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Hate Week by Trey Printer Friendly

And so, Hate Week ends.

Just as it was becoming my new favorite holiday.

Move over Columbus day...

At least we here at The Strangelands did our part to bring a little extra misery and unhappiness to the world.

To all those happy go lucky sunny side of the streeters whistling their happy little songs as they skip through life oblivious of it's true nature, I'd just like to say, Kiss Our Ass.

Spend a week shoveling shit at a customer service desk wearing a purple polyester blend shirt with your name tagged to it and we'll wipe that silly grin right off your ugly mug. A coke and a smile won't cut it, and a bottle of whiskey with an extra long straw only gets you through till tomorrow.

Or try forty years burning your life away in some beige cubicle staring at a screen all day wondering where you went wrong and waiting for that weird guy a cube over popping prozac like tic-tacs and mumbling nonstop profanity to finally snap and show up strapped with an AK47 to let everyone know just how unhappy he is about the ratty watered down coffee and the fact that he didn't get that tricycle he really wanted for Christmas when he was four.

The sun will come out tomorrow? Yeah, it'll come out and give you cancer.

A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down? And plants itself right on your hips you fat fuck.

Laughter makes the world go round? No, it's momentum from that huge explosion that created this gassy ball, and it's always slowing down. Give it enough time and we'll go crashing right into that big flaming sun you seem so fond of. It'll be one big bar-b-que and we're the main course.

All you need is love? All you need is a case of whiskey, four blondes, and a hot tub.

Life is a circus? There's a sucker born every minute, and by the way, that scary clown you had nightmares about when you were a kid, he's running the whole damn show.

If the tsunami doesn't get you, the avian flu will. If that doesn't cut it, you'll bust your head open washing your feet in the shower.

Small Pox.

Flesh eating bacteria.


Suicide bombers.

Nuclear bombs.

Intestinal parasites.

Rabid bats.

So how bout you shut up, knock back a tall glass of Wild Turkey, fill your pie hole with a two pound Canadian Mad Cow burger cause crazy just tastes better and if a heart attack doesn't get you the bats will. In fact, you better just join us here at the strangelands where, at the very least, we calls em as we sees em.

Warts and all.


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