Pickled Hate

There it is: the tastiest cheeseburger I’ve ever seen. 

The buns are softer than a fluffed velvet cloud. Juice tears down the flame-broiled meat without making the bread soggy. The cheese is slightly melted, creating a row of golden streaks down the side. My teeth itch with anticipation of the first bite. It’s really going to happen - a pure moment of delicious ecstasy. Life doesn’t seem like such a sad joke anymore. The world may not be as shitty as I once thought. Maybe there is hope. 

No! Fuck no! Why? Why?!!!!

My world is shattered. Tentacled UFO overlords have defecated on my existence. This is a conspiracy, a goddamn conspiracy! Someone is trying to destroy me. If I wasn’t retching guts through my throat, I’d find the perpetrator and give them a fork facial. My body’s convulsions won’t allow me to move forward. Here I am, immobile and hoping to regain strength. I’m not sure I’ll recover. Someone wants me dead. Maybe it was that albino panhandler squatting next to the parlor palms. Whoever it was, one thing is clear - someone is out to get me. 

Someone put pickles in my cheeseburger. 

We have robot vacuums, yet we still allow pickles to exist. Why? Is there a reason behind putting cucumbers in brine and waiting for them to morph into goblin intestines? What’s the advantage? Can’t we just paint turds green? Wouldn’t that accomplish the same thing?

Those are rhetorical questions. I don’t need answers. I need pickles outlawed, now and forever. Ordinarily, I would never suggest banning something, but as much as I like dismissing rules, I also enjoy imposing my whims on anyone weak enough to let another person dictate their life. I hate pickles and so do you. Don’t try to argue, that’s just the way it is. 

Before anyone says it - no, I can’t just remove pickles from a cheeseburger. Nobody can. Pickle juice contaminates food and makes it inedible. I’m now forced to throw my hamburger in the garbage and set fire to the trash can. I wouldn’t give the tainted burger away, no matter how hungry someone is. Why would I subject a starving person to the horrors of a pickle-stained hamburger? Haven’t they suffered enough?

A pickle looks like the Jolly Green Giant’s dick after a herpes outbreak. It’s slimy, green and bumpy. Why would anyone want to eat it? Putting something like that in your mouth won’t make your father love you. In fact, no one will love you. Don’t put it in your mouth. Nothing good will come from it. 

Pickles smell like octopus shit boiled in liquid asparagus. I’ve cleaned public bathrooms. I’ve shoveled animal excrement at the zoo. I’ve been less than an inch from maggots feasting on rotten dog food. Nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to the sour rank of pickles. Whenever tar fumes from road construction seep through my apartment window, I think, “This is giving me a headache! It smells awful, but it’s still not as bad as pickles.” If a pickle eater tried to talk to me, I’d vomit in their face to show them how bad their pickle breath stinks. On the other hand, they like pickles, so they’d probably like the smell of puke. 

Whenever I hear about someone giving a rimjob, I know that they’ve eaten pickles. If someone can tolerate eating a pickle, they can handle asshole nibbling. For all we know, they’re tongue diving the shit chute to get the taste of pickles out of their mouth. Like all other food, pickles are sometimes deep fried. Nothing can cover the sour taste of squishy vegetable muck. Alchemy is dead. You can’t deep fry feces into gold.

If the Vlasic Pickle Stork flew over my apartment, I’d shoot first and not ask questions later. Who does that feathered pickle pusher think he is? Why can’t he get sucked into the blades of a ghetto bird? I don’t want a brine-drowned vegetable corpse in my home. And what’s the deal with storks anyways? Whether it’s babies or pickles, they’re always trying to dump unwanted burdens on your doorstep. Storks should do the world a favor and go extinct. 

There are some people who like pickles. There are also people who approve of sex slaves and psychic hotlines. Coincidence? Don’t kid yourself. Pickle lovers are racist, child-murdering Communists who worship the devil and steal social security checks from the elderly. I don’t have any evidence to back this up, but there’s no evidence proving they aren’t child-killing commie thieves who praise Satan and hate the idea of a multi-colored bowling party. That’s enough evidence for me. Fuck those pickle-loving weirdos.

Do you want these undesirables trolling for your children? That’s right, think of the children. Think of them so I can manipulate your weak emotions and take advantage of your unusual child fetish. Bringing up the safety of children, whether relevant or not, is always a sure way to blindside rubes into falling in line. With all that said, do you want these picklers corrupting your kids? Think about that and nothing else. Now think about how much you hate pickles. Good job!

What’s to be done? Legislative action, that’s what. My personal hatred of pickles must be imposed on everyone. It’s for the good of the nation. Fermenting a cucumber is the worst thing a person can do. Worse than the Holocaust? Worse than the Rwanda Genocide? Worse than the Crusades? Well, none of those events ever fucked up my cheeseburger, so yes, a thousand times worse. 

We need comprehensive pickle control. Did you know that anyone, regardless of mental health or criminal history, can walk into a store and buy pickles? There are parents all over the country who keep pickles in their home and don’t lock them away in a secure place. Their kids can get into them at any time. This is madness! Where’s the sanity? 

We all hate pickles. Some people like them, but they’re not really people, so they don’t count. Let’s treat them like the scum they are. Let’s annex Trinidad. Once the island is cleared, we’ll fill it with cannibals and giant spiders. Anyone caught making, eating or licking a pickle will be banished to Trinidad for life. The cannibals can send us progress reports by pickling leftover body parts in jars and throwing them in the ocean. I’m sure they’d wash up on our shores eventually. If not, who cares? They’re just pickle eaters. Does it really matter what happens to them? 

The war on pickles must start today. Why are drugs outlawed when pickles infest our streets? Drugs are just a cheap way to go on vacation without leaving your couch. Pickles offend all senses. Nothing useful has ever come from a pickle. Whether gherkin, brine, dill or lime, they all taste like a swamp witch’s abortion. I can understand self-hatred and masochism, but I can’t understand willingly consuming a pickle. There’s no need for it. Flog yourself if you must. Burn yourself if you feel like you have to. Hire a prostitute to piss and spit on you if you feel like you deserve it. But eating a pickle? That’s just unnecessary. 

Put the pickle down and walk away. It’s not worth it. Winners don’t eat pickles. Be above the influence of brine.

Smack to the Future

Do you hate the world? I know I do. 

Despite this sentiment, it’s difficult to hate waterfalls and koala bears. Difficult, but not impossible. It’s easy to hate other people. Humans make obnoxious noises with their mouths. They ennoble their prejudices and whistle through their nostrils. Whenever I see someone who’s about to speak, I instantly hum a song in my head. What’s the point of hearing their burble? Their conversations are nothing more than squabbles between shit-flinging faction followers. These people are under the impression that they matter. Someone should tell them they’ll be dead and future generations won’t give a fuck about their stance on gay marriage. Of course, that person would be talking, so they’d be just as culpable. 

Obviously, I’m not too fond of people in the present. I receive more mental stimulation from watching a used condom float across a puddle than I do from a lively debate between identical rivals. But it’s not just the present. People from the past are annoying too. Maybe not as annoying as people now, but that’s only because I don’t have to be around them. I refuse to appreciate the past or any of its accomplishments. Everything they did led to our current world of interdependent realities and technological fascism. Way to go fogies!

Unfortunately, I can’t go back in time and ruin these people’s lives. Sure, flapping your arms and wearing a helmet made of forks during an lightning storm might transport you to ancient Rome, but who knows if you’ll ever make it back. Vomit covered orgies may sound fun, but puke and genital juices dry in the sun. The last thing a person wants is to spend the rest of their life as a crusty servant to a tyrant in drag who fucks as many holes as his dagger creates. And for all their excess, the Romans didn’t have bacon-stuffed bacon burgers or adult baby regression fetishists. I laugh derisively at their concept of decadence. 

Going back in time and attacking histories greatest figures with thumb tacks and lit matches would warm my heart, but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be. What a shame. I was hoping to bomb Woodstock with tear gas and antibacterial soap. However, as I look at the modern world I see hordes of tongue-clicking fad followers who deserve nothing short of complete degradation. That’s not to say that people didn’t suck in the past. If you don’t think the past was full of null-minded simpletons, you must be stupider than boiled ice cream. The Puritans and Bill Saluga will prove you wrong every time. And yet, in spite of the religious idiocy and unfunny comedy of yesteryear, I find the people of today to be infinitely more humorless, boring and narcissistic than anyone in the past. 

People, like all things in nature, are subject to entropy. As time moves forward, we can count on people being even lamer in the future than they are now. As difficult as it may be to believe, the future will be populated by inhabitants who’re dumber and more annoying than social justice warriors. If this is to be the future, which I’m positive it will be, I have no choice but to work towards its destruction. I may only be one person, but I can huff spores and convince myself I’m many people, so my quest may not be so useless after all. 

The first thought that comes to my mind is ruining the environment. I’ll carry salt on me at all times. Most of the places I go are covered in asphalt and pavement, but I do occasionally spot patches of dirt with what could be vegetation. I’ll make it my mission to cover all exposed earth in Los Angeles county with salt. Not only will I cover it, but I’ll mix it into the soil throughly, ensuring the destruction of plant life in various plots of dirt all over the city. Hopefully, I’ll eventually travel to exotic new locations, salting their soil and spreading desiccated surfaces wherever I go. 

While the salt robs plants of moisture, I can rob the world of water by wasting it as much as possible. A distant future of rationed water may suck for future citizens, but I’ve already reassured myself that I hate them. Three hour showers are in my immediate future. Whenever I see a faucet, I’ll be sure to turn it on at full power and walk away. Hydrants are another great target. I’ll get a monkey wrench and open the hydrant as harshly as possible to guarantee a stripped threading below. Then I’ll toss the cap in a nearby sewer and skip off to my next adventure.

Bottled water is also a great way to waste Earth’s most important resource. Instead of getting a cheap filtering system for your sink, just buy bottled water everyday. Of course, if you’re like me and can’t afford to waste money on endless containers, you could waste other people’s drinking water. All you have to do is go into a store and prick each plastic flagon with a safety pin. The store will be forced to replenish their inventory, but what they don’t know is that you’ll be back next week to wage war on an hydrated future. 

Not only do I want future generations to feel uncomfortably dry, I’d also like it if they had trouble breathing. A large amount of our planet’s oxygen comes from plants and trees, which I’ve already resolved to salt out of existence. There is, however, the matter of a more prevalent oxygen source. Scientists estimate that half (or more than half according to some) of Earth’s oxygen comes from the ocean. Phytoplankton, like plants on land, use photosynthesis to grow and expel oxygen in the process. Obviously, phytoplankton must be destroyed. I’ll do my part to fuel their extinction. 

Acidic properties lower PH levels in ocean water and threaten phytoplankton. This reaction is caused by carbon dioxide emissions that dissolve in the sea. I intend to start having a bonfire once a week by the pier. I’ll steal gas from people’s cars, forcing them to buy more gas and create more CO2 emissions. Then I’ll pour it on a pile of coal. I’ll keep the fire burning throughout the night by drenching it in hairspray every fifteen minutes. Just for fun, I’ll pour gallons of shampoo off the pier. That won’t kill the phytoplankton, but I like the idea of bubbles ascending from the ocean waves as I blacken poisonous dioxide hot dogs for hungry seagulls.

And yet, despite my desire to snowball my carbon footprint into a carbon canyon, I feel like my efforts may be pointless. There’s an online carbon calculator that tallies your CO2 output. After consulting a form of pseudoscience that only the internet can provide, I was dismayed to discover I only produce 15 tons of CO2 per year. That may sound like a lot, but according to the same calculator, the average US citizen produces 27 tons of CO2 annually, which makes me feel quite inadequate. My CO2 levels will never be as big as theirs. I’ll continue to do what I can to destroy the world, but I’m only one person (except on multiple-personality Mondays). 

There is one way I could create a larger output of CO2, but I’m not willing to do it. I may care about defiling the world, but not enough to defile myself. The method I’m alluding to is too disgusting and tedious to consider. Obviously, I’m talking about having children. More people means more CO2 emissions, meaning that anyone with kids hates the environment as much as I do, if not more. The fact that I have something in common with parents sickens me. I’m going to need another three hour shower of power. 

My anti-environmental practices may seem like a fruitless endeavor, but there are other ways to fuck over the future. Eliminating anything interesting or entertaining would make the future bleak. Luckily, this is already being done for me. 

Whenever I go online or watch TV I see only talentless birth blemishes on fame’s gilded pedestal. The collective media focal point for frivolous obsessions is packed with comedians that aren’t funny, musicians that duplicate formulaic songs and overpaid line readers that call themselves actors. Anyone with a hint of talent or an original idea will drown in obscurity. The upside is that after generations of fixating on prepackaged idols, people may devolve to a point where drowning in a bowl of cereal becomes the most common way to die. 

Even though humanity is continually nudging itself towards complete idiocy, I don’t think it’s happening fast enough. I will make it my personal mission to spread ignorance and stupidity throughout the world. Even though I already do that by writing articles with no socially redeeming value, I think there’s more I can do to dehumidify the already evaporating craniums of my fellow humans. 

For instance, I can start spreading rumors. Feeding distorted truths and outright lies to people will help populate the future with open-mouthed morons living in a fake reality. Since most people are too dumb to question anything, I’m positive this will work. Whenever I’ve tried to get someone to analyze a lie they’ve been told, I’ve always been met with the default response that accompanies defensive gullibility: 

“Why would they lie?”

Because they can. They lie because people like you will nod your head, store the lie away and use it at a party to impress some drunk cunt. If someone can get away with something, more times than not, they’re going to do it. Liars have a distinct advantage in our world: they know most people will believe their fabrications. The few that don’t accept the lie will be branded as paranoid rubes wearing tin-foil hats, so nothing they say will make a difference. 

If I told a hundred people that the president saved a dying child from rectal cancer by donating a chunk of his anus, I’m sure at least half of them would believe it. I’d back up my story by saying his oncoming bowel movements (which are urgent at this point) are the reason he stumbles and mumbles during speeches. A few people would say they thought it was because the teleprompters were on the fritz and that the exalted puppet was floundering without his prewritten personality. I’d laugh and patronize their inability to passively accept my lies, even though I know what they’re saying is true. People are trembling milksops when it comes to ridicule. After a few detractors are ostracized, the misinformation spreads and in a hundred years the mindless gerbils of tomorrow will remember the president as the man who struggled to keep it all in. 

Most people will deny being gullible by nature. The ones that do admit it will try to compensate with the internet. Like a strap-on dildo, the internet functions as an artificial organ. The unintelligent have a surrogate brain they can call on to determine their world for them.

“We live in the information age,” they’ll say, “Any lie can be disproven at the click of a button.”

People’s blind faith in technology is proof that God has left the sky and now resides in a glowing screen. Since technology is created and used by humans, wouldn’t it be flawed like humans? For instance, it’s still widely believed that the internet is used for information. Did you know that many people think the Huffington Post is a legitimate source for news? They actually believe that articles from the gaping Huffhole are researched, edited, fact-checked and proofread before publication. Granted, there are still people who believe the Salem witches were burned, so I’m not surprised that poorly-written, biased news sites are accepted as valid news sources.

A few years ago a “study” came out stating that Internet Explorer users have a lower IQ than people who use other browsers. Despite the fact that the original posting site was only a month old and filled with images from a non-related French research company, HuffSlow, along with other news outlets, ran with the story. The difference between shit-Huffers and other online subscribers is that a few readers from other sites questioned the story’s authenticity while HuffPo’s snark-vomiting commenters embraced the story and declared all of their perceived enemies to be IE users. Even though the article was eventually updated and recognized as a hoax (due to reports from the BBC), I’m sure there are still people who believe a preference for a product somehow determines a person’s intelligence. 

If I can do my part to aid in humanity’s decline I’ll feel like my life has had some meaning. If I can be a jerk to a total stranger for no reason, maybe they’ll pay that negativity forward. Maybe that negativity will travel through the ages and cause future generations to suffer. When I look at annoying clumps of wasted DNA in the present, I’m disappointed to think that nobody from the past did anything to prevent their existence, which makes people from bygone eras assholes. 

Mankind’s slide into oblivion is the only outcome that seems probable, so why delay it? Recycling and driving hybrid cars doesn’t mean anything when you produce more resource-suckling offspring. Educating people is worthless if they never learn to question their indoctrinators. At this point it’s almost as though people are biologically predestined to be walking embarrassments. If there ever was a hope for the world, it ceased to be long ago. Let’s destroy the future and ensure this sad joke can’t continue. It’s not like the future would be worthwhile; it’d be full of people. Who wants that?