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"Look how bloke-y we are..."

I hate purity, I hate goodness...

George Orwell

Orson Wells hates agnosticism

I have a great love and respect for religion, great love and respect for atheism. What I hate is agnosticism, people who do not choose.
"I have a great love and respect for religion, great love and respect for atheism. What I hate is agnosticism, people who do not choose."

Anthropomorphism of vehicles

Now, it's fun and quirky to look at an inanimate object and provide it with a back story and personality as though it were a human being. We've all done it. Look at your own childhood. You undoubtedly had a toy that you would imagine possessed human qualities (I use the term 'human qualities' loosely. You may consider it an oxymoron. If so, well done you. Treat yourself to a nice cigar). That's all well and good. Endearing, if you will.

What I really hate is when grown men - grown in physicality if not mind - persist in giving their beloved, gas-guzzling, noisy vehicle attributes more commonly associated to a loved one. "She really handles well... she's great on the open road... you should listen to her purr" etc, etc. Such statements are usually accompanied by a puffed-out chest and a long sigh. If the speaker were wearing rainbow braces, they would undoubtedly be stretching them out while rocking on their heels. It's embarrassing.

Yes, modern vehicles are taking on an aesthetic appearance that complement the driver. Look at the headlights and front grille of any car and you will notice how it mimics facial features. But the point remains: It. Is. A. Car. A means of transport. A method of getting from A to B and back again. That's all. Nothing more.

Grow up and stop pretending you sound cool. The only people impressed are your equally insipid car enthusiast friends. Please all just get out. And if you're already out, just go away. For good.

Oh the guilt...

I have a problem. Well, I have many problems. But the main problem that I hate more than anything is the continual feeling of guilt. I feel guilty about everything: war, starvation, the banking crisis, the weather. Literally everything. And then today, I found myself feeling guilty about something entirely new.

It may just be me - I hope to God that it is - but I've begun to feel guilty about going into a shop, having a browse and leaving without a purchase. I hate the feeling of guilt. I hate the feeling of leaving a shop without a purchase. But I also hate needlessly spending money. What is a man to do?

There I was, going into Tesco earlier this evening. They didn't have what I was after. So I started to leave. And then the guilt hit me like a ton of bricks. WOLLOP! "You can't leave without buying something," said one of the voices in my head. "For a start, if you don't go to the check-out, they'll probably think you've shoplifted. You've not shoplifted have you?" There I was checking my pockets, just in case I'd blacked out and shoved some kumquats into my jeans. Nope, nothing there.

I desperately tried to think of something - anything - I needed. But it was no good. I'd been shopping just a couple of days before and my cupboards were well-stocked apart from this one item (I'm going to let you all guess what it could be. The winner will receive a signed photo. Not of me. Just a photo. Probably not even my signature).

I made the grown-up decision just to leave. "I'M NOT A SLAVE TO THESE CORPORATE PIGS," I could've shouted had I any testicles. But I didn't. I made for the exit quietly but with haste. And then alarm went off. I stopped and looked suspicious. Only one thought went through my mind: "F*ck my life."


It's pretty apparent that I have a lot of time on my hands. The fact I go out of my way to write insulting articles about nothing in particular means I spend more time in front of an LCD screen than is healthy for any adult. With this in mind, it may come as a surprise that my next point of hatred is directed at another LCD screen: my television.

Well, I say my television, but that would be wrong. I love television. What great company it provides. Suffice to say, it's on a lot of the time that I'm home. So that's not my point of hate (not today, anyway). What is? It's Sky. Well, not even Sky per se (and trust me, I would find it easy to jump on the bandwagon of Murdoch-bashing). No. It's Sky's electronic programme guide (EPG).

As previously alluded to, I am an adult male. My attention span is rather short ("that's what she said"). If I'm settling down with nothing else to do but watch television, I will quite easily get bored of one show and look for another. And that's where the problem lies. I'll bring up the EPG and begin my search.

Ladies, you seem to have the patience to look through the whole selection of programmes on each page. But every male out there reading this will do the same: scroll through the EPG at breakneck speed, looking out for buzzwords and ultimately repeating the process time and again until something is found.

What really irks me, however, is that, maybe after one drink too many, those buzzwords become figments of your imagination. Just last night, I was ploughing through the dirge, racing from page to page without batting an eyelid. There was nothing on.

Then, from the midst of the mundane, I caught a glimpse of something I could settle on for a couple of hours: Sin City. What a great film, I thought. I halted my forward progress and began heading back through the EPG. But where was Sin City? I know I'd seen it. I could swear it was on. I flitting through the last few pages. And then it hit me. In my haste to view the complete listings in a nanosecond, I had made a fatal error.

The Sin City I thought I'd seen listed was nothing but. But it gets worse. I had seen the listing of Sex In The City. 'Time for bed,' I thought.