Realist

I hate cheerful people, with their silly little pink, rosy delusions that they call dreams. Let me clue you in on something you poor things. Life is a series of misfortunes, with occasional happy events. You get to see your parents die, loosing keys, constant fear of getting fired (from the job you hate anyways), dating (enough said), spouse cheating (and rip your heart out), or you cheating on spouse (take your kids, and money in court), pets die, debts (you can't pay off in your lifetime), all kinds of diseases, bad sex, excessive body hair, eating random junk food (unless you mastered puking), having kids (changing diapers, sleepless nights, constant nagging for money, puberty, only to finally call you once a year to ask for more money), sitting on gum, bad hair, dentists, people who dress up their dogs, people who are late for dates and never call, slow waiters, crowded trains/busses, laundry/cleaning, taxes and big Brooklyn cockroaches. Hope i said enough to convince you to kill yourselves (you happy ass fuckers).

I hate people who get excited when they get a memo at work about having to work on the weekend. What kind of sick, lonely, have-no-life, brownnoser celebrates having to get up at 7 am on Saturday and Sunday?! I hate hypocritical assholes who tell me to "relax" when i'm juggling five things. I'll relax when i want to relax, and save me your worldly wisdom, because when the shit hits the fan, you will be the fist one to freak out.