"God, how I hate solemn funerals. When I die, take me into a room and burn me. Then my family and a few good friends should get together, have a few good belts, and talk about the crazy old time we all had together."

She can love kids and be a good person and still go back to being a hooker without a second thought because that's just business. I hate the cliché, whether it's the whore with a heart of gold or that stupid, self-sacrificing stuff, like Stella Dallas. You know, the guy loves her anyway, or he's a phony but someone genuine turns up, or she walks away in the rain. Whatever the ending, it's phony and it stinks.

I hate Bukowski and William Burroughs and Jim Thompson, and — Who else are they always bringing up? — Hunter Thompson. I hate that kind of writing, I hate to be compared to these guys, because look at the hugeness of my work. Look at the formalism. Look at the layering. Look at the plot structure. Look at the complexity.

I hate myself for lovin' you and the weakness that it showed You were just a painted face on a trip down Suicide Road. The stage was set, the lights went out all around the old hotel, I hate myself for lovin' you and I'm glad the curtain fell. I hate that foolish game we played and the need that was expressed And the mercy that you showed to me, who ever would have guessed? I went out on Lower Broadway and I felt that place within, That hollow place where martyrs weep and angels play with sin. Heard your songs of freedom and man forever stripped, Acting out his folly while his back is being whipped. Like a slave in orbit, he's beaten 'til he's tame, All for a moment's glory and it's a dirty, rotten shame. There are those who worship loneliness, I'm not one of them, In this age of fiberglass I'm searching for a gem. The crystal ball up on the wall hasn't shown me nothing yet, I've paid the price of solitude, but at last I'm out of debt. Can't recall a useful thing you ever did for me 'Cept pat me on the back one time when I was on my knees. We stared into each other's eyes 'til one of us would break, No use to apologize, what diff'rence would it make? So sing your praise of progress and of the Doom Machine, The naked truth is still taboo whenever it can be seen. Lady Luck, who shines on me, will tell you where I'm at, I hate myself for lovin' you, but I should get over that.

I hate being a thing.

Women HATE women. You get any two girlfriends in this room, been girlfriends for 25 years, you put a man in between them, "Fuck that bitch, " "Fuck that bitch." Guys are not like that. Guys actually think that there are other fish in the sea, and if a guy introduces his boy to his new girlfriend, and when they walk away, his boy goes, "Aww man, shes nice, I gotta get me a girl LIKE that." If a woman introduces her new man to here girlfriend, and they walk away, her girlfriend goes "I gotta get HIM, and I will slit that bitches throat to do it." Every girl in here got a girlfriend they don't trust around their man.

I hate you. Why? Because you paste your weblog address in everyone else's comment sections, trying to get everyone to come and look at your crappy weblog - thus negating everything you've just said. Oh the irony.

Weblogs suck ass. What the fuck is up with this shit? Fuck. Who the fuck cares what these people think about oatmeal or what the UN did last week? Nobody! Who reads these weblogs? Nobody! Maybe fellow weblog authors read each others weblogs out of a sense of desperation...the feeling that if they read someone else's weblog, someone will read theirs. It's kindof like cooperative advertising too, people will cross-post, linking weblog entries to each other's weblogs. How fucking pathetic is that? I hate weblogs. There are so few reasons to keep a weblog, and so many of these are fucking stupid while so few of them are legitimately non-brainfucked. The problem of course, is people. In general, people are fucking stupid, so many of the things they do are fucking stupid. I fucking hate weblogs, they are so fucking stupid.