Other posts related to hatred

Despite hating Valentine’s Day and hoping all who celebrate it die a horrific, violent death, I’m still a sap

Lincoln Adams | February 14, 2010 @ 1:32 pm

In the world of geocaching, people can release what’s called travel bugs, which can be any small item you’d like attached to a dog tag that travels from geocache to geocache. You can monitor their journey online too to learn where they’ve been and where they might be going.

To join in the fun, I decided to release two travel bugs of my own. So I went out and bought split heart necklaces, then took one half of the necklace and dropped it off at a cache in Boston, while the second half will be dropped off somewhere in Manhattan today on Valentine’s. The goal is for these two travel bugs to somehow find their way back to each other with the help of cachers so that they may be whole again.

I told you, I’m a disgusting sap. :bleh:

Ironically enough, today also marks the 10th anniversary from when I was evicted from my home. Ten long years. It seemed the height of irony that an act of cruelty and hatred which forever altered the course of my life would occur on this day, but it did, and I have hated Valentine’s with a passion ever since. But even before then I despised the day, having to watch as couples snuggled and called each other schmoopies while it was all I could do to keep myself from pouring lighter fluid on them and then dropping a lit match. God, why won’t these disgusting happy couples just DIE, or get herpes or something?

But anyhoo…

I’m determined not to let the day get to me. I have been so far removed from the traumas of the past that I think it’s time I learn to let it go and move on with my life. I still have many plans and places I want to visit, many new experiences to be had, and much delicious pizza to sample.

So Happy Valentine’s Day to all you disgusting, diseased riddled perverts. May you find your flowers rife with poisonous thorns, your chocolates filled with dung, and your greeting cards laced with acid. :ggrin:



To my readers: Do you wubs me?

Lincoln Adams | January 5, 2010 @ 6:55 pm

For those who have been reading this blog for some time, you’ll know that I occasionally like to use cute terms like “wubs” and “snuggles” and “sugar pot bon bon bunny cakes.”

I do it because it’s silly, it lightens the mood, and it tends to evoke more than a few laughs. :rofl:

But who knew the darkness and virulent hatred that could spring forth just from using what I THOUGHT were innocuously harmless terms.

For this, I blame women.

I knew something was amiss because I had been using the same terms on a message board a few days ago, and this woman just went off on me on how she is not a child and could never respect anyone who said he “wubs” her and that men who did that are sex depraved, immature, stupid or some such thing.

So naturally I called her a whore.

Anyhoo, I always assumed (there I go assuming again) that the girl of my dreams would appreciate these terms of endearment, and that when you’re so in love with someone it’s only natural to start using silly terms of endearment. I didn’t expect that women could take such offense at it to the point that they’d start tearing their hair out and writing naughty things about me on bathroom walls.

So, in order to settle the matter, I’ve decided to take a poll! :D

Depending on the results, if it’s readily clear that I am perceived as being something less of a manly man because I “wubs” just a bit too much, then I vow that I will never make use of such terms again. After all, far be it from me to scare away the girl of my dreams for saying “cuddly lumps boom boom honey pie” one time too many. :wub:

Do you find my usage of baby terms such as "wubs" to be cute and acceptable, or do you find it immature and stupid?






View Results

Loading ... Loading ...


From a Rock Star to a Nobody: Why My Social Life Peaked at Kindergarten

Lincoln Adams | April 27, 2009 @ 10:30 am

Lately I’ve been thinking about how simple life was back in kindergarten.  Yeah I know, I’m going WAY back here, but bear with me. :D

I started school for the first time shortly after I had been diagnosed with a profound hearing loss, and sentenced to wear clunky hearing aids that might as well have earned me the nickname Satellite Ears (I actually did get called that later on in junior high.)

When I started kindergarten though, nobody seemed to notice.  I was just one of the kids, and for some reason, I was genuinely liked by almost everyone.  Kids would meet me for the first time and instantly decided they liked me, even to the point of crying if I was apart from them for too long.  I never really understood why, but it felt good to be in an environment where people really enjoyed having me around, even if we were all 5 years old.

I remember the playground too, and how this one skinny kid from another class would peel back his eyelids and then chase me around like some kind of monster.  Scared the crap out of me too, until one of my newfound friends saw it happening and beat the living snot out of him.  Seriously, you have not lived until you see a 5 year old whaling on another 5 year old dweeb just because he had been bothering me too much.  It is truly a wondrous sight to behold. :D

My tight circle of  buddies continued to hold together throughout first grade, until the powers that be decided that my hearing disability wasn’t holding me back after all, and I could start the second grade at a normal school rather than the special school I was attending then with all my slimy shady friends.

So just like that, I got dropped into the second grade.  Suddenly, my social circle was gone, and once again I was a stranger in a strange land.  Only this time, no one befriended me.  There were no easy and instant friendships to be had here.  For the first time,  I was alone.

I only remember having one friendship during that time, and it didn’t last long.  I think we met in the third grade and got sort of close, but when fourth grade started, he decided he just didn’t like me anymore.  It was a completely new experience for me, and I couldn’t understand how somebody could just decide out of the blue that they no longer wanted to be friends with me.  I spent that WHOLE year trying to figure it out, confronting him, asking him, pleading with him for answers, until he teamed up with some tall, fat, ugly foured-eyed geekball and had him pound on me every time I got near my now former friend.  The experience was so bad that my 4th grade teacher would give me unsatisfactory scores on my report card over my ability to get along with other kids.  Stupid teacher.

And you know, I wasn’t trying to be a brat here.  I just wanted to know why he didn’t like me anymore.  I NEEDED to know.  Why, just, why?  Tell me why?!  But he wasn’t saying.

Eventually 4th grade was coming to a close, and the fat, ugly ape-boy my ex-friend had latched on to decided he really enjoyed beating me up just for the heck of it too.   I had to hide out in the bushes or under a slide somewhere just so I could get the frick away from this lardface.  Every school day was a nightmare for me.  I couldn”t even stay inside for much needed relief from all the beatdowns because it wasn’t allowed.  Nooo,  I had to go outside and play because it was “good exercise.”   Yep, it certainly was great exercise running for my fricking life from the playground’s resident baboon every day.

Then one weekend I happened to see a movie about this high school student who kept getting whaled on by bullies, so he hired some biiiiiiiig dude to be his bodyguard.  Eventually they became friends too.

That made me think about things.

I don’t remember how, but eventually I found and befriended a tall, black kid and asked him if he was willing to be my bodyguard, and if he was, I’d pay him 50 cents.  He heartily agreed, cementing what would be my first ever successful business  negotiation.

The next time I went on the playground,  tubby four eyed freakbag once again began his pursuit after me… until he was clotheslined by my new bodyguard. :D  And just for good measure, Newly Hired Bodyguard began smacking him around until he knocked off his Woody Harrelson glasses and made Lardface cry.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

That finally brought me the relief I needed until 4th grade mercifully ended a few weeks later.  I don’t know what happened to my bodyguard, but he must have moved after that summer, because I never saw him again.  It’s a shame, because we were just starting to become good friends too.

Fortunately, the playground’s resident ape had also apparently moved, because I don’t remember seeing him at all during 5th grade.  My ex-friend was still around, but at that point I had finally given up and decided to just let things be.  We were stuck in the same math class that year, but one day he had dropped all his books on the floor, and I promptly helped him pick it up.  When I did that I guess he saw that even after all we went through, I still had no malice towards him, and whatever antipathy he had for me then had at that moment finally melted away.  We chatted on the playground that same day, but afterwards I just left him alone.  He eventually found his own circle of friends to hang out with while I floated around.

I think then that’s when I officially became a loner.  It started happening in the second grade, but my horrendous experience in 4th grade really cemented it for me.  Somewhere along the way, I was no longer instantly liked.  Instead, most people either shunned me or decided right on the spot that I was the most repugnant thing they had ever seen in the history of mankind.  And while 5th grade brought a small reprieve from all that animosity, my experience in junior high  saw it being raised to new heights.  I wasn’t just picked on.  I was spit on, beaten, chased after, all before I even had a chance to do anything that could even make the kids loathe me like that.  I mean I barely had a chance to say boo before I’d get pounded on like a piece of meat.  There were times when I really reacted badly to it all (mostly by taking it out on my parents), but as I look back, I realize I was just a kid who was just trying to make sense of all the hatred.

It wasn’t till I started high school in another town that things finally began to calm down.  During that time I met a guy who would be my first ever (and last) best friend, a close friendship that lasted over ten years.  Other than that though I was pretty much a loner.  I hated social circles and gatherings because I never felt like I belonged, and more importantly, I never felt welcomed either.

As grownups now, we’ve learned to be more polite (sometimes) when it comes to company we don’t like having around.  But even then, I could always tell when I wasn’t wanted.  There was this sense of awkwardness too because I felt no connection with the people I socialized with, no matter what circle or club or group it happened to be.  Whatever magic I once had in kindergarten, it was gone forever now.  To this day, I have still not found any place where I can feel like I truly belong.  Perhaps that’s my destiny now, and if it is, I’m willing to accept that.  The world sucks anyway.

But every now and then, I’ll remember that time in kindergarten, and what it was like to be the guy that everyone truly loved and enjoyed being with.  And when I do, I can feel the loss.   The loss of being connected.  Of being a part of something special.



I hate women, and yet all my friends are… women?

Lincoln Adams | August 21, 2008 @ 6:06 pm

It’s no secret that one of my favorite pastimes is to bash women and their womenly ways on a regular basis, being that I’m an acidic women hating hairy baboon and all.

And yet oddly enough, it only occurred to me recently that most of the people I chat with and consider myself friends with are… women?? :blink:

So I decided to do some research. I went back and evaluated how many guys and gals touched bases with me over the past year, then cut out those I either hadn’t known long enough or whom I rarely ever spoke with.

As it turns out, over 83% of the people I consider myself friends or good acquaintances with were all WOMEN. :wideeyed: The number of women I talk to on a regular basis outnumbered the guys by a ratio of 5 to 1.

Dude, whaaa__?

But I also noticed something else: ALL of the women I knew were married or at least 5 years older than me. In fact, to this day I have yet to make a woman friend who was both single and within the ages of 18-30. Unsurprisingly enough, this also happens to be the same group I reserve all my virulent, bile, acidic hatred for, so much that within the underground women-hating movement I’m widely known under the callsign of KILLBITCH.

I’ve asked around about this, and from what I’ve been told so far, many single, young women are basically stupid-ass creatures who don’t get over themselves until they either hit their thirties, or they get married, or both. And sometimes not even then. Mind you this is women telling me this, but who knows, maybe my misogynism was rubbing off on them. :D

Anyone else have any theories? Why is it so easy for me to make friends with married or older women, and yet it is a bitch and an ass and a half when they’re single and around my age?



Abandon My Church? YES I CAN!

Lincoln Adams | June 1, 2008 @ 5:27 pm

So it seems like B. Hussein Osama Obama has finally resigned from his cracknuts church. I didn’t even know you could resign from a church, but besides that, didn’t he say he couldn’t disown Wright or his church anymore than he could his own family? I guess I must have missed the last part, “…unless it interferes with my political ambitions.”

I don’t know what’s worse, him basically conceding the fact that he joined a church for political reasons (and then left it for political reasons), or him appearing genuinely surprised and shocked (SHOCKED!) to hear of the racist, anti-American venom that continues to be spewed from the pulpit on a regular basis. Really, 20 years and he has no idea? It only took Oprah Winfrey 2 years before realizing how batsh&% insane Rev. Wright could get, so what’s Barry’s excuse?

This all seems wrong though. Wasn’t Obama supposed to be the Chocolate Messiah come down from heaven to save us whiteys from ourselves, all in a spirit of true Hope and Change™? Yes we can!! And that upon the rock of Daily Kos weenies he would build his church, and the gates of hell would not prevail against it? Yes we can!!

And yet the man who portrays himself as the very symbol of racial unity and snuggleness throws his entire church under the bus, not because he disagrees with them so much, but mainly because he just doesn’t want to see those poor wonderful folks suffer the national scrutiny that comes from running in a Presidential election. (Read: I don’t want Whitey America to find out just how buggernuts bonkos insane my church of 20+ years can really get.)

Good Lord, what a dillweed.

Is there even anything about Trinity United Church of Christ that would be remotely Christian to begin with? A church that would seem to support separatism, promote the agenda of a single race while villifying another, honor anti-semitic scumbags like Louie Farrakhan, support abortion on demand, and hold fast to Marxist principles, all while abandoning the more orthodox teachings of the Bible?

If this is a true Christian church, then the Easter Bunny is my Daddy.

Despite the Obamessiah’s attempts to distance himself from this crowd, it actually does a lot to explain his dangerous political ideology, and especially why it was only recently that his wife could finally say she was proud of her country. Oy.

God forbid this guy should win, or Jimmy Carter will end up getting his second term after all. :wall:



Resurrection Sunday

Lincoln Adams | April 8, 2007 @ 10:59 am

This should be a joyous day to be sure. It reminds us of Christ’s accomplished work on the cross, His resurrection, and the promise that sin now no longer has any dominion over us. We can now be saved by grace, not by works.

So millions today will go to church, say their prayers, and take communion while their pastors piously reflect on the true meanings of Easter. And for millions, it will mean nothing more to them than just a boring tradition that they follow every year, a reason to get out of the house. They will spend time with families they can’t stand, fire up the TV so they can watch the ballgame, then drink themselves into a near drunken coma while they feast on roasted lamb. The kids will scream and run completely amuk after they have sampled the sugar-ridden baskets of chocolates and jelly beans, or wail at the top of the lungs because they couldn’t find the easter eggs while parents try vainly to console them by feeding them even more sugar.

And then people wonder why I hate the holidays.

Honestly, it’s times like this when I think I’ve been wired so differently that I’m the only one who seems unable to abide by the hypocrisy that especially seems to come out during this time of year. If you can’t stand your family, why spend time with them? If you don’t want to go to church, why go? Why put on a show of piety when your heart is clearly elsewhere? It’s better to be true to yourself than to fake your way around. And yet so many “dissemble themselves in their hearts” on these occasions, mostly because I suspect they fear alienation. They dread the thought of being more principled and true to themselves because it might mean that they’d be shunned by others and would have to walk…. alone. For so many, this is a terrifying thought they simply cannot bear. In short, they are cowards.

One of the reasons I avoid church is not only because the local ones have all sold themselves out to apostasy, but also because I cannot be with a company of people who see Christ as nothing more than someone they half heartedly have to nod their heads to once a week, while the pastors give spiritually dead and recycled sermons in somber voices. Only by blasting the contemporary Christian music to unsafe decibel levels can the church leadership assure themselves that the congregation won’t fall asleep as a result of the same, tired old phony shows of piety they present to the masses every week.

And yet I’m sharply criticized and denounced for not wanting to be a part of this. As I ponder why the hatred sent my way is so strangely venomous and disturbing, I wonder if it’s because they’re jealous. Jealous that I am not a slave to a ritual of traditions that I can’t stand. Jealous that I don’t have to spend time with family members who drive me nuts. Jealous that I could go anywhere I pleased while not feeling the least bit guilty, simply because I don’t have any obligations to fulfill. It would come as some solace to them I suppose to denounce me as a heretic and declare me well on the path to hell because I refused to join them in their misery. Alas, woe is me, for I have deprived myself of the company of these gentle, loving souls. :yawn:

There is a better way, though. I would gladly seek out the company of those true to themselves, and who truly love the Lord, whether they attend church or not. They’re not perfect. They have doubts and bouts of despair. They get angry at God and question why things happened the way they did, and they don’t criticize others who feel the same way. They shun hypocrisy, choosing instead to seek something real, even if it may not be perfect. They are a remnant, scattered abroad, and it is always a sheer joy when I am able to find and meet one who is a part of that remnant. God is near in their hearts and always on their minds, instead of being utterly forgettable six days out of the week. These are they who understand the true meaning of this holiday.



Where is my Belle?

Lincoln Adams | October 10, 2006 @ 7:49 pm

A recent posting by the Ignoble Experiment got me thinking about a Disney favorite of mine, Beauty and the Beast. Back in the days when Disney was still making animated films that were actually good, they churned out this beauty (no pun intended), a story that centered around redemption and true love. I was too young to fully appreciate the movie when it first came out, but in subsequent years, I began to see myself in the Beast. The years had made me bitter and angry, harboring a quiet rage against a world that I felt did me serious wrong, just like the Beast. Some of it I brought on myself though, I admit, just as the Beast was in no small part responsible for his own misery. And yet part of that rage had to have no doubt been fueled by the despair that he would never be freed from his curse, as each petal that dropped from the flower brought him ever closer to his doom. It took the love of a caring, gentle soul to bring him back, a woman who taught him how to love again, despite his imperfections and grotesque appearance.

A gentle, caring girl, willing to get past looks and appearances so she can see the wounded man behind the beastly image? Yep, quite obviously a fairy tale. If you think this does indeed happen in the real world, then you my friend live in a fairy tale of your own.

This is one of my pet peeves about women too. They complain about guys being shallow and dating on looks alone, and then claim the higher ground by insisting that they NEVER do that. Nope, it’s a guy’s inner qualities that attracts them. It’s the damnedest, most hypocritical crap I’ve ever heard come out of their filthy, lying mouths.

Honestly, the mass of women today have proven themselves to be the shallowest, calculating, back stabbing, most judgmental heartless gobs of human flesh to have ever graced this planet. They will pass eternal judgment on you based on nothing more than the color shoes you’re wearing. They stare right through you as if you were nothing but a ghostly apparition they can barely see, refuse to say thank you when you hold the door for them, and only feign interest in you when they want something. God may have created Adam, but it was Satan who created Eve.

This mass of self interested, self indulgent whores of Babylon have made finding that gem of a woman who really is a cut above the rest virtually impossible. There’s little doubt even if I could find one, she would be taken aback at my beastly rage. Would she be able to get past that? Past the imperfections, the open wounds that cause me such most perpetual pain and grief? Will she be the Belle to my Beast?

Who am I kidding, she obviously doesn’t exist. And unlike the Beast, who found redemption and a happy ending, I can feel the last petal beginning to slip through my fingers, as a lifetime of unredeemable rage awaits me. Alas, in real life, there will be no Belle to save me.