My Gentle Hates

Through me, Flock, you unconsciously get to hate lots of things. How? Well, I'm here to give voice to things I hate, and by extension I just know you hate too.

You're just too gentle to voice it, and that's why I feel I have to do it on your behalf and also why I love each and every one of you.

After all, if people didn't hate things, what would be the purpose in getting up in the morning? "Ahhh, fuck, is Rodrigues working today? He's such a fucking jerk. Do I really want to go into work and deal with that schlub (a good hate word! Learn it and use it! Best of all, it's useable in front of small children!) all day again today?"

Hate is good. Hate is useful! What is my Hate of the day? Pâte feuilleté. (While I'm at it, I hate the French, to force me to type accents on my keyboard). See how hate can be good? You can hate so many things, and it just swells in your chest until it almost becomes something like . . . love.

Pastry dough, for that's what it is (and I hate writers who use "for" to mean "because") is an evil thing made by evil people for other evil people. There is just nothing redeeming about Puff Pastry. Nothing whatsoever.

So I hate it, with gladness in my heart, and I wish you, my flock, to become converts and hate it also. If enough of us hate it, it will disappear from the continuum.

Another thing I hate is Chicken Pot Pie. It is a direct descendant from Puff Pastry. That makes it automatically bad. But the vapid taste, the whole "comfort food" concept just makes me want to, uhh, well, HATE. Hate with no boundaries. HATE Bon Appetit magazine, who dares to put out a January "diet food" edition.

See? I hate so you don't have to. Now I have to go finish the fucking chicken pot pie.

What was supposed to happen

What actually happened

Hate, and hate often, Flock. Soon it will come naturally to you with little or no warning, like it does me. It's a discipline, and as my Flock, you must learn it in order to proceed to the next level: concentration camps for expired batteries.