Friday, January 28, 2011

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Girls Who Go Into the Bathroom Together

What the hell are you doing in there? Are you snorting something? Are you talking about dudes? Are you making out? Are you holding one another’s hair whilst vomit spews about? Christ. I’m sure this didn’t have anything to do with the five consecutive shots I watched you do at the bar.

I DON’T CARE. I have been drinking since 5:15; kindly hurry the fuck up so I can pee.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Songs that Instruct You to Make Specific Motions

Including (but not limited to):

*Clap your hands

*Wave your hands in the air

*Shake it/Work it/Twirk it

*Get low

*Let me see [body part or suggestive motion]

*The Cupid Shuffle

*Anything to do to or with your ass

Notably exempt: ’80s rap.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Going-Out Tops

Christ, you girls look like fucking lollipops on denim sticks. No really, I just love when you’re all lined up in your interchangeable uniforms of black pumps, dark low-rise jeans and a plethora of hideous tops. It’s like a fanned-out deck of Ugly. I mean, nothing screams class like an ill-fitting stretchy purple halter top with gold chains dangling between your breasts, pink sequins along your cleavage and ruche-y douchey scrunch-it-up cords along the sides. You look like you’re wearing the tragic results of setting an 8-year-old girl loose with half of the trimmings aisle at Jo-Ann Fabrics, some hideous satin fabric and an inexhaustible glue gun.

What, this? This is a stained and threadbare T-shirt that was my absolute favorite in third grade because it has a red and white squirrel on the front. Then, in fifth grade, I tie-dyed it with this kit Michelle gave me for my birthday with like, dye-soaked cords you knotted around it. Yeah, I found it in my closet last Christmas and cut off the sleeves and neck. This thing is a fucking work of art.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Axe Body Spray

Oh, my. What is that undeniably sexy smell? All of a sudden I have the intense urge to tear off all of my clothes and rub myself all over you, dude in the black button-up shirt who has indulged in copious amounts of hair gel. I can hardly tell that you purchased your fragrance of choice at the local CVS, most likely along with a sixer of Bud and yet another economy-sized box of condoms (it’s sad when those suckers expire, isn’t it, dude?). My nose is not at all burning with the slightly acrid scent emanating from your furred chest—and it’s kind of awesome that I can smell you all the way over on the other side of the bar, where I am currently huddled, sneezing. And the fact that, even after I exit this bar, leaving you to wend your merry way to Midtown, your manufactured man musk lingering in my nasal cavity will only make me want you all the more. I would send you an impassioned Missed Connection, oh sensuous stranger, but your utter manliness is just too much for me. Until I can gather up the moxie to make you mine, I believe I will persist in pursuing soft, pale dudes who carry the scent of grass, cigarette smoke and unwashed clothing. It’s probably better this way. Good luck breaking in those ‘doms, man.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Initials Used as Names

TJ, JP, AJ, KD — all synonymous with douche.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Baby Hipsters

Hello child, currently masticating a chocolate croissant in my sight line—the brown-stained pastry whirling around in your gaping mouth like horrifically soiled sheets—I do not find you amusing. Although you are cleverly disguised so as to look “hip,” what with your tiny Replacements T-shirt and artistically disheveled hairdo, I recognize you for what you are: a wailing, whimpering, slightly damp excuse for a human being. Yes, your parents may be attractive in an I’m-way-too-fucking-old-to-live-in-Williamsburg-but-I’m-gonna-rock-this-sleeve-tat-anyway kind of way, but their tragically fading hotness is not enough to overshadow the horror that is you. Please remove yourself from this eating establishment. Brunch is not for fucking kids.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Today's Stuff I Hate by Harms

Pimped-Out Cars

I’m sorry about your penis.