I REALLY %#*@ING HATE...

Hi.

If you're anything like me, you're the sort of person who spends most of your life generally just trying to get along with everyone else. You like being liked. You like being happy. You pay your taxes, you don't cheat on your wife, and you'll even put aside the prospect of grievous bodily harm to pat a stray dog from time to time. For the most part, life is pretty good and you make your way through the average day without too much fuss. You don't complain too much about anything, not so much because things don't get to you, but because you don't want to burden other's...you understand we all have to deal with life's little problems. You smile, even at strangers (but not in a crazy stalker way). You try to eat well, and exercise almost enough, and for the most part remember the birthdays of your loved ones. In short...you're a pretty decent person, who would be too humble if you were asked to admit that to anyone but yourself.

But every now and then, every once in a while, something or someone comes into your happy little world and %#*@ing pisses you off so much, against all reason, that in your perfectly rational, reasonable mind you can't HELP but wish you had the power to call down upon them a bolt of lightening to smote them into oblivion!!! Sometimes it's a bit thing...maybe it's just a whole lotta little things...but it happens to us all. It's just not all of us have the power to admit it.

In short, I'm just a man with a keyboard. This hubpage is my rant. It is my committment to having a wee part of the world where it's ok to admit your human frailty...especially when it's brought out by the #%*@ing stupidity of others. It is a place where for just a moment, we'll discard that safety net called political correctness and embrace the cathartic constitution of liberal honesty.

Enjoy, and please feel welcome to share your experiences in the comments section :)

I really %#*@ing hate...Country & Western

Yeah ok...so I'm not solving any of the worlds larger issues here. Eat a bran muffin and show me your one way ticket to a third world country backwater 'our villiage got spanked by a tidal wave' community re-establishment programme...and maybe then I'll care about being constructive. For the time being, I wanna make it clear just how I feel about this last missing link between music and noise.

For %@#* sake am I the only one who thinks the combination of coloqial twang, accoustic guitar or banjo and some poor sop crying into his beer over a bird called darlene is teetering dangerously on the edge of the pathetic crevice?

I'll admit, I wasn't born in Texas...or the Appalachian Mountains, but I do know that my taste in music doesn't extend as far south as this motley excuse for popular culture, and by south I mean south of cheese.

The industry apparently made a resurgence in 2006. Frankly I think the problem (at least as far as the current generation is concerned) came well before then, and I lay blame squarely on Billy Ray Cyrus and Shaniah Twain. I blame Billy Ray Cyrus because he defied all logic by showing that even someone with no talent, a kindergartenised riff, and a $#@* haircut can make it in the music industry, albeit fleetingly. Associated blame goes to anyone who listened to the song without throwing up, with double blame going to anyone who so much as hummed it to themselves much less committed an act of lyrical sacrilege by purchasing a copy.

Now unlike her frazzle haired &$#@-wit compatriot, Shaniah Twain had to bastardise what has historically been the flavour of Country and Western to make it popular. But let's face it, she's so damn hot she could have been lighting matches on her ass cheeks and whistling the national anthem and it still would have gone platinum. Her popularity was no doubt aided and indeed was probably symptomatic of an industry in need of an iconic female. In fact, I'd only just started cheering the retirement of Parton's tits into geriatric oblivion, but it seems my relief was pre-emptory because then Leanne Rhymes seemed to skip directly from pre-pubescent awkwardness to barely legal sex-godess with alarming speed. Am I tempted to review my opinion of Country and Western if it keeps spitting out hotties? No...because I have $*@#en muppets like Billy to keep me grounded.

OK...ok...the disclaimer. Is Country and Western all bad? Are there any truly redeeming prospects which rise from the myriad of droning 'kill my cat and dress it up as a song' artists? Well, exhibit 1 would be the Eagles, and Cash at least had the decency to make his life interesting even if his songs weren't. But let's not get too excited...penicillin might have come from mold...but a lot of other nasty %#@* did too. Besides, if I'm ever tempted to recant from my putrid opinion all I need do is search for 'Achy Breaky Heart' on YouTube and get a five second dose of personified female contraception.

Hell...maybe my rant is misdirected, perhaps I'll just make my next topic I really @#*$ hate Billy Ray Cyrus.

But until then, may all your songs be uncountry, and all your love songs rock.

Country & Western Hate Rating - 4/5

You know what I'm talking about. You're sitting there on the tram/bus/train, your paper laboriously folded on your lap reading the daily news, rapt in your own little world. Out of the corner of your eye you see someone take a seat next to you or nearby, which you dismiss as your eyes scan over the headlines. Then it hits.

Suddenly some indecently repugnant odour wafts from the person who just sat down near you. It's not an 'unpleasant smell'...oh no, I'm not talking about your average body odour earned through hard work or exercise. That is a mere shadow of the beast that assaults you. It's that all pervading rancid stench of human indecency that shocks your senses like a torrid slap to the face. It's the violent odour that curdles the milk in your stomach from your coffee and forces you to choke down the natural urge to projectile vomit your breakfast/lunch on the passengers three rows in front of you.

You wince, and try to suppress your distaste, but even the boundaries of human decency can't overcome the sickening oppression of that has enveloped you.

Now I'm not one to point fingers, and lord knows I'll be the last to advocate of any of those evil '...ism's', but I can't help noticing that all too often the culprit is a turban wearing exponent of our great nation, or the bloke who looked like he cooked last night's curry.

At the point I decide unconsciousness is a stark preference to taking another deep breath, I'm not interested in the symantics of racial vilification, defective hormone secretion, or poor bodily hygeine...all I have to say is this...

Go drown yourself in a bottle of deoderent you #*$@ing smelly *%#@.

B.O Hate Rating - 3.5/5

Look at this fat #%*@.

This porcupine lookin' S.O.B. garners popularity from the misguided inference drawn by other fat balding short men that if this freak of nature can bang 4000+ women, then surely they stand a chance of scoring a few poontang notches on the preverbial fanny belt.

Wrong!

Even if you had a shlong as large as Rony boy, which you don't, you're probably too old to launch a career in the porn industry and probably have too much self respect notwithstanding your momma was the only one to ever love you. But never mind rejoicing over Ron's phalic success...just be happy that Foxtel still beams Jessica Beale into your living room each Thursday night so you can hump your couch to re-runs of 7th Heaven...it's the closest thing to sex you'll be getting anytime soon.

Even Ron knows when half the sylicone stuffed blonde bimbo's he has to work with start choking on his knob that they aren't faken it, and it's not the size that counts...can you imagine putting any part of this bloke in a body orifice?!?

Ron says he wants to be an actor. Sorry Ron...I hear acting takes some modicum of talent beyond being able to hump anything with a heartbeat.

Fat men with big dicks...#@*%en hate em.

Ron Jeremy Hate Rating - 3/5

Yeah yeah, I'm sure there are a few red blooded blokes out there who are going to disagree with me on this, but I for one fail to see the collective merit in being able to forge a career based solely on the fact you were born looking like a high maintenance slut.

Add that to the tales of tantrums, tribulations and the fact that she's letting that crack faced maggot Pete Doherty knock her up, and she rates a hating.

Make a porn video with Ron Jeremy or #*$% off.

Kate Moss Hate Rating - 3.5/5

I'm admittedly not normally driven to providing my views as to movies when I have little to contribute in terms of positive critique, however I felt that the much anticipated `hypercube' and sequel to the classic `Cube' was sufficiently bad to warrant that which follows. I premise this review with a succinct summary of my conclusions, that is to say that I considered the film to be Crap. That is to say crap with a capital `C'. It is however, only a personal view and I admit that the film has dynamics which may well appeal to many the viewer...just not to me.

It's almost unfair to compare the sequel with the original, but it is expedient, so here I go.

Plot: The original was elegant in its simplicity, a group of people being manipulated into navigating a treacherous and lethal construct in the hope of obtaining truth, understanding, and of course, freedom. As someone with a vague interest in quantum theory, I thought the sequel held some hope of providing an interesting variation to the harsh reality of metal and plastic that comprised the initial cube. However, hypercube falls well short of any real conceptualization that equates to quantum theory and used that dynamic as a thinly veiled excuse for what amounted to a disjointed plot development. I'm prepared to admit that if there in fact was a plot I probably missed the more important elements of it as a consequence of the constant distractions in my home which proved more entertaining than the film itself...like the laundry.

Character Development: I actually found what really amounted to the `lead' character to be quite enigmatic in her portrayal, and the whining computer designer was at least believable (although the copulation scene was less erotica and more an excuse for me to make a phone call). Unlike Cube, where you found yourself either identifying or at least empathizing with certain characters, the primary benefit of the `parallel universe' comprising the hypercube was that viewers got the satisfaction of seeing the same wooden characters being killed over and over again.

Special Effects: Oooh...a spinning bunch of squares...reminds me a lot of the thrill and excitement I experienced back in primary school when I sat on a classroom floor with a bunch of other kids with their fingers in their noses and watched my teacher draw a pyramid. Granted, whilst both the original and sequel seem to have been projects undertaken on a shoe-string budged, the latter appears even more so. Where the original flick's effects were basal, they were effective and made you wince in anticipation. Hypercube left me dizzy, sleepy, and unconvinced. Whereas Cube used the `unstated' to fine effect, one got the feeling that if anything happened off-screen in hypercube it was because they couldn't afford to shoot the scene properly, as distinct from utilizing the all important tool of the viewers imagination.

Soundtrack: The soundtrack actually wasn't that bad. It certainly wasn't as cheesy as the rest of the flick, so hands in the air for the music. Although it probably just proves you could watch the movie with your eyes closed and still get the most out of it.

Finale: Ok, I think I got it. I won't give it away for those yet to take a look at hypercube, save to say that the film falls into the trap which seems a universal constant in bad sci-fi...'we can't really figure out how to end it or give it meaning so we'll just leave the unexplainable unexplained and pretend like it was cool and intentional'. Pffft...whatever.

Conclusion: Yes, the disclaimer. For all its pitfalls, I did wind up watching this to the end, mainly to see if it would redeem itself, which it didn't. If you approach this film as I did with the Cube, that is without any real expectations, you may well find you enjoy it. The Cube was a movie I got out in a bunch of weekly rentals and was a fantastic surprise. Hypercube belongs in the weekly section and will not disappoint insofar as its mediocrity is concerned. Don't watch this #@*%.

Cube2 Hate Rating - 4/5

Who the #*%@ at Microsoft sat down and thought that a talking paperclip would make a good addition to the most used software in the data processing world...much less convinced a bunch of others to approve it! I hope the $@*$er died from elephantitis of the testicles because that little iconic prick is the bain of my existance.

If I wanted help writing a letter, you incongruous little $#%*, I'd have the presence of mind to herald the days of my mispent youth when my grade school teacher taught me how to do it. If an adult doesn't know how to write a freaken letter...they probably stole the computer they are trying to write it on anyway.

Bill Gates, the presumptuous #@*$ has just assumed the populace at large couldn't survive without an annoying humanised piece of #$@*en stationary to guide us through this quagmire of a Windows exponent. Maybe if your software wasn't so #@*$en crap I could use it without having to rely on your rubbish assistant. They even gave it a name for Christ sake...like that might make me hate it any less. Snugglepot and Cuddlepie were cute...wanna know why? Cos they don't $@*$en pop up every five seconds when I try and type a three line memo!

Want to truly help me? Tell me how to turn that $#@*ing thing off!~

Nevermind...at least next time I can't seem to get my bank account to balance, I'll know to consult my $#@*en wrist watch or stapler.

Clippy Hate Rating - 4/5

Why the #@*% can't I turn on my tv without seeing this chicks face on it? Am I the only one haunted by the worlds 'Hi...I'm Jo Griggs'. How is it that she has managed to appear on every second show/add/sporting event known to man? I mean she is freaken everywhere!

It's bad enough that we have to put up with her commentating the Olypics or Commonwealth Games, but I can wear that given that she swam a fast lap (second fastest mind you) in a race about a decade ago. But it seems like these days I can't watch anything relating to home-hardware, horse racing, tennis, or any range of general interest programs without having to put up with her hormone engineered voice. And have you seen her shoulders lately? Move over China.

If all channel 7 are looking for is some blonde to walk around asking stupid questions about topics they know nothing about, I refuse to believe there aren't other (or better...or at least better looking) candidates.

Gary Sweet has a lot to answer for...whilst no one can blame the bloke for dropping her like a hot potato (the real question is how he had the strength to pick the hippo up in the first place) but in doing so he triggered the public's collective conscience. For a moment, people felt bad for her, and dear sweet Jo used that opportunity to embed herself into the public eye faster than a maggot on a discarded meat pie.

She's even more prolific than Katrina Rowntree, who at least has the decency to sport a decent pair of knockers. All Johanna offers us is a lopsided grin and an ass that looks like it could grind boulders into chalk dust.

Stop trying to make the world love you...we just can't compensate for Gary.

Johanna Griggs Hate Rating - 3.5/5

Know what I hate most about chain mail? The fact that these days it's invariably sent by email, which means that by the time I actually get around to seeing the sender the urge to tear our their jugular and skull $@*% them whilst their life ebbs to nothingness has generally wanned.

Having said that, I just can't help having a DeNiro moment every time I recieve one... Did you just send a chain mail to me? Did you just send a chain mail to me? You mother #$%@er...

Let's get clear on this:-

• Your phone is not going to ring when you send an email to five of your friends in five minutes and you won't be diagnosed with cancer simply if you don't,

• no one is going to send you a cheque for $1000 dollars at the end of the month even if you send a cheque for $1 to Boris from Yeltsin, Russia, today,

• the President of Ugambie is NOT going to stop enslaving peasants to built the oil pipe that will yield his shitty country US47million no matter how many sops put their name at the end of an online petition,

• you will not find true love by inflicting some cloying message of joy and happiness on 12 people who 'mean something special to you'. You want a wife...go buy one from Boris.

• I don't give a flying $#@* about little suzy who needs an operation for her cystic fibrosis so she can run with her other friends...if suzy didn't want to be a bum cripple she should have had the forethought not to be born with a disability.

• and the only person who is going to bring you bad luck is me when I beat the living #@*% out of you for sending me another chain letter.

The only people who like getting chain letters are the same socially depraved $#@*s that send them, so send them to yourselves and leave me the $@&# alone.

Chain Letters Hate Rating - 5/5