I thought to myself, "Self," (that's what I call myself) - "what better way to start off my debut in blogging than to talk about how much I hate people."
It all started when I was born.   Here I was, completely happy - hanging out in the womb and next thing you know - some asshole is cutting on me, putting me on a cold metal table and eventually into the arms of some schmuck that later came to be known as "mom".

Don't get me wrong -  I'm sure she was a good mom sometime between hits on the crackpipe and trips to the liquor store when she was forced to sober up because she used up my college savings to fund her chemical endeavors.  I did learn alot from dad. Hey, I turned out okay.  Except for a small chip on my shoulders and an appreciation for stupidity - I'm a pretty normal guy.

I work in a factory. I work on cars and I manage people.   If God ever decided to kill off the least educated rednecks in the world - he wouldn't flood the earth.  He would flood factories and hunting stores in Southern Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana.  No need to use more water than necessary, ya know.

I have a family, a great (and hot) wife with a family almost as dysfunctional as mine and two awesome kids that despite their heritage, amazingly enough seem to be normal thus far.  (well, as normal as any awkward-feeling teenager can be)

Speaking of family, what better group to alienate on my first blog entry than my family.  Memorial Day weekend, I have my family and my wife's family over for a cookout on our new deck (mistake no 1).  Aside from the typical, superficial border-line catty banter between her mom and mine, I find myself as with most holidays - talking about nonother than work.

I know what you're thinking-- yep, another suburbian workaholic dad.  I assure you, there is nothing in the world I would rather NOT being doing on the rare occasion of a day off than be stuck by my grill with an empty beer in my hand with an obscure relative asking me trivial questions about the transmission in their 1980's model riceburner.    

I sat there, listening to my cousin (is a cousin really a relateive ANYWAY?) pondering the thought of pressing my forehead to the hot coals on the grill to end the madness. Then, out of nowhere - it happened.  I snapped.   I believe the words spoken (or.. slurred...) were something to the affect of "Look, Chuck - I don't give a damn about your civic and I'm tired of working on it for free - especially on what seems to be every holiday weekend - now you or your trailer-trash wife need to hand me another beer or I'll burn the hamburgers and really be pissed"

So, looking back, maybe it wasn't such a good thing to say. People are way too damned sensitive.

A small fistfight, a call to the cops in what seemed to remind me of a Springer episode and I'm sure after the ego wounds heal, all will return to normal.    The summary of this blog posting -- people I hate #1 - pushy, drunk, redneck, illiterate half-relatives with crappy cars and a shoddy left-hand jab.

This ones' for you, Chuck.

John