YOU'RE A JERK

I came to a realization yesterday while walking to the subway station, I hate almost everything…EVERYTHING. Some dude walked by in a suit, and i’m thinking, “what a fag,” that dudes going to work and probably cheated on his taxes, loves Bush, hates his wife and spends all his money on whores. Then I saw some girl all fashioned out, and I was like, “loser fashion whore.” Then I saw some dude lookin real artsy carrying a portfolio, and I was like “fuckin liberal artsy shithead.” Basically, I realized I’m real quick to judge, and I hate shit just for the sake of hating shit. If I saw Jesus walking down the street I’d be like, “Clown. Trying to save peoples souls and shit.” Fuck it, If I saw myself I’d probably try to punch myself in the face, but since it’s me I’d duck that shit and I’d come back with a swift kick to my dome, but since I would know that was coming too, I’d probably just be fighting with myself on some Matrix shit. And then I’d be like, “Yo, that’s why you live with your moms!!” And I would say, “Yeah? well that’s why I’m sleeping with your girl,” “Then I’d be like where’d you cop that hoody…at the Jerk store?” At this point I’d get real heated again, cause I ain’t no jerk, and we’d start that whole Matrix fighting, but not hitting each other because we’re so fast thing all over again. Anyway, so I started thinking about things that I like, I mean, I understand I have issues so I have to start somewhere. My list was long at first, and it included eating, sleeping, reading books, women, music, etc, etc. Then I was like, come on, I can easily find hundreds of things to hate on in each of those categories. So I narrowed all the things I like down to a whopping ONE thing. That’s right…there is only one thing that I like through and through, one universal truth that truly has no faults, one thing that I will hold down consistently and never leave its corner: ORANGE MUTHERFUCKIN GATORADE….that shit is INCREDIBLE!!! You can stay out all night, shoot heron into your eyeball, wake up with half a chicken on your lap like my man DDD, and feel perfectly normal once that orange drink touches your lips. You have to be one miserable fuck to hate on orange Gatorade; that shit is like a combination of a morphine drip and the right side of the bed all mixed into one awkward colored drank. Please believe if I’ve got $1.50 in my pocket, a serious hang-over, and some blood shot eyes, I will be purchasing a frosty orange Gatorade.