Article by: Robert Dean
When Game of Thrones was the show every human on earth was obsessed with, I just… did not give a fuck.
Every week, people would invite me to a watch party, and my ex-wife would devour it - super wizards all tits out with dragons flying high above nuking towns and shit. I’m not too cool for school, but zombie ice battles and Jason Mamoa don’t tickle my fancy.
Show me Ye Old Times, and outside of Monty Python’s The Holy Grail, anything involving castles causes me instantly to black out due to boredom. Lord of the Rings* and The Hobbit are whack as hell, too. Don’t @ me.
(*Seriously, did LOTR need three movies? No. It did not. All it was, was a lot of walking and some homo-erotic little people with big ass feet.)
Plenty of my friends would tell you I’m a dedicated hater.
I live in my stupid little world, writing my stupid stories and reading books by dead French dudes.
I’ve seen one Marvel movie. Superheroes ain’t my thing. I like the Christopher Nolan Batman movies because if you don’t, you’re a sociopath. I’ve seen the Michael Keaton ones, along with Blade. But Iron Man or Hulk? Negative. I never got into comic books, so the fate of the Silver Surfer isn’t on my cultural radar.
The same goes with video games; I can play Tetris, Mario Kart, or the original Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater; that’s it. Fortnite or one of those shooter games? Oh my god. If you turn on the X-Box, I’m leaving.
As a Chicago White Sox fan, I hate the Chicago Cubs with a seething passion.
But you know what? I wouldn't say I like our fans, either.
Both are embarrassing. Cub fans are douchebags who don’t care about the team; just getting tanked.
In contrast, there’s a strong contingent of White Sox fans who bum rush the field, fight umps and one another, and are just flat-out gross as all hell – gotta love a collection of broskis who complain about political issues, race, and class when 70% of the roster is comprised of folks from the Caribbean who ain’t exactly white. Just because they can field a pop fly doesn’t denigrate their cultural experience to your whims of building a wall.
So yeah, I am a hater.
I started keeping a list; I had to write about the things that irked me so much.
Adults who say the following words:
Vacay + Friyay
Nom nom
Chicken Tendies – a person who says this eats like a 6-year-old, this is also the same person who cannot eat without drowning their food in ketchup, BBQ, or ranch. And if you’re an adult who keeps ranch in her purse = red flag.
“We did a thing,” and that “thing” is wildly mediocre, like buying a house or getting a puppy. If you’re going to “do a thing,” slaughter a cow with your bare hands or start cage diving with sharks for fun. We all love dogs, Angie.
Sammich or sando
“Adulting”
It’s “my birthday week” are you 14?
You can’t go out because it’s a “school night” – say you’re boring, that’s an acceptable answer.
Anything Gen Z says because I am clearly in middle age and shake my fist at the sky regularly with their hip ways, saying things like “rizz” and “bet.”
People who sing and dance in public places for attention
I love music. I have no problem with bands doing their thing or buskers working the EL stop for pocket change.
What I fucking loathe are people who are stuck in an airport and jump on the intercom and start rapping Sugarhill Gang, and some mom from Minnesota thinks it’s neat. Or when a musical theater cast bellow out a complete performance of The Lion King because they’re bored due to a flight delay.
I also can’t stand when you’re riding said EL train and a dork breaks out the acoustic guitar for social media; seriously, go fuck yourself. I’m trying to sit in silence with my dead French guy book, and now, we’ve got to endure your terrible song while your best pal holds the phone for Instagram. At least the people playing piano in airports are soothing.
The same goes for making TikTok videos while I’m trying to order a coffee. You wanna prance around in time with your co-worker? Do it off the clock, in the back.
I want my iced chai latte with two espresso shots, with no choreographed moves. I saw a video of a guy getting pasta, and then he belts out an opera tune due to excitement for Bolognese.
We get it, you’re all devoid of attention, and everything must be for social media. Keep your cool, spaceman. It’s three-star pasta, not Heidi Klum’s bedroom.
Nightclubs, lounges, and cocktail bars
I never want to go. Don’t invite me.
Theater
While we’re at it, I hate all forms of theater. If we’re dating, I will buy you the dopest tickets right in front. I’ll give you a few bucks for cocktails. Just don’t make me go.
I will want to die suffering through every second of Rent, Wicked, or 12 Angry Men. It’s not my space.
An ex-girlfriend took me to see Spam-a-Lot, the adaptation of Monty Python’s Holy Grail, and after 10 minutes of zany dance routines and songs, I wanted to off myself by slicing open the three cans of Bud Light I bought. I will bitch and complain the whole time. I will not have fun, and I will bum you out.
Take a friend. Take anyone but me.
And before you’re ready to go, “You should just go because your person would love to be there with you.” Really? You want to sit next to the idiot who’s openly told you they don’t want to go and would paint the house than sit through Hamilton? I would rather sit courtside for a gay orgy with much fisting and moaning than endure historical figures rapping. I’ll bring the towels and Gatorade.
House parties
I never want to come over. If you’re not my girlfriend, or we’re not in a band together and practice in your garage, I won’t be dropping by to hang out.
The same goes for house parties. House parties are weird. The music usually sucks because no one can read the room, playing what they want to hear. There’s food, but is it ever good? Rarely. And then you’re subjected to a lot of weird small talk with some dude your friend works with. Then you feel compelled not to be loud or make a mess.
Go to a tavern like ordinary people, where it’s ok to get shitfaced, a fine establishment where the jukebox democratically allows for better music than your Modest Mouse retrospective because you think it’s “chill.” And if I want to eat, I’ll order my own wings.
Bars are more accessible to the Irish goodbye. I can find other ways to ignore the weird co-worker, either by shots or finding a random and not be forced into small talk about work in your kitchen while we stare at the floor, me contemplating when’s the best time to slip out silently and into the night.
If you have too much to drink, you’re on your own. My nights of playing babysitter are over.
If you throw a house party and someone gets wasted, guess who’s on the hook for that mess? And if you’re throwing a party and no one gets wasted? You shouldn’t be throwing parties in the first place.
Speaking of bars, here’s a short list of things that suck:
Digital jukeboxes – when I enter a bar, I will pump it full of old country, rock and roll, and the blues. Because I have good taste, it’s all stuff that keeps the bar moving.
I worked in bars long enough to know that the battle between people skipping ahead with Bad Bunny and Pantera is exhausting for everyone drinking. I also know that a mix of Black Sabbath, Johnny Cash, and Stone Temple Pilots will always make a dive bartender money. Get a jukebox with CDs and create how you want the bar's patrons to feel in the space. Be a bar that plays Brittney Spears or be the bar that plays Howlin’ Wolf; rarely does anyone want to hear both.
And for the record, no one wants to drink with your dog or your kids. Bars are loud and full of drunk people. Leave the poodle at home.
Same with day drinking. No one wants to hang out with your eight-year-old. We want to say fuck a lot and not feel like we’re at a nursery because there’s always a parent who gets mad over someone killing talls and shots of Rumple at three in the afternoon, and he’s talking about eating butthole. Sorry, just because you ordered cheeseburgers on the patio doesn’t make this a safe space; it’s a bar.
Talking about kids
I’m a dad. I love my offspring. But really, outside of your kids and your nieces and nephews, do you really give a shit about anyone else’s kids? I highly doubt it.
Save the life updates for your phone call with your mom in the morning.
Comedians who play instruments
Music and comedy do not mix. I know Steve Martin, Cheech, and Chong made a career out of this shtick, but we didn’t have Bill Burr shitting on everything, and Dave Chappelle was in the 5th grade.
Comedy has evolved, and we don’t need some manic song about your parrot set to Ice Ice Baby. I'm leaving if you haul out the guitar during a comedy show.
Star Wars
This one breaks my heart. I have a Boba Fett tattoo. I loved Star Wars.
But can we agree that Disney ruined it? The Boba Fett show was so bad the Mandalorian had to save it. The two other trilogies suck, and every guy with adult acne doesn’t help when talking about how to make it better, except they get mad over black people being in space.
Star Wars has gotten to the point where generally, if someone in a Target Darth Vader t-shirt gives an opinion, it will likely be the worst seven minutes of your life.
All-inclusive resorts and cruises
Something fundamentally grinds my bones into dust when I think about an all-inclusive resort. People fly to exotic locations to be near clear water and experience a different culture, just the safe and sanitized version.
I do not want to go snorkeling with the group. I don’t want to stay on the private beach. Shouldn’t we be travelers who take community and culture at face value, letting their food and traditions be great teachers?
Being stuck behind gates, complete with anything that includes a variety show, is hell.
We should be helping local economies by staying in hotels, eating at the street stalls, and finding the local places for rum and coke. The paradigm of Capitalism teaches us that a safe resort is good and out there is scary.
Well, if we invested our tourist dollars into local communities, not just the parts where the prime rib is served twenty-four hours a day, things wouldn’t be so dire in the first place.
This also goes for cruises which are the same, just on water. Just say no to bad Bob Marley and Jimmy Buffet covers. No fancy dress-up night and no poolside games - I do not want to be anywhere that’s outside of American borders that sells nachos. Not now, not ever.
Corporate friendliness
I just love when there’s a big, dumb meeting that could have been an email. Especially the ones where people in leadership want to gab on about shit no one cares about unless the result of it going bad will end their meal ticket.
Pointless meetings are the worst. But what’s worse is feigning interest like you’re so excited a campaign converted or how office blabbermouth now reports to dickface who’s quietly fucking everyone over. Man, and then you’ll sit on a Zoom call, and they’ll all be smiling while talking about wins and losses. It’s the worst. Or that they care about your personal life.
You can see the mask of bullshit working right in front of you in real time. We work together; do we have to pretend we’re friends?
Remember the house party thing? The same goes for company outings.
Man, those suck. Forced conversation, usually a bunch of lanyards and glowing knickknacks you’ll throw away an hour later.
I walked past a company outing one time being held at Stubbs, and outside, a bunch of office drones was celebrating their tech company with a name like “HORIZON AI EXCELLENCE 2023,” and they were trying to pretend they liked wearing light-up baby blue cowboy hats to Abba songs that played over the speakers.
Sure, some more awkward people like forced social interactions because they can’t communicate normally. I noticed a trailer for livestock and knew they rented a longhorn for photo shoots, I mentioned it out loud while walking past, and the cowboy loading up smiled at me, knowing he just got paid.
Hair metal
If there’s one music I cannot stand, it’s every form of hair metal.
For the record, David Lee Roth-era Van Halen is NOT hair metal. They stole Dave’s look and pumped it up. “Unchained” still rips.
It's the worst whenever Poison, Motley Crue, or Quiet Riot comes on the radio. Growing up on the south side of Chicago with a dad who rides Harleys and a mom whose favorite bands are Alice in Chains and Black Sabbath, seeing dudes in teased hair singing about pussy did nothing for me. I have always hated glam, and I always will.
There is no instance where I’m like, “You know what? Skid Row ain’t too bad.” Punk rock made sense to me. Heavy metal, aka ugly bands like Metallica and Slayer, made sense.
Winger singing a ballad, nope. This is where I typically comment on committing Harakiri, but I’ve done enough of those for this essay. Just know I do not like it.
Disney Adults
I know this is low hanging fruit, but if you cry at the sight of a make-believe castle, or have a panic attack meeting a cartoon rodent, which is a short person in a hot suit, visit your therapist.
Robert Dean is a journalist, raconteur, and enlightened dumbass. His work has been featured in places like MIC, Eater, Fatherly, Yahoo, Austin American-Statesman, Consequence of Sound, Ozy, USA Today, to name a few. He’s appeared on CNN and NPR. He also serves as features writer for Hussy Magazine, Culture Clash, Pepper Magazine, and is editor in chief for Big Laugh Comedy, Texas’ premier comedy production company. He lives in Austin and loves ice cream and koalas. His new collection of essays, Existential Thirst Trap is out now.
