It’s not easy being this hateful you know. It’s taken years of life’s inevitable disappointments and broken dreams to reach this level of contempt I have for much of the human race. When I was young, like most of us I guess, I was full of joyful optimism and boundless ambition. There was a genuine feeling that I could achieve anything I wanted to. But as I’ve got older it’s become abundantly clear that I’m not going to play for Celtic or become a famous actor. I’ve even had to accept that it’s probably too late for me to be in a shitty boy band, even if X-Factor now has a category for over 28 year olds, and if I faked a mental illness and made up some story about being sexually abused by a troupe of disabled Smurfs when I was growing up in a children’s home, then I’d have a fighting chance of at least making it through to Bootcamp.
So while it looks like I’m destined to trundle through the rest of my days in a blaze of mediocrity, I’m left with one crumb of comfort to ease the disappointment.......my love of hating things. Now as my mother always used to say “hate” is a very strong word, but the older I get the more I find myself increasingly hating lots of people and things.
I come from a long line of haters, my dad was full of hate and his dad was particularly bitter and spiteful. Growing up some of my earliest memories are of my father’s venom aimed at certain icons of popular culture – Michael Parkinson, George Best, Terry Wogan and in particular the legendary tennis commentator Dan Maskell (my dad actually celebrated when he died......he used to say “that cunt Maskell used to ruin Wimbledon for me every year”!!) my dad hated them all with a vengeance. I used to wonder where he mustered all this contempt from; I mean what did Parky ever do to him? I agree that his interviewing style could at times be sycophantic, particularly when he was chatting to someone iconic like Muhammad Ali, but as a child I found it difficult to see how you could hate someone so much you’d never met.
But now as I get older I can to relate to these bitter feelings my father had, and more worryingly I find that I’m having them more and more myself. It started off innocently enough, with mild irritation aimed towards complete Bellends such as Paul Ince, Steve Redgrave and Frederico from Big Brother 4. But that wide eyed, innocent dislike has now evolved into a pathological distain for much of the human race.
I come from a long line of haters, my dad was full of hate and his dad was particularly bitter and spiteful.
I now hate loads of famous people, but for me what makes it worse is that I actively seek out the objects of my wrath!! For example I hold Katie Price and Peter Andre in the utmost contempt. Their vacuous existence repulses me to the core, and the fact that they take it in turns to parade their poor wretched children on television in order to gain publicity and score petty points over each other verges on satanic cruelty in my eyes, yet despite this I fucking watch these pathetic pantomimes on ITV 2, just to revel in my hatred.........and the worst thing of all is I actively enjoy it.
My most recent hate figure is Gavin Henson, and thankfully I’ve had maximum exposure to him recently. Not only is he prancing around sub-standardly in Strictly Come Dancing, he also appeared on ITV 1’s reality series 71 Degrees North, where a bunch of washed up celebs whinge it out against each other in a pitiful attempt to convince themselves and the viewers that they’re doing “the toughest thing they’ve ever had to do” whilst they get chauffeured all the way to the North Pole. Gav saw himself as a bit of an all round action man, and was apparently ready to lay down his life in order to win the competition. It’s just a shame he wasn’t willing to demonstrate that same sort of commitment to the rugby club he was supposedly contracted to. For every shambolic dance step, or humiliating ritual he is forced to perform on a Ski-Doo, I find myself glued to the screen basking in my hatred for this chump who’s reminiscent of Jonny Bravo’ retarded cousin.
When I watch all this shit, it’s like some sort of toxic Ready-Brek fuelling a dark force inside me. Bruno Tonioli is like the evil emperor in Star Wars encouraging me, a young Anakin Skywalker to join the Dark Side and revel in Gav’s ultimate humiliation; a poorly performed Argentine Tango.
So it seems as though this is what it’s come to, a hateful and petty existence where I feast on the misfortune and humiliation of those public figures I’ve haphazardly chosen to hate. I believe it’s called schadenfreude, where you derive pleasure from the misfortune of others, and there seems no doubt that I am afflicted with this particular character trait. Perhaps it’s genetic and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m probably doomed to spend the rest of my life watching I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here becoming mildly aroused at the prospect of one of those trouts off of Loose Women having electric eels clamped to her nipples whilst being hung upside down over a steaming pile of kangaroo shit. That’s the sort of thing that makes me happy these days, and man is that depressing. I’m starting to hate myself...
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