#iHate Grown Men That Wear Skinny Jeans

Hate is a strong word. But I hate grown men that wear skinny jeans. I have no problem with trends or the way these young whipper snappers dress. I’ll never be the old guy shaking his head at the next generation for their gear. Fashion changes. Get over it. But if you are above the age of 30, and you’re not in the entertainment industry, you need to stop it. You are trying entirley too hard to be cool, and the young people you’re trying to impress don’t care. In their eyes, you might as well be 50. And your peers are looking at you sideways, wondering why you haven’t grown up yet. I should not be able to count all of the change in your pocket, or see your wallet, keys and lighter clear as day.  You’re doing too much. Your movement is clearly restricted, and I honestly don’t see how you got those things on without having to lay yourself on the bed.






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#iHate Walmart

Hate is a strong word.  But I hate Walmart.  It’s a frickin’ train wreck every time I have to go there.  Every.  Single.  Time.  I try my absolute best to stay away from that Godforsaken place, but sometimes the convenience gets me.  You mean to tell me that you’ve got 3,769 registers and only 2 of them are actually open.  What the holy hell.  And the people that go there regularly.  Oh-my-lan-ta.  Bless their ever loving hearts.  It’s like an outtake of Deliverance.  And the only reason it didn’t make the cut was because the director thought no one would really believe it was that bad.  This is the richest family in America and this is the best they can do for me.  I’d almost rather let an NFL punter kick me in the man region than to have to spend more than 7.25 minutes in that place.  It’s turrible.  Like, Charles Barkley turrible. 





Don’t forget to purchase your very own copy of “#iHateMondays……….50 Shades of Hate” at:  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B019CV1I4O

#iHate Making a 2nd Trip to the Car to Get Groceries

Hate is a strong word.  But I hate having to make a 2nd trip to get groceries out of the car.  I don’t know if I’m stupid or stubborn, but ‘ll be Herbert Hoover damned if I do it.  Of all the things to be anal about, it’s ridiculous that I choose this one.  It doesn’t matter how many bags I have, what time of day it is, or what risk of injury I put myself at, all these groceries are coming with me in 1 trip.  Best believe that.  And I will use whatever body part necessary to make sure.  Hands, forearms, chest, teeth, and even my pinky are all acceptable means to hold or trap the bags for long enough for me to make it into the house.  As silly as it sounds, I relish the challenge.  Call my life boring, but I feel profoundly accomplished when I make it inside with everything intact.  Now granted, my thighs and arms are killing me.  And I can hardly breathe.  But I made it.  I won.  And that’s all that matters.  Yes, I’m fully aware that if I were to just make 2 trips I could probably do it quicker.  Trying to strategically drape bags across various parts of my body is time consuming and mentally taxing, but I don’t care.  I refuse to have my life dictated by inanimate objects.  Have there been mishaps?  Of course.  Broken eggs, crushed boxes and spilt milk to name a few.  But I ain’t cryin’ over that.  I’m a frickin’ winner.  That is, until I finally get to the front door………………..and realize my keys are still in my pocket. 








Don’t forget to purchase your very own copy of “#iHateMondays……….50 Shades of Hate” at:  https://www.amazon.com/iHateMondays-50-Shades-Hate-ebook/dp/B019CV1I4O?ie=UTF8&*Version*=1&*entries*=0



#iHate People That Hijack Your Facebook Page

Hate is a strong word.  But I hate people that hijack your Facebook page.  You know exactly how the story goes.  You post a comment, picture, meme, etc., and they don’t agree with it.  So they decide to argue with you and everyone else that has left a remark, in a futile attempt to prove “their point”.  It almost never fails that it’s some loser that you haven’t spoken to since high school.  They have zero facts to back up anything they’ve stated.  Their grammar is almost always poor.  They generally struggle to communicate in complete sentences.  And they will swear until the cows come home that they’re right.  I seriously wonder if any of these fools are gainfully employed.  Because there’s no way in holy hell that they should have that much time on their hands.  Furthermore, no one invited you.  My post was for me and the people that feel me.  That means we don’t need your 2 cents, feedback, opinion, or anything else that requires your involvement in what we’ve going on.  So you can just go back to wherever it is you came from and kick rocks.  Ain’t nobody tryin’ to hear what you got to say.







Don’t forget to purchase your very own copy of “#iHateMondays……….50 Shades of Hate” at: https://www.amazon.com/iHateMondays-50-Shades-Hate-ebook/dp/B019CV1I4O?ie=UTF8&*Version*=1&*entries*=0



#iHate People That Don’t RSVP, and Still Show Up

Hate is a strong word.  But I hate people that don’t RSVP, and still show up.  These are some of the worst guests ever.  Here I am, trying to get a firm headcount for our shenanigans, and you don’t even have the common courtesy to let me know if you can make it or not.  And then, to make matters worse, you just come anyway.  I don’t think you understand how this works.  If you don’t let me know, I presume you won’t make it.  Therefore, there is no food or any drinks with your name on it.  Don’t come struttin’ thru my meticulously planned event and think just because it fit your schedule at the last minute that you are still invited.  Naw, playa.  It don’t work like that.  You forfeited your right to be up in here.  If I do decide to let you in, please believe you will be drinking water and eating saltines.  I really didn’t wanna invite you anyway.  My granny made me do it.  So as we arrive on wedding and graduation season, RSVP.  Your sorry butt already has a pre-addressed envelope with a stamp on it.  All you’ve gotta do is put a name and number of guests on it.  Stop being lazy and inconsiderate.  Oh, and if you don’t respond either way, I want my Curtis Jackson back.  AKA my 50 cent.  Postage ain’t free. 





Don’t forget to purchase your very own copy of “#iHateMondays……….50 Shades of Hate” at: