HATE# 54: WEBSITES THAT START PLAYING MUSIC AUTOMATICALLY

These sites are most well known for pissing the shit out of everyone. They went out of their way to include an extremely annoying and superfluous feature in a feeble attempt to make themselves seem more appealing. Websites that play music automatically are the really big sunglasses of the internet. They are the rhinestones on the internet's cell phone cover. They are the kissy face the internet makes in every picture. It's more irritating than America Online and more useless than Linked In. As if listening to what sounds like an 6 year old play the piano or the sound track to a yoga class is going to make me fall deeply in love with your site. Most likely what will happen is that I'll forget my volume settings, go deaf upon entering your site and won't want or won't be able to use whatever crummy product you're peddling. This is right up there with the advertisements featuring huge cocks right next to your streaming porn video and Flash videos.

HATE # 53: RAISING AWARENESS

Hello everyone. I'm glad you had a second to join us today because I'd like to discuss a dire issue that affects all of us: Raising Awareness.

Man, it even feels douchey typing that out.

By definition, raising awareness refers to alerting the general public that a certain issue exists and should be approached the way the group desires. So basically these people want to help a charity without doing anything or giving any money? Well good job creating this Facebook fan page about the environment because to be honest with you, I had no fucking clue what the environment was until you invited me to your shitty little group here. I also wanted to say thank you, because before you enlightened me as to the existence of such trendy issues, I used to walk up to people with AIDS, obnoxiously point and say, "They do exist," as if they were a giant, talking peanut M&M. In all that time you spent making Facebook groups, coloring, passing out pamphlets that people immediately threw away and beating your dick, you could have actually been doing something useful. So to my roommate, next time we are out of dish soap, instead of being like, "Bro, we're running low on dish soap," why don't you just go out and buy some goddamn dish soap?

What type of person raises awareness? Clown-faced dickholes, that's who. These guys try to get commended for being lazy, cheap douches, who only want to "help" people so they can walk around telling everyone about the organization they're affiliated with, even people who don't ask. Correction, especially people who don't ask. Conversely, the people out there doing the hard work get crucified. For example: I'm pretty sure everyone in my office is well aware of the overweight female employee stationed in HR. But who is going to rip on her until she develops an eating disorder and drops the weight? This guy. And does anyone thank me? Never. Apprently I'm the jerk. And whether or not she drops that weight, I would gladly get drunk, tell her I liked her for her and raise some awareness for all of my sexual deficiencies. She'll then continue to raise awareness by hysterically laughing about my schmeckle with her friends later. We get it; the world is plenty aware now, but isn't anyone going to actually help me? And don't say Extenz. Trust me, it doesn't work.

I understand that by writing this post I am raising awareness for raising awareness. Oh, and look, nothing happened. It's like googling google, which I am about to do, but if the world implodes or all electronics stop working or something then, um, I didn't do it.

But seriously folks, if you would really like to help "raising awareness" you can easily send a check or money order to Ultimate Hatelist Studios, P.O. Box 4914, Orlando, Florida, 32802. Or you can call and pledge an amount at 281-330-8004. Hit the UHL up on the low, because the UHL about to blow.

All this being said, I have no idea who that Darfur guy is. Why is he such a dick?

HATE #52: GOING TO THE DOCTOR

If the hatelist were an exclusive restaurant, 'Going to the Doctor' would be able to walk in at 8pm without a reservation and get seated at the good table in the back by the window next to the Olsen twins. If you combined some of my least favorite things into one thoroughly unpleasant experience, you would undoubtedly wind up with a trip to the doctor's office. Comprised of waiting in line, filling out paperwork, spending money, getting sexually violated, being lectured and not being in a bar, the doctor's office truly is worse than the sum of its still pretty bad parts.

So when you go to check-in at the doctor's office, the first thing you have to do, of course, is shamelessly hit on the receptionist, who is obviously repulsed because you're at an STD clinic, before eventually finding an empty seat next to the person who looks the least contagious. After waiting for a seemingly infinite span of a few minutes, you begin to grow bored of all the toys in the waiting room, especially that one where you just move the beads from one end of the squiggly wire to the other. To make matters worse, some bastard kid circled all of the hidden pictures in the 8 month old Highlights magazine. Yea, I still see a pediatrician, what of it? I insist it's because I'd like to keep the number of distinguished older gentlemen who've cupped my balls to a minimum, but we all really know it's because my mother still makes all of my appointments (and accompanies me to them). Whoa, wait a second, an STD pediatrician? That makes no sense. Just shut up and go with it.

You never knew how much you took a broken Etch-A-Sketch for granted until after they move you into the patient room with no external stimuli whatsoever. Then, when the doctor finally does come in, the first thing he does is yell at you for playing with the latex gloves and having a boner. I'm not sure which part of the following sequence I hate more: The holding back of his uncontrollable laugher upon seeing my pathetic excuse for an infant's penis, or the condescending and gravely concerned monologue he gives after sifting through a thicket of pubes and discovering a hodgepodge of STD's. The doctor's diagnosis was that my penis is essentially the exact same thing as an AIDs needle except not as hard. And as if that wasn't enough, this in turn forces me to immediately review my mental database of regrettable sexual encounters with strumpets I picked up off the floor of a bar at 4:00am. There was the chick that resembled the Michelin Man, the Pigeon Lady from Home Alone 2, and a girl who looked like the lead singer from The Cure, to name a few. However, This is probably more efficient than my regular method of STD detection, which consists of having unprotected sex with someone and then making them get tested to see if they caught anything from me. Although convenient in terms of saving a trip to the doctor, this way frequently results in the contraction of two different STDs.

Anyways, a probably more relatable grievance with a doctor's visit manifests itself in their degrading facts and medical opinions that you obviously already know. "Well, according to your test results here I've concluded that you are out of shape.""If you keep drinking like this, you're going to need a new liver by the time you're 30" Well no shit, you cock-hole. You saw my penis; booze is all I have. They then go on to lecture you about how a diet based around Dunkaroos, Fundip, Reece's Peanut Buttercup Cereal, Jim Beam and those crackers with dipping cheese that are kind of like Dunkaroos is not a healthy lifestyle. It's like paying a bully to pick on you. It especially seems true when his medical procedures involve pantsing you in front of the nurse. Insert generic prostate exam joke here.

At the end of this day of torture, you never leave any healthier than when you came in and you get stuck having to pay for it. It's like date raping a girl and then sending her a bill for the rufees. The only way to really stick it to them is to pee on the sides of the cup they give you and then look at the nurses face when you hand it to her. What? No lolly pop? No Yikes pencil? No sticky hand? Fine, I'll just order 1,000 of each from the Oriental Trading Catalogue when I get home.

My wallets gone!

HATE #51: CHANGING THE CHANNEL AT A BAR

There are many things in this world that are inherently difficult; for example running a marathon, checking your fantasy team at work without getting caught and learning to use the mouse with your left hand so you can continue to beat off while seamlessly navigating through several different pornographic website free trials. Changing the channel of a TV, however, should not be one of them. It seems no matter what bar I am at changing the channel is always a huge ordeal. The bar has seven TVs playing a muted episode of PTI while you are begging them to put on the playoff game you bet your prized Rocksteady and Bebop action figures on. 15 game minutes later, three bartenders start fumbling around with 12 remotes searching on a piece of paper for what channel FOX is while changing every TV except the one you are sitting by. It's kind of like when I awkwardly prod my fingers around the inside a women's hoo-ha while constantly searching for a facial expression that doesn't look pissed. Then, five minutes after they finally get the game playing on the non-HD channel with the closed captioning blocking the score, the channel starts randomly changing again because the same bartender is trying to find a high school soccer game that some douche came to watch. I swear, this exact sequence of events happens literally every time. If I ended up on the news for murdering a bar full of people, do you think the bar you were at would be able to put it on? And for the record, the Stanley Cup finals take priority over a June Devil Rays game.

Honorable Mention: The fact that so many bars have flat screen TVs that aren't in HD. I know I make a big deal out of HD stuff a lot, but why the hell would you buy the HDTV and not the get the service? It's like a level 70 Call of Duty Player buying condoms. Why don't you just stop by my grandma's house and take her '93 Zenith instead?