An article from our own Frank Babies. He's unique, funny, and often times poignant.
I hate everything.
I hate your shoes. I hate your favorite band. I hate traffic lights that aren't even remotely synced up with each other. I hate memes. I hate that I've ripped every pair of pants I own. I hate the pile of ripped pants I stare at impotently every morning. I hate the serrated edge on aluminum foil dispensers due to a childhood injury. I hate Sandra Bullock for the same reason. I hate that Panera Bread considers bread a side dish. I hate Panera Bread. You do too. You just like saying "Panera Bread". I hate explanation points. I hate the Spotify commercials that keep explaining to me that "no two Harley riders are the same." They are all exactly the same and I hate them as well! I hate Hobbits, Transformers, and anything else that is significantly taller or shorter than me.
But you know what I hate more than anything?
People who hate everything.
"Au contraire Monsieur Frank!" you exclaim "Oui! Do you not realize that four of the five fingers on your exquisitely manicured pointing hand are squarely aimed back at yourself? Que Sera Sera. Alouette, je t plumerai. Baguette."
First off, as I hinted at earlier, I lost both of my thumbs as a child expressing my enthusiasm for the Speed movie franchise.
Deux, don't put me in your box, man. Maybe I don't use the word "hate" the same way you do. I'm a devil may care free spirit rascal of a boy. I use words how I want. Why do I keep asking where the front apple is? Maybe I don't define "door" the same way you do. Why am I so concerned as to where the door is when I've been sitting in front of it, knees pulled up to my chin, rocking, for the past three and half hours? Why are you such a square?
Obviously, what I'm getting at is that my hatred of everything is relative to me being a close minded, if effortlessly handsome and endlessly charming, moron. Catch me in a particularly cheery temper, stick me on that hog, and send me off to a rousing film about sassy robots and I might change my tune completely. Replace "hate" with "love" in that opening paragraph on any given day and it'll be just as appropriate.
Except for Panera. Soup and bread. The palette of street people.
So maybe for Thanksgiving this year we can all dial back the "Ugh, morning/ Lunch is the worst/ I hate weather/ I can't believe people besides me drive/ Why can't music be more like silence?/ I'm eating AGAIN?/ My pillow is so annoying!"
You're alive. You're able-bodied. There's gravy. That weird cousin is getting on a roll about immigrants again? You're a citizen of the greatest country in the world.
Que Sera, Sera.