I want to yell something profane every time I see someone infinitely more affluent than I am driving around in a Ferrari. I get all petty and jealous and desperately try to find something about them that’s worthy of some sort of negativity. “Oh yeah? Well you’re fat!” I’m a hater. And if this aforementioned fan of Italian cars were to notice me in my Chevy with the jealousy painted on my face, he’d have every right to dub me as such. I suppose it’s something that rich and famous people have to deal with all the time. I’m pretty sure Nicki Minaj says “hater” at least three times in every song of hers and I’m sure she has a valid complaint. People see her success and then juxtapose it against their lack thereof. They get all pissy thanks to the disparity, and rather than take an introspective look at their shortcomings, they lash out at Nicki and her fame and her money and her ridiculous butt implants. See? I just did it.
But the people that really piss me off are all those douche kabobs that claim to have “haters” when in reality, they’re just delusional idiots. You’ve seen them; the trashy suburban gangster wannabes that drive around in shitty cars hoping that the depth of their booming bass will distract you from the fact that they’re driving a rusted out Cutlass. They’re even easier to spot when they proclaim their retardation with a bumper sticker that says something like “haters gunna hate” or “I heart my haters” and every time I spot one, the frustration is a palpable sensation that makes me twitch a little bit. No, you idiot, we don’t despise you because we’re jealous of your super sweet neck tattoo, we hate you because you’re a waste of flesh and a walking advertisement for birth control. You aren’t rich. You aren’t famous. You don’t have “haters”; people don’t like you because you aren’t likeable. Duh.
I guess that type of disillusionment would be vastly more comfortable than the truth though, right? Instead of reappraising the choices that they’ve made thus far and trying to figure out why people frown and slowly shake their heads when they see them, they could just slap a stupid sticker on their car and tell themselves that everyone else is the problem. Easy cheesy lemon squeezy. Hell, all those trendy rappers that they imitate complain about their haters all the time so maybe it’s the same for everybody. Makes sense.
Once this delusion sets in, these asses have a go-to tool that works in almost every situation. “What, you don’t like the fact that I bump my music in your neighborhood at two in the morning? This is my car fool; you’re a hater. What, you don’t like the fact that I deal meth? I’m just out there making ends; you’re a hater. What, you don’t like the fact that I’m wearing a leopard body suit that’s three sizes too small? I’m super hot and you’re just a jealous hater.”
I’d like to think that some of these idiots know that they’re wrong, and that maybe, just maybe, when they’re all alone and there’s nobody around that can take the blame for their idiocy through some sort of emotional osmosis, they look in the mirror and say “dear god, I am dumb.” But I know that they don’t. Delusion is the most debilitating drug on the market.
And I love it when these people brag about their “swag.” I’d like to avoid sounding like one of those old has-beens that talks about how things “used to be”, but I’ll risk it. When did swag become a more marketable attribute than class? I feel as if class is for men while swag is for little boys who leave the stickers on their hats. Oh you have swag? That’s cute. Why don’t you put that on your resume and see if it helps you get that coveted swing shift at Taco Bell. And as a side note, rappers and professional basketball players leave the stickers on their hats because they can afford to always wear brand new hats. When you leave that shiny sticker on your two year-old grungy hat, it doesn’t make you look cool. It just highlights the fact that you’re a broke idiot.
I live in Farmington, New Mexico, and we have our fair share of fools. I see “hater” bumper stickers all the time and if you’ve read my blog before, you’ll know that I always like to attach a picture that relates to the post. I wanted to get a picture of some broke-ass “Fast and Furious” inspired Honda or something similar sporting a “hater” sticker but I simply couldn’t find one today. I even drove through the parking lot at Wal-Mart because that place is usually rife with the fuckers. But alas, no luck. I guess it’s the inverse of that old idiom “there’s never a cop when you need one”, you know: “you can never find a delusional douche kabob declaring his idiocy with a sticker when you need a picture for your trite little blog.”
As I was driving down the aisles at Wal-Mart with my camera in my lap, I happened to look up into my rear view, and there, about six inches off my back bumper, was the biggest monstrosity of a truck I had ever seen. You know how they say that dudes with big trucks are just trying to compensate for a lack of genitalia? Judging by the size of this dude’s truck, he was born with an inny. I could see the white-knuckle grip his pudgy fingers had on the steering wheel and the rage in his sunken eyes. Some damn yuppie was in his way and there’d be hell to pay if he didn’t move his liberal ass!
Anyway, I got out of his way and circled around so I could see where he parked. He revved his engine in a “hear me roar” type of way as noxious black smoke bellowed out of twin smoke stacks that’d been mounted in his truck bed. I started laughing when he got out. He walked almost as if the world was stuck in slow motion. The duck face he was sporting was epic. He had a sleeveless “T” shirt and an enormous gut and a smattering of hackneyed tattoos. He was like Larry the Cable guy without all the class. Seriously.
Have you noticed that booming trend wherein tawdry people embrace their trashy nature out of a truculent sense of pride? I guess if you’re going to sit in the mud, you might as well wallow in it, right? That was this guy. He didn’t say anything as he strutted into Wal-Mart to stock up on Fritos and Miller Highlife, but I could just picture him shouting ’Merica! I just knew for a fact that if I were to make eye contact with him and then frown and slowly shake my head, he’d mutter something about haters as he walked by.
Anyway, I write and sell books and they’ll both be free tomorrow. If you’re a fan of fiction, you should check out Trailer Park Juggernauts here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00704HK6Q If you’re a fan of real life with just a sprinkling of fiction, you should check out Ephemeral Truths and Short Fiction here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AYRAXNI