I’ve admired you from afar for quite some time now, and I think it’s time I introduce myself. And I thought I would handle this introduction with a list of loves and hates (in no particular order). This way, you will know where I stand on certain things. So, I apologize if it seems a little formal and not funny at all…I’m a little nervous, and when I get nervous, I’m not funny at all—which really sucks, because I hate people who aren’t funny.
So speaking of things to hate: People who aren’t funny (remember, I just said that). Justin Timberlake. People who are shittier drivers than I am. Wal-mart. People who pretend to be retarded just for sympathy. Boy bands. The Bushies—all of them, but especially You Know Who. Weather so cold that you think your fingers are going to fall off if you go out for a cigarette. People who thought that Nelly and Tim McGraw song was good. Scary movies that show things in mirrors that aren’t supposed to be there. Weddings. August 13. Easter egg hunting. Organized religion. Most “country” singers on the radio today. San Francisco 49ers. When people assume before they meet you that you are a guy just because your name is Rikki.
And the number one thing to hate right now is a birthday phone call that goes like this: “Sorry I forgot your birthday (which was 2 days prior to this conversation), so happy birthday. Is Jason there? I’m fixing to go to jail.” Ok, I hate birthdays. Let me clarify—I hate my birthday. And not because I always get a year older or it’s one year closer to death or any of that shit. It doesn’t help matters any that over half of my family (and it’s a pretty big family) forgot my birthday last year, and then I receive the aforementioned phone call from one of my brothers.
Anyway—on to better things.
Things to love: Eddie Izzard (If you don’t know who this is, shame on you. Seriously.) Music from Bright Eyes. Going to the movies. The moon. British humor. Cigarettes. Those drunk bastards Ray’s always getting phone calls from. The Strangelands. Arrested Development. Funny people. Matchbox twenty’s first album. The worlds of Harry Potter and Stephanie Plum. Socks. The Holy Grail. Nieces and nephews. Sunday afternoons. God. L.A. Pearl Jam. Dallas Cowboys. Those dreams that you would swear are real, but you could never prove it. Laughing until you’re pretty sure you’re going to piss yourself.
And here’s another short category I thought I would throw in there—things to fear: Clowns. Little people (you know, like midgets). World domination. The Bushies.