I Hate Everyone... Starting with Me

If you have more than a couple of kids, you’re not parents—you’re hoarders. And hoarding is a disorder, not a gift.

The only good thing about age is that sooner or later all of the SOBs who dumped you are going to die.

I hate babies with trendy names like Tiffany and Britney and Heather and Noah and Blake and Justin. I’m sick of Olivia and Chloe and Eva and Madison. I hope Aiden and Jayden and Braden and Graden all suffer minor head injuries while reading Dr. Seuss. Enough already with the cutesy-poo baby names. What happened to John and Dave and Sue? Babies with trendy names grow up to be adults with ridiculous names. “This is our CEO, Micah.” “You know what, Micah? I want my money back. I’m closing my portfolio. I’m going with Michael. He’s a grown-up.” One day all of these trendy-named children will grow up and become parents and then grandparents, and it’s all wrong. Grandma Tori? Zayda Jared? Nana Savannah?

If you’re going to die, die interesting! Is there anything worse than a boring death? (Other than a Charlie Rose marathon on PBS?) I think not. When my time comes I’m going to go out in high style. I have no intention of being sick or lingering or dragging on and on and boring everyone I know.

Look, I could go on and on and on telling you why I hate myself, but it’s so self-centered…and I’m not like that. I’m a giver. So I’d rather branch out and start giving it to everyone else.

I find that kind of “look at me” narcissism terribly inconsiderate. If you need attention that badly, set yourself on fire.

Hey, you’re taking up the entire sidewalk, bitch!” She scowled and yelled, “I have children!” I yelled back at her, “Well, next time give your husband a blow job and you won’t! Why should I have to walk into oncoming traffic because you don’t want to give a little head?

I hate McDonald's. I don't want to order my dinner by yelling into a clown's mouth. If I want my face in a clown's mouth, I'll tongue kiss Glenn Beck.

I hate people who sneak into first class to use the bathroom. I’m sitting there, in 4F, sipping Cristal and admiring my new line of jewelry for QVC, and suddenly, busting through the curtain and rushing toward the bathroom is some doughy soccer mom holding her crotch and yelling, “Emergency, emergency!” No, it’s not!!! Opening the main hatch and pushing you out at thirty thousand feet for disturbing me is an emergency.

I hate weddings. Weddings are nothing more than catering with virgins. Sorry, in the old days it was virgins; now it’s baby mommas.

I hate Hollywood fund-raisers. I am so bored going to a twenty-five million dollar house to hear a mogul say, “Good news, everyone. Tonight we’ve raised almost twelve thousand dollars!” You paid your gay hustler more than that, you cheap thing. Why not spare all of us the canapés, small talk and crème brûlée and just write a damn check?

I hate Arizona. It always eight hundred degrees outside and everybody’s always saying, “But it’s a dry heat!” So’s the inside of my microwave.

Marvin Gaye Music superstar Marvin Gaye was shot to death by his father. In court the father said, “This is probably the worst thing I’ve ever done.” Probably??????

When I was born, my mother asked, 'Will she live?' The doctor said, "Only if you take your foot off her throat

Sharon and Kelly Osbourne. I love the way they put aside ther difference and united for a commom purpose: trying to figure out what the hell Ozzy was saying.

But if the kid is really, really, really ugly, I'll think What the hell? and just give up and say, 'Where'd you buy the crib?

When I was born, my mother asked, 'Will she live?'. The doctor said, "Only if you take your foot off her throat".

I hate that black people can’t decide what they want to be called. First they were “colored,” then “Negro,” then “black.” After that they became “people of color” and now they’re “African-American.” I say: Pick one! White people aren’t that smart; we can’t follow. I’ll call you ultrasuperduperstar if it makes you happy, but for God’s sake give me a final answer! The back-and-forth is giving me a migraine. And, can I just say that I don’t understand ethnocentricity? For example, where did “African-American” come from? My friend Beverly always says, “I’m African-American.” And I always say, “You’re from Massapequa Park. Exactly where in Africa is that? Is it part of the Serengeti or maybe Kenya adjacent?” Last time I checked Massapequa Park was four stops after Bellmore on the Long Island Railroad. Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans, Polish-Americans, etc., only refer to themselves like that when they want a big parade in their honor, so they can drink in public and get alternate side of the street parking waived. Otherwise they’re plain old Americans. And FYI, no one has ever, in my 239 years on this planet, called me a Hebraic-American. Jew bitch? All the time, but Hebraic-American bitch? Never.