing backs; I just made you do it to justify the $100 dinners I would take you on.

*When you would offer to pay for stuff and I would say, "Don't worry about it, Honey. I've got it."� I really wanted you to pay.

*My drinking was never the problem, you getting mad about it was.

*I'll look at your best friend if I want to; this is a free country.

*I'm the best man named Streeter you will ever be with"¦unless you get with my Dad in which case my Mom will gut you.

*The Atkins is working for me; so much for your "you have no will power"� bullshit. Where's the F-ing bacon at?

*Lots of girls find my smoking ultra sexy no matter what you say.

*I could have picked up your parents at the airport; I just didn't want to because "Diehard"� was on.

*That is not my kid and I don't think it looks like me either. I'll see you on Springer you gold-digging wench.

*I'm not bitter, you're just a bitch.

My friends all think I'm gay because I don't know very much of anything about sports. It's not my fault; when I was a kid my Dad focused more on music. Don't get me wrong, I did play little league and football and I wrestled, but I never had the passion for it that I did for music. It was not uncommon to hear me ask, "Wait, is this fifth down?"� during a football game. Even when I played football I was known locally as "The King of Off-sides."� As you can see, the situation was dire for me.

But this year I decided to do something about my sports idiocy. I wanted so bad to sit around with my friends and say, "yeah, sure, Manny's got a good bat, but his fielding is shit,"� and have them actually listen. This year, I decided, I would watch the baseball playoffs"¦and damn it, I would understand them!

Now, I live in the Bronx"¦yes, the same as the Bronx Bombers. Therefore, I have little choice but to be a Yankee fan. I grew up in Connecticut, so I technically could go for Boston, but I can't turn my back on my home city. That having been established, I consulted my roommate Matt, a diehard Yankee fan, to help get me up to speed. If you think you are a bigger fan than he, listen to this: Matt would perform felatio on A Rod if it would guarantee that Curt Shilling (Red Sox pitcher) got hit in the face by a line drive. My other roommate, Tim, is a diehard Boston fan, so tensions were high.

I dug into baseball like a fat guy digs into cheesecake. I absorbed statistics, player's names and all sorts of pitches. I pestered Matt with questions about the Yankees: "What does A Rod stand for?"�, "How do the catcher's knees not hurt?"�, and "what is that white line leading from home to first mean?"� Matt graciously taught me all he could. He told me what a sinker was (hint: it has nothing to do with taking a heavy dump) and he taught me about ground rule doubles, hoppers, knuckleballs, strike zones and, best of all, why every Red Sox player "is a total fucking asshole."�

By game 3, I was talking like a pro. My friends still didn't take me seriously when I made comments, but at least I sounded like I knew what I was saying. I still hung on to some of my idiocy such as referring to the guy who stands on the side of the field and catches foul balls as the "foulbaseman."� The more games I watched, the more I got into it. By game 4, it was like a drug. I would come home and twitch anxiously until the game was on. By game 5, I had nicknames for all the players (Olerude: helmet Harry. Tony Clark: The Pharaoh. Gary Sheffield: The Lion). The nicknames were more because I couldn't remember their names, but it certainly added to my developing fandom.

I started to think critically about the Boston/New York rivalry. I observed Tim in his "Believe in Boston"� shirt and felt bad for him. When your team loses so often that your motto has to be "Believe,"� it's sad. It puts a Boston World Series win up there with the Easter Bunny and Santa; you have to believe that it could, maybe, be possible. Matt, on the other hand, sat like a king on his throne. When the Yankees would lose a game, he would throw things and scream"¦that was sad as well. I could see his mind reaching a wall when it tried to understand how a team with most of the best players on it and a massive payroll could lose. "But"¦they're the Yankees,"� his brain seemed to be saying, "how did they lose?"�

When the Yankees fell miserably in game 7, I was upset. Something I had invested so much energy and time into was over. My team had failed"¦and failed horribly at that. I tried to tell myself that I was angry because the game wasn't even good. "If the Yankees had played a little better, I wouldn't be so depressed that they lost."� I said. But the truth was I had become a fan. I knew it the instant Damon hit that grand slam and I felt my stomach sink.

So, I guess I am a fan now. I slightly know what is happening and I will probably watch the World Series and actually enjoy it this time. It's sad that the Yankees won't be playing in it this year but, as Matt pointed out to me, it's not the end of the world. "Plus,"� he added, "the Yankees will just buy all the good players for next year."� I think I picked the right team to like. So, to hell with all you Boston fans"¦GO YANKEES (next year)!!!!

My clothes are filthy, my plant is dead,
I've got lice living on my head.
The dishes are dirty, the floor is unclean
The sink is caked in shaving cream.

My wallet is empty, my bed is unmade
My T-Shirt is stained with red Gatorade.
The bathroom is smelly, the shower doesn't work
The nice wooden floors are covered in dirt.

There's dust on the TV and dust on the floor
There's mold in the cupboard and a hole in the door.
The drapes are on fire and so is the rug
There's some kind of plant in the coffee mug.

There's pee on the seat and puke in the shower
There's a kid who's been dead for over an hour.
There are beer cans on the counters and on my bed
And that kid on the couch"¦yeah, he's still dead.

What a horrible place to live, I say.
I wish there was something I could do.
I guess I could clean or wash my clothes
But, then again, I don't want to.

There is only one who can save me now
Who can take away my frown.
No doubt it will be a glorious day
When Mommy comes to town.

She'll roll her eyes and sigh a bit
And tell me my home looks like shit
She'll say I look dirty and not to kiss her
And ask "why can't you be more like your sister?"�

When I'm all done crying, I'll look up and smile
"Mommy,"� I'll say, "can you help me a while?"�
Her eyes will forgive and her anger will stop
"Ok, honey,"� she'll say, "Where is the mop?"�

In a flurry of motion and a flash of desire
She's dusted the furniture and put out the fire.
With rubber gloves on she'll tackle the bath.
Not a speck of mold will be spared her wrath.

When the cleaning is done and my clothes are all clean
She'll ask about money, the cash, the green.
"Mommy,"� I'll say, "I don't have that much.
I spent it on books and educational stuff."�

"Oh my,"� she'll gasp, "I'm so sorry to hear."�
And out of her wallet a checkbook appears.
My bank account bulging, I'll say that I'm starved
And she'll cook up a turkey, all freshly carved.

When Mommy goes home, I become very sad
The food was delicious and the money was rad.
My house is quite clean, I must say
And she called up the hearse to take that dead kid away.

My life will return to its previous ways
My sheets will get dirty and the rats will scurry around
And then I'll know that it's time once again
For Mommy to come back to town.


For my Mommy, who has cleaned up after me for 21 years and probably will forever more.

Tonight we will see a heated debate between my genitals and my brain. These two worthy opponents have faced each other many times before but the debate never ends. Gentlemen, your opinions please.

Brain: Dude, this girl is hideous. Why are you talking to her and don't say "for good conversation."� She can barely even speak she's so drunk. C'mon man, how are you gonna explain this to your friends tomorrow? Huh? Didn't think about that, did ya? Do you really want to be known as the man who did that? You could do so much better than her"¦hey, what about that girl over there. I bet she's real nice and look at how pretty she is. You two could probably even have a relationship instead of some stupid one nighter. You might even get married. But you're never going to get to know that pretty girl if you're stuck here talking to the fat one, are you? Plus, think of all the diseases the fat one probably has. She can't be too picky; she just has to take what comes along. That could be anything from wayward bikers to drug abusers. Do you really want to do this, Street? Oh no, shit"¦the fat one is going down your pants isn't she"¦I guess you won't be hearing from me anymo"¦

Genitals: YESSSSSSS!!!!! We rule, man. This chick is amazing! She's going down the pants and we're still at the bar! It's gonna be a good night, man. What? Brain said she's heinous? What does that idiot know? If it were up to him we'd be sipping mochas and reading some stupid poetry book. Listen, have I ever let you down? Well, have I? That's what I thought"¦no. Sure, sometimes I make bad choices for but I'm just a bundle of nerves, blood and muscle, not a rocket scientist. Yes, that time in Amsterdam was pretty bad, but who suffered worse? All you had to do was rub some cream on me but I was covered in sores for a month"¦a month, Street. I may have made bad choices before, but this time I'm positive that I'm right. Hell, I'm the reason we went out tonight in the first place. You're not going to leave me hanging are you? Now, forget all that garbage that Brain was talking, this is the girl for you. Look at those curves"¦she's like a race track! And I know you hate girls that are too skinny so this one is perfect. What? She missing teeth? What good are teeth anyway? They just get in the way and have the potential to seriously harm me. What are your other options? Sitting in your room alone tonight and beating me?"¦please, not another night of that. I beg you. So, let's pony up and get on with it. If you pass this up, the next time you find yourself in a situation like this I might not feel like "getting up,"� if you know what I mean. Oh, but Brain has one good point, I probably should be wearing my "raincoat"� tonight.

Point: Genitals

Karo has a new issue of Ruminations out today so check that out. And if you haven't checked out CHRaw (our ad-free VIP version of the site) yet, do that. Now rock these hotlinks, son.

Tonight we will see a heated debate between my genitals and my brain. These two worthy opponents have faced each other many times before but the debate never ends. Gentlemen, your opinions please.

Brain: Dude, this girl is hideous. Why are you talking to her and don't say "for good conversation."� She can barely even speak she's so drunk. C'mon man, how are you gonna explain this to your friends tomorrow? Huh? Didn't think about that, did ya? Do you really want to be known as the man who did that? You could do so much better than her"¦hey, what about that girl over there. I bet she's real nice and look at how pretty she is. You two could probably even have a relationship instead of some stupid one nighter. You might even get married. But you're never going to get to know that pretty girl if you're stuck here talking to the fat one, are you? Plus, think of all the diseases the fat one probably has. She can't be too picky; she just has to take what comes along. That could be anything from wayward bikers to drug abusers. Do you really want to do this, Street? Oh no, shit"¦the fat one is going down your pants isn't she"¦I guess you won't be hearing from me anymo"¦

Genitals: YESSSSSSS!!!!! We rule, man. This chick is amazing! She's going down the pants and we're still at the bar! It's gonna be a good night, man. What? Brain said she's heinous? What does that idiot know? If it were up to him we'd be sipping mochas and reading some stupid poetry book. Listen, have I ever let you down? Well, have I? That's what I thought"¦no. Sure, sometimes I make bad choices for but I'm just a bundle of nerves, blood and muscle, not a rocket scientist. Yes, that time in Amsterdam was pretty bad, but who suffered worse? All you had to do was rub some cream on me but I was covered in sores for a month"¦a month, Street. I may have made bad choices before, but this time I'm positive that I'm right. Hell, I'm the reason we went out tonight in the first place. You're not going to leave me hanging are you? Now, forget all that garbage that Brain was talking, this is the girl for you. Look at those curves"¦she's like a race track! And I know you hate girls that are too skinny so this one is perfect. What? She missing teeth? What good are teeth anyway? They just get in the way and have the potential to seriously harm me. What are your other options? Sitting in your room alone tonight and beating me?"¦please, not another night of that. I beg you. So, let's pony up and get on with it. If you pass this up, the next time you find yourself in a situation like this I might not feel like "getting up,"� if you know what I mean. Oh, but Brain has one good point, I probably should be wearing my "raincoat"� tonight.

Point: Genitals

On November 2nd, America will vote for a new president. On November 3rd, Bush will challenge the results of the election and we will be without a new president for about a week. Sometime around November 10th, the Supreme Court will announce that they have given the election to Bush after serious "investigation"� (payoffs). And we will, once again, bend over and take it without putting up too much of a fight.

Shortly after the election, or "Grand Appointment of the High King Bush,"� America will begin to take a different face. Finally realizing that the left has a valid point in saying that, "if you are going to topple one corrupt regime, you must topple them all"� King Bush will invade 86 countries simultaneously. Those countries on the "priority list"� will be handled first with England and Canada falling in 2005, Russia and Japan in 2006, and China and India in 2007. Finding the Middle East hard to subdue, Bush will have the entire region nuked in 2009 (after the oil has been extracted).

However, all of this fighting is leaving the American army vastly overextended. Seeing this, His Holiness King Bush will institute the "Y'all Draft"� in late 2008. Since congress was abolished in 2006, the bill passes unchallenged and is signed into law by King Bush and Prince Cheney, whose brain was removed when his body passed on in 2005 and sits suspended in elctro-embryotic fluid beneath the Grand Palace of the Willing (formerly the Capitol building). The "Y'all Draft"� forces every man and boy into military service for a minimum of 28 years with the option of continued service or death upon completion of the conscription term. King Bush realizes that some must be spared for breeding purposes and forms the "Red, White and Bush"� brigade in 2010. Made up of intensely religious southerners, the brigade spends all of its time traveling the country and breeding with "fit"� women (not Black, Hispanic, Catholic, or Jewish). King Bush himself bravely leads the brigade across the America, or, as it is called in 2012, "Bushland."�

However, King Bush is so much more than a war King, he does many important things on the home front as well. Bush the Mighty will have all inner city slums bulldozed in 2019 to make room for His Highness' Royal Hunting Grounds. The former residents of those aforementioned slums will be the game. King Bush will famously bag the illusive Dr. Dre on a hunting excursion to Compton. It will be a day of celebration for all as Dre's head is ceremoniously hung atop the gates of Washington Palace (formerly the White House).

King Bush will also help to redraft the out-of-date constitution. Working with Rumsfeld the Furious, King Bush will eliminate such unnecessary points as freedom of speech, the right to a fair trial, freedom of religion, and amendments involving women's rights, slavery, and voting. Upon completion of "Project New America,"� citizens no longer have to worry about their opinion. In fact, they had better not worry about their opinion because if the Dark Knights (formerly the FBI) find out that you have an opinion differing from that of King Bush, you will be impaled on the Royal Execution grounds (formerly The Mall in Washington, DC).

To reduce the threat of terrorist, King Bush will sign the "I See You Act"� in 2014. This act will give the Silent Assassins (formerly the CIA) the right to observe every single thing you do and record it. After a trial period, King Bush amends the act to allow agents of the Silent Assassins to record not only your movements and activities, but your thoughts as well. Thousands are executed for "thoughts against the King or His Holy policy."� Some of the disposed "mind terrorists"�: Bill Clinton, John Kerry, Ted Kennedy, Derek Jeter, Kirsten Dunst and The Pope.

On top of all these accomplishments King Bush will draft the "Bright White Future"� act in 2020. This act makes it illegal to be Black, Hispanic or Asian. Millions of these "undesirables"� will find themselves loaded onto boats only to be torpedoed in the ocean by the Floating Army of Destruction (formerly the US Navy). Literally hundreds of WASPy, rich people hail the act for freeing them from "hearing that awful rappity hip hop on the radio when we drive to church in our SUVs."�

As you can see, the future is bright and white! We will all live in glorious harmony under the iron fist of King Bush and Prince Cheney. Let un-freedom ring!

(Paid for by the committee to elect John Kerry and John Edwards)

Hello and welcome, once again, to the Famous Hate List. Well, it's been a little while since we let the hateful juices flow and I know I've been saving mine up. They build inside me and the pressure becomes so great that I either have to write one of these or choke something to death. Welcome, to the 22nd installment of the Famous Hate List.

*If you would like to see your name in the hate list, email your submission to suxatlife@hotmail.com!

MINE:

Ricky Rocker: Ok, I love music just as much as the next guy, but a line must be drawn. I like to sing along, I like to dance (when intoxicated) and sometimes I even play a little air guitar, but I certainly do not pretend I'm at a concert when I go to a bar. Hey Ricky, you're not at an arena rock show, you're at a crowded bar"¦stop moshing. Oh, believe me Ricky, I think you look just like Bon Jovi when you clear out a big circle so you have ample room to sing "Living on a Prayer,"� but some people seem to disagree. No, I don't know why people get mad at you when you grab them and sing Metallica directly into their faces. Maybe they're mad because you're a fucking ass? Have you thought of that? No, no you didn't because you were to busy standing on a table singing into your beer bottle. You're an embarrassment to yourself and if you ever scream Sublime lyrics into my ear again I'll just lose it on you. From me and everyone else at the bar"¦I Hate You!

Patty Point-it-out: I hate being wrong. I think we all do. And nothing is more embarrassing as being wrong about something when you're with your friends. The shame! And, do you know is there to make sure you feel like an idiot when you say something wrong? It's Patty Point-it-out! This person (male or female) will do everything in their power, draw on every neuron of memory, to point out inconsistencies in your statements. Some of Patty's most notable lines: "Actually, the actor says (movie quote) in that scene,"� "No, we were in Palm Springs when you ate that grilled cheese,"� and "It's actually more like 4 Lbs, not 3 1/2."� The worst part about Patty is their ability to ruin a funny story by correcting inane, unimportant details.
-(me) "Ok ok, I'll tell it again. So, I was on spring break and it was beautiful. It was, like, 90 degrees out and I g"¦"�
-(Patty, interupting) "Actually it was in the high eighties."�
Patty, just because you do not have the ability to tell an engaging story does mean you have to interrupt mine with your "fascinating"� corrections. Now, how did that line from that TV show go"¦oh, I think it was "I Hate You!"�

Embarassed Ed: Ok, we all like some nerdy stuff, right? Even the most hardcore guy probably has a Cyndi Lauper song on his playlist. Furthermore, one of the great things about us humans is our ability to make fun of ourselves; to admit that we enjoy certain uncool things. Not Ed. Ed cannot bring himself to admit that he likes anything that isn't currently hip. Ed, please, let me show you how it is done. I enjoy Irish folk music, I enjoy some Ashlee Simpson songs, I enjoy reading crime/romance thrillers, I enjoy"¦no, I love, British romantic comedies. See? It's that easy. But you can't admit to your shameful habits can you? You pretend that you hate all the "crappy"� music at the bar but I see you tapping your toe. You pretend that new TV show is shitty, but I saw you write down what time it is on. What's wrong with you? Just fucking admit to liking something that is mainstream and "uncool."� You won't have to hide your copy of "Mean Girls"� anymore. But, until you come out of your little cool-guy shell"¦I Hate You!

YOURS:

Reader Manda H. really hates: I hate those "girly" girls who give the rest of us a bad name! Everyone knows those chicks...the ones who say they'll be "2 minutes" but end up taking 3 hours...the ones who just ASSUME that the guy will pay for everything...the ones who won't do anything that will "mess up their hair." I really hate it because when of the us non-uptight-prissy chicks comes along, guys are skeptical of us because they've been scarred by one of 'THOSE' chicks. I HATE IT! LOOSEN THE FUCK UP, LADIES! Sure you should look your best, but when you're already late for something, don't take an additional hour to finish your makeup!

Reader Milagros V. really hates: Mid-life Studying Milton: The guy who's about 40 something years old in your Gen Ed class who feels like he (or she) has to speak up in our class and pretend to be omniscient, because we "young, impressionable people" can "learn a thing or two" from them. Seriously, nobody gives a fuck. If I wanted to be treated like a child, I'd go to my dad and ask him about everything. Wait, my dad isn't even THAT patronizing! I don't feel like putting up with your superiority complex that tries to make up for the fact that you're in a GEN fucking ED course with a bunch of hung over 18 year olds. My headache from partying too hard is easier to bear than having to listen to you. I can't and won't learn anything from you. And by the way, everything I say is more valid than anything you will EVER say. Because you're always wrong. Arrogant prick. Hey, I'll teach you some little facts, because you can learn a thing or two from ME. Fact one: You need to get over yourself. You are the ultimate picture of "pathetic". Fact two: Nobody respects you, and we certainly don't look up to you. Fool. Fact three: I HATE YOU!!!

Reader Brandon Y. has 6 hate entries"¦SIX! Way to hate. He really hates: One- that old fucker who doesn't know how to drive the speed limit. C'mon gramps, learn how to make a right on red and what right of way means. What the hell, lets just let the whole fucking city go before you do at this four way stop. I hate you elderly person who is most likely full of wisdom and should be telling it to other old people in the nursing home.

Two- My fucking bike tire that i just bought which decides to randomly pop while I'm riding. Yah, its really nice having to walk my bike home right when the mosquitoes come out. It's just another piece of rubber that has failed me in my life. I hate you.

Three- That fucking papa murphy's pizza that didn't quite fit on the pizzaz. What do ya know, I walked away after putting it on and two minutes later hear a big old splat. What the fuck? I guess I wasn't hungry or anything. What'll I have tonight? Maybe just crust and booze because that was my last 6 bucks after I bought all those boonsfarms. I hate you, inch too large pizza.

Four- My ex-girlfriend who dumped me. But she still calls and tells me how much she loves me and wants to be with me, but when I suggest she come visits (she's 20 hours away) that fucking bitch just makes up excuses why she cant, even though she isn't working for another 3 weeks. I wasted 2 months and 500 bucks on that whore and all she can do is keep me hanging by a thread just so she can keep ripping me apart from this inside out. Keep manipulating me bitch, ill never talk to you again. Fucking bitch, I hate you.

Five- So now that I'm single and I go to a college that has a 7 to 1 girl to guy ratio, and I'm an elementary ed major that I would be able to find a girl...no. every girl that I strike up a conversation with has to somehow throw in something about her doofy boyfriend. I hate you hot girls with boyfriends.

Six- people that call and act like they actually care how you are doing, when actually they are just driving home from work and are trying to stay awake. And if you can't get to the phone and have to call them back a half hour later they never respond b/c they don't need you b/c they are home now. The same fucking people also are the assholes who think they can make up for it by text messaging you every 4 weeks with a "hey how r u i am good see you later bye" with no capitalization, punctuation, or complete words, fuckin morons. Finally, I hate you.

Reader Mike S. really hates: Fucking wiggers. Now I don't know about you, but I am getting fuckin sick and tired of seeing white people who act black. I'm sorry if that sounds racist but for fuck sake people, you're white. White guys who grow up in middle-class suburbs have no fucking right to start talking like they grew up in the ghetto, not that I'm suggesting... well you know. I know it's the trendy way to talk and dress (oh why WHY do you have to put your fuckin hat sideways) but enough already. It's worst then the 80's. At least people were coming up with new ways to look as ugly as possible. Today its like people wake up and say to themselves "Huh, how can I act more black today. Maybe if I combine my doorag with my hat (to the side of course, FUCK) and my tuque and only say yo diggity mac mcword g money bitches in nizzle fashizzle then maybe, just maybe I'll get my dick sucked. And THAT is really what it's all about. If the trend was to act Mexican or Australian then people would be all over it like flies on hip-hop music. Now, at this point, I will have pissed more people off than have reached someone who agrees with me but I don't give a fuck. This trend has gone on long enough. Its time to round up all the wiggers, tie them to a fence, and rape em until there sphincters are so loose they can't hold there shit. I FUCKING HATE THEM ALL!!!

Reader Jon C. really hates: wannabe neo-skin heads who have shaved heads, wear black skin industries t-shirts, sunglasses, baggy dickies shorts, adidas, and knee high white socks. Now if you ask me, that's not the badass look that strikes fear into the hearts of people. Plus, judging from the way they dress, they look just like those mexican home-boys who smoke meth around the corner from my apartment (no offense to them). Now if you ask me that seems a bit redundant to their whole "white pride" message because they're copying the mexicans; not to mention they look like a bunch of idiots. So take your shitty ass chevelle and go drive off a cliff because no one needs racist fucks. I hate you.

Finally, very angry reader Kate from MI really hates three things: Bikers who actually think they are cool: Really Jeremy!!?? The hand signals are actually turn signals??? Jesus Christ, it all makes sense now!! Where have I been??!! Why was I making fun of bikers who bike in the street and use turn/hand signals??... Oh yeah, because you are fucking gay and a huge pain in my ass. Jeremy, while biking on the side walk may be a hazard to pedestrians, you biking in the street is a hazard to you and to my mental health. People in cars aren't lazy germs, they just have a life and places to be. So there is only one "hand signal" that I would like to give you. I hate you.


The worst bar partner ever: This is the girl that you go to the bar with and end up having a shitty time no matter what. In scenario one, you go to the bar and she does not get any attention from any guys and her insecurities cause her to be bitter and pissed off the whole time. She complains the whole time and wants to leave and ruins your night. In scenario two, you go to the bar and some retard actually gives her the time of day and you no longer exist anymore. She is all over the guy and completely ignores anything else going on around her, thus again causing you to have a shitty time. So shitty bar partner, when you finally feel good enough about yourself to be able to go out and not depend on guys for a good time, call me. Until then, I hate you and am never going out with you again!!


Toppers: These are the people that always have to be better than everyone. No matter what anyone says to this person, they have got way to top you or make you wrong. If you just got a new job offer, they got three. If you make this much at your job, they make this much more. If you had this much fun this weekend, they had ten times more. No you didn't shit head. Half the things you are talking about are bull shit anyways. So if you want to make yourself feel better about you shitty, boring life, find some other way to do it because you are not impressing anyone. I hate you.

WOW, quite a bit of hate. But, then again, there can never be too much. That's why I need to you submit your hate to suxatlife@hotmail.com. Thank you for reading and join us again for fresh, new hate next week.

Martha Stewart Livingâ„¢
Winter 2004/5 Catalogue

Hi, I'm Martha Stewart. I'm so glad you have taken some time to pursue my new catalogue. Inside you'll find a lot of exciting items that reflect my "new"� lifestyle. Let's take a look"¦

Item #127
Martha's Signature State Issue Jump-Suit: You'll never need an introduction when you're wearing this eye-catching number. This one piece slip on is perfect for the rec yard and the weight room. The bright orange color is complimented and personalized by the addition of your very own identifying number. Whether you're going for a casual stroll down to the shower room or getting all dolled up for your "friend"� at the end of cell block C, this is the garment for you. Martha's Signature State Issue Jump-suit also has plenty of room to accommodate ankle trackers and 14 different models of leg shackles. Never leave your cell without this classy piece! Seriously, don't leave without it; they'll shoot you.

Martha's Signature State Issue Jumpsuit: Available in Orange. One size fits all. Machine wash warm. $79.99

Item #256
"˜San Quentin'-style Toothbrush Shank: You can never be too clean"¦or too careful. This multi-purpose tool is a great addition to your cell which promises to spice up a dreary toilet area in no time! One part hygienic instrument, one part vicious weapon, the "˜San Quentin"�-style Toothbrush Shank is a perfect fusing of usefulness and style. Each Shank is filed down by hand to an impossibly sharp point with care and patience to make sure you get the sharpest plastic point possible. It fits easily through most cell bars and can be easily concealed in many garments (see: Martha's Signature State Issue Jumpsuit). On the other side, this product offers unparalleled tooth cleaning capabilities which 4 out of 5 prison dentists recommend. Cross bristle technology even makes it possible to get those hard to reach places in between teeth! So whether you want a bright, clean smile or just to stab a guard in the stomach, the "˜San Quentin'-style Toothbrush Shank is for you!

"˜San Quentin'-style Toothbrush Shank: Available in Blue, Yellow, Clear, and Honeysuckle. Caution: Extremely Sharp. $8.99

Item #674
Martha's "˜Cozy Corner'â„¢ Sheet Set: Concrete walls can get a little cold so why not wrap yourself up in a set of these wonderful sheets. Available in a soft "Alcatraz Gray"�, these sheets are fitted to accommodate all you're comfort needs. Made with some of the finest polyester/cotton fabric, these sheets can withstand the intense heat and pressure of prison washing machines. Martha's "˜Cozy Corner'â„¢ Sheet Set comes with a mattress cover, a top sheet and a special blood-proof laminate that's sure to have your bunk looking clean and unsuspicious when the warden comes by. Snuggle up with Martha and her "˜Cozy Corner'â„¢ collection every night and make that 6x8 box feel a little more like the home you won't see for a very long time.

Martha's "˜Cozy Corner'â„¢ Sheet Set: Available in "Alcatraz Gray."� Machine wash warm. $97.98

Item #835
"˜The Outdoorsman' Zip Gun: Nowadays we could all use a little security and peace of mind. That's why Martha Stewart brings you "˜The Outdoorsman' Zip Gun. This fashionable item is composed of two parts: a rolled-up magazine and a nail. Separate, they are useless but together they prove to be one of the most efficient ways to dispatch a nosey inmate. No cell should be without this item. Best of all, when inspection time comes, "˜The Outdoorsman' can be easily disassembled and appear to be a normal magazine. Never worry about "Cinnamon Sally"� again; you've got "˜The Outdoorsman' now.

"˜The Outdoorsman' Zip Gun: Available with your choice of magazine: "Martha Stewart Living"�, "Home and Garden"�, "Beautiful Homes Weekly"�, or "The New Yorker."� $25.99

Item #987
"˜Marty', Martha's Friendly Rodent: Miss your friends and family? Why not purchase Marty the prison pet? Available in rat, mouse or lemming, Marty is a perfect friend in a cruel world. He'll remind you that someday you will once again taste the precious freedom that this society has taken away from you. Plus, he's great fun! Marty is trained to perform over 3 tricks such as "sit"� and "get the keys."� Lay down every night knowing that just a few feet away is your only friend left in this dark world! Whether you carry him around in your pocket, feed him scraps of food, or crush his little head with your massive, retarded hands, Marty is the pet for you.
*Warning: "˜Marty', Martha's Friendly Rodent may transmit fleas, disease and plague.

"˜Marty', Martha's Friendly Rodent: Optional 1 year warranty against death and/or accidental crushing available. Do not microwave.
$85.99
$95.99 (with warranty)


Please make all orders out to Martha Stewart (inmate #1627-S887), C/O Danbury State Penitentiary. 198 Riverfront Place. Danbury, Connecticut 10258
*Accepted Payment Methods: Check, credit card, cigarettes (Newport Lights)

A Poem For My Fake ID

Come sit with me, my old friend
I fear our time has come to an end.
Out of my wallet you must come
For I have turned 21.

Do not weep and do not cry
Everyone must say "˜goodbye'
A great service you've done for me
And I'll always have the memories.

I recall a time not to long ago
When I fake ID I could not show
Because, you see, I did not own
This false document that made me grown.

And then one day I made haste
To visit a wonderful, sacred place;
Room 324 at the end of the hall
Can make bouncers nod and velvet ropes fall.

In this room lived a man named Pete
Who offered his services quite discreet
He took my name and my picture too
And sent me away to wait for you.

50 bucks later you came into my life
without anger or malice or greed or strife.
I put you where I could never forget it
Over my license, under my debit.

For the last two years we've had quite a ride
Going to bars and getting inside.
And when I was asked by the man at the door
I'd give you to him and stare at the floor.

"What is your info?"� the bouncer would ask
And I would recite these words so fast
"I'm Michael Santino, Riverside Place
Cambellville, Michigan 91298."�

And you never failed to get me into
All the bars that I have been to.
You're perfectly made with edges so sharp
A nail polish finish and letters so dark.

You're a work of art, a masterpiece
That let me drink wherever I pleased.
But I'm older now, past my 21st year
And today it's become abundantly clear.

You must move on and find a new friend.
Find a new buddy and lie for him.
I must go too, to the DMV
To get a real license that's truthful "˜bout me.

But before I get there, there's something to do;
Find a freshman that's interested in you.
There's one right now! "Hey frosh, over here"�
"Do you want something that can get you beer?"�

I'm sorry ID, he's bought you for cheap
And into his wallet you'll soon slowly creep.
Our time is over but do not be sad
For great are the memories and the times that we had!

Goodbye, fake ID, thanks for the fun
We've had a great time, we've had a great run.
And I'll never forget the ways you helped me
My buddy, my friend, my old Fake ID.

A Letter To Avril Lavigne

Dear Avril,

Hey, it's me. Listen, I think we should talk. I just saw you latest video and I'm really worried about you. Let me ask you a quick question; would it kill you to smile every now and then? I understand that you're just living up to your "image,"� but it gets a little depressing. Frankly, I'm worried.

I've seen this a million times; fame induced depression or FID for short. Sufferers of FID feel that the only way they can be artistic is to look angry all the time. That just isn't the case. Monet and Degas were all smiles and you don't see anyone questioning their artistic prowess, do you? You can beat this, Av, I know you can. I know, I know, it's really hard having millions of dollars (Canadian) and legions of adoring fans, but you're just going to have to suck it up and push through the pain.

Maybe I'm wrong though, maybe you aren't just keeping up with your image. Maybe you have some self esteem issues. Hey, you are a beautiful young lady and any boy would be lucky to call you his girlfriend. Ok? Is it a teeth thing? I know you have some pretty sharp fangs in that angry little mouth of yours but a lot of guys like that. You could do a lot worse; you could have a snaggle tooth like Jewel. How'd you like that? Not too much, I think.

And the wardrobe"¦Oh, the wardrobe! Depression called"¦it wants its clothing back. Honey, can we maybe lighten up the color scheme a little? It's not like you're fat and have to wear black to look skinny. There are so many exciting things happening in fashion and you're being left out in the cold. Have you seen GAP's fall line? It's amazing and I think you would look delicious in some lime green clam-diggers with a nice pink halter top. Oh, and they have the cutest shoes over at Payless. How about a skirt too? If you ever want to make boys like you there's no better way than letting them get a peek at the very bottom of your butt. We can't resist it. The ripped jeans and dirty tank top were "neat"� for a minute, but let's move on now, ok?

And if we're going to get you some new clothes, let's get you some new makeup too! Believe me, you took a big step with the pink eyeliner. At least now you have a little color somewhere on your body. But the eyeliner isn't enough. I see you with some nice bronzer, maybe a little powder and some sexy lip gloss. I hear Lip-Smacker has a bunch of new flavors that I bet you'll love. Plus, they come on a little rope so you can wear them around your neck!

Avril, all we want is to see you happy. You sing about all this depressing stuff and you look the part too. It doesn't have to be that way. I think with a little color, a little optimism and a little number from Ralph Lauren life will be looking a lot brighter to you. So, cheer up Avril; life isn't that bad. And remember this, "Smile"¦it's free!"�

Love Streeter

Many of us have parents who grew up in the late 60s. They did hallucinogenic drugs, they had casual sex, they abandoned underwear and, most importantly, the stood up for what they believed in. They stood up and made their voices heard. Whether they were saying "Get our troops out of Vietnam!"� or "get these face eating spiders off my head!"� they were saying something.

And as we become a powerful voting force many of our aging liberal parents are disappointed in us. They feel we are not doing enough to ensure that their grandchildren will have safe and healthy futures. They guilt us with their tales of former political activism, "Sit down here, son. Now listen to me, I was in Chicago in '68 and I was in Washington in '69"¦what have you done?"� Well Dad, not much. I argue with young republicans and secretly curse senior citizens but I can't say that I take to the streets and really voice my outrage.

And don't think it's not for any lack of anger. Every time I see Bush and his smugness on TV I feel a well of hate overflow in my heart. The fact that this man has started a war that has killed thousands of Americans and Iraqis and sent our loved ones into harm's way so his buddies could get some more oil makes me cringe. It honestly makes me embarrassed to be an American. And don't go pulling that "if you don't like it here then leave"� shit either; part of being an American is having the right to disagree, hate and be ashamed of your leader and your country. Whoa, got a little angry there"¦sorry.

You would think that I would apply all this anger to making a positive change, but I don't. And, to all the aging liberals out there who stuck flowers in guns and went weeks without bathing to protest Vietnam, let me take this chance to explain the general political apathy of my generation.

In the 60s, it was a lot easier to stay focused on things. Young people back then could do three things with their time: listen to records, watch horrible television or protest. But now the choices are endless. On the day of the big New York City protest I could have done any of these things to pass the time: watching any of 600 channels on TV, playing endlessly on the internet, sitting in front of the X-Box all afternoon, downloading porn to my cellphone, playing with my digital camera, downloading free music, watching DVDs, eating microwaveable snacks, and shopping on my computer for clothing. OR I could have taken a train to Manhattan and stood in the sun for hours holding a sign above my head. As you can see, it is much easier to stay home these days. The amount of electronic entertainment at my fingertips is amazing and certainly takes young people's minds off holding a placard in the air for seven hours.

Another reason kids don't protest much anymore is due to lack of motivation. In the 60s there were great bands all writing songs about unjust war and social outrage. This music made you angry and made you want to stand up and scream at the authorities. You had Creedence Clearwater Revival telling you that you "aint no fortunate son"� over heavy guitar. Now, we have The Black Eyed Peas asking "where is the love?"� while three guys no one cares about and one hot girl dance around. See what I mean? It's hard to get steamed up about war and politics when our most poignant celebrity political figure is Drew Barrymore.

Not to mention that protests these days are marred by groups that politicians don't really like to associate with. Because Bush has managed to piss off just about everyone, protests draw all kinds of freaks and misfits. As relatively normal young people, we have trouble standing up next to "Wiccans for Supernatural Justice"� and "The American Association of Career Criminals for Easier Picked Locks."� We feel that, when surrounded by grungy old hippies and black-make-up-wearing Goths, the politicians aren't necessarily going to listen. "Hello? Hey Dick, it's President Bush. Listen, I think we need to do something about our stance on gay rights immediately. Why? Well, there are 200 greased up gay men in leather thongs out on the streets saying that gay marriage should be legal. I think we'd better listen to them, they really present a good point."� I don't think so. I don't know if my ideas about how a country should be run fall in line with those of "The Wisconsin Chapter of Women Against Bathing"� or "Nature Lovers for an Electricity-Free America."� See what I mean?

So, Mom, Dad and all the other aging liberals out there, don't be mad at us. It's really hard for us to get out and take a stand these days. Other than the fact that if you say bad things about the president you can be thrown in jail without trial, we have too many choices for distraction, we have no good protest anthems and everyone at the protest seems to be talking about which UFO they were abducted by. I wish I had your drive, your anger, your passion and your courage, but I have digital cable and the internet"¦sorry.

Last night my roommate saw my neighbor shooting off a gun. Now, to some of you in rural areas, this may not seem like a big deal. You're probably thinking something along these lines, "Heck man, I see my neighbors shootin' all the time. Jus the otha day, Ol' Ray bagged hisself a real nice buck."� But this was no moonshine and square-dance affair; this was the Bronx and this was a handgun. Apparently, the guy pumped off a bunch of shots, saw my roommate, smiled at him and walked inside.

When my other roommate and I heard about this we were shocked. "A gun,"� we gasped, "In the Bronx?!"� It was unfathomable. As most white people do when they hear a minority living near them owns a weapon, we became very republican for a minute. Within seconds, I was on the internet checking handgun prices. My other two roommates also began exploring their options: Tim was on his computer looking at shotguns, Matt started calling sports stores to check on their baseball bat selection.

When we had all decided on which model of weapon would best protect us from the probably incarcerated man next door, a heated debate broke out. Each of us insisted that our method of protection was the best. Tim, the shotgun enthusiast, pointed out that an automatic shotgun has "stopping power"� and will "spray"� the criminal with shot. Matt, Mr. Baseball, insisted that a swift blow with a nice Louisville Slugger will put anyone out cold. His plan involved hiding by the door until the perp entered. At this point he would slam him in the head with the bat and the battle would be won. But I liked my choice the best. A handgun can be easily concealed so your friends won't play with it. "Hey dude, this party is awesome and look what I found under the couch"¦BAM!"� There would be none of that since I would keep my handgun stealthy concealed in my hand and who is going to try to take it away? Plus, I could sit in my bed while the bad guy robs us blind and, just when he's about out the door, spring out of bed and pump a 13 shot volley into his ass.

Like all men our age, we like to pretend that we would be able to stand up to an armed criminal. But we all know what would really happen if someone broke into my home: Tim would be trying to place a frantic phone call to his Dad to say "I love you,"� Matt would be sitting on the bat to hold back the rush of fear trying to exit there and I would be crying under my bed, thinking of all the things I could have done with my life. Well, that would be the case if I wasn't legally allowed to purchase a handgun.

Yes, my friends, I have a handgun permit which allows me to buy and carry a handgun in Connecticut. It wouldn't do me much good in New York since it would be illegal but I could buy one nonetheless. This whole little story is just a roundabout way for me to get a point across; we need to get a new president. The fact that I can carry a handgun with nothing more than a basic knowledge of pistol use and decent eyesight is a frightening prospect. If I can pass a handgun certification class, anyone can. I don't know about you, but I do not want people like me - short tempered, angry, paranoid young men - all carrying guns around with them. So, get out there and vote or you might just end up in a pool of blood on the floor while, with your last ounce of strength, you hear me say, "How was I supposed to know it was loaded?"�