The original title for this column was “Why I Love To Hate.” Then,
quite suddenly, I had a vision of the e-mails that my poor beleaguered
editor would no doubt be swamped with:
How can you let this vicious hatemonger write for your paper? I
demand an apology or I’m going to tell everyone I know never to read WND
Goldman is sick! He should be immediately castrated, made to say 25
Hail Mary’s, and given a one-way ticket to Bolivia!”
You should be ashamed of yourself for giving this fascist pig,
Goldman, a forum in your (formerly) wonderful (formerly) conservative
paper! Free speech or no free speech … you better fire this guy right
now or else I’m changing my home page to The Drudge Report!
So, does the fact that I changed the title mean that I’m kowtowing to
the whims and prejudices of my (ahem) audience? No way. The reason I
didn’t go with the aforementioned title is because “hate” is not a
completely accurate term to describe the plethora of emotions that arise
in me when I encounter the below mentioned-people/places/things. If
anything, it’s too weak! To hate: to loathe … to be disgusted with;
to have strong dislike or ill will for — these are a few of the
descriptions that Webster lists after for that most demonized of words.
So, let’s just say this: If there were some way to remove all the
below-listed items from the face of the earth — in my humble opinion —
the world would be a much better place. Are we clear? Good.
Hmmmm. Somehow, I still feel the need to add the following
If you suspect that you may be one of those individuals who
have no sense of humor (and there appear to be a growing number of you
guys these days), you are advised to skip this column. Go read Maralyn
Polak or something. …
* * *
Week after week, I get dozens of emails asking, “How come you’re so
mean, angry, ornery and nasty? Or … “Can’t you find anything
nice to say?” Even more dismaying are the dunderheads who tell
you to “think positive.” Please, somebody tell me — what in
God’s name does this mean? Allow me to enlighten you. What it
means, is that these ignoramuses are actually suggesting that you
disregard, ignore and/or repress every horrible thing that happens to
you. Sorry amigos. No dice.
Let’s face it. During the course of a normal day, each of us are
bullied, mistreated, abused and trod upon by a never-ending host of
morons, creeps, jerks and terminally crummy people who — out of sheer
serendipity — we are forced to deal with. The issue then, is how
we deal with them.
Most folks take it on the chin, then go home and abuse their
families, friends, or worse — take it out on themselves. These people
inevitably wind up spending untold thousands of bucks on a therapist, or
some con-artist disguised as a guru — neither of which works (except,
perhaps, in terms of some sort of “placebo effect”). Inevitably these
poor chumps wind up with ulcers and/or nervous breakdowns — or else
they simply kick the bucket as the result of a heart attack, cancer, or
some other disease resulting from an OD of repressed anger.
Pretty dumb, if you ask me. Especially when there’s a simple solution
to dealing with this problem, which is (da dum!) To get mad! To
hate! (If that word still bugs you, pick one of your own). The
best revenge is not, in fact, living well. It’s hating
It’s healthy to hate.
It’s also very American.
Look, my life is most likely nearly as ugly and stupid as yours —
but the difference is, I’ve found a remedy. Which is — get mad. Better
yet — get even. It’s an art which takes practice — because the
expression of anger has become one of the great taboos in our
Sure, it’s OK to get off on other people engaging in tantrums, rants,
even acts of violence — especially those obnoxious reprobates we call
“celebrities.” The bigger jerks they are, the more we love ’em! Every
time Sean Penn or Bruce Willis punches out some paparazzi, their ante
goes up by about $100,000 bucks per picture. But you try that
stuff, and — whammo! — you’re standin’ in line to see Judge Judy.
Let me be perfectly clear. Frankly, I don’t particularly care
what you do, but me — I intend to keep to keep my anger/outrage
flame on high. I also intend to cash in on it. Of course, you too can
become a hostile, offensive a– hole for fun and profit … but I’m
counting on the fact that you won’t. Therefore you’ll pay to watch
me do my schtick. And for that, dear readers, I thank you.
OK, end of sermon. Following are a list of things I truly detest.
Things which raise the hackles on my neck … things which cause me to
me stay up into the wee hours of the morning, thinking of particularly
cruel and inhuman methods of revenge. Things which … Ahhhhh, enough
- People who think their extremely ordinary and boring opinions are
worth listening to simply because they have them.
- Backwards baseball caps. I don’t know who’s responsible for
starting this hideous trend (which for some reason, refuses to die) but
if I could find the guy, I’d personally put a bullet in his brain.
Meanwhile, poor Holden Caulfield must be turning over in his grave.
- Liberals, New Agers, Holocaust Revisionists, White Power guys,
Black Power guys (that means all the Rap Idiots), people who don’t use
deodorant, stupidity, militant homosexuals, jokes, The Germans, The
French, (a good many) Iranians, “art” films, poetry, autobiographies,
Richard Simmons, Barbra Streisand, Greek restaurants (especially with
“live” music), David Lynch films, Bill Cosby, Steven Seagal, anyone who
smokes marijuana, The Los Angeles Times, the Utne Reader, (the notion
of) reincarnation, Christmas, funerals, all music by Andrew Lloyd
Webber, bad breath, nine-to five jobs, sports (except boxing), San
Francisco, Oakland, “stars” (actors, musicians), critics (restaurant,
film, music, literary — in that order), e-mails from people who try to
“one-up” me with bad attempts at clever one-liners (sorry, you bozos
aren’t even fit to get into the ring with me) … plus a high percentage
of nurses, postal clerks, politicians and cops.
- Female disc-jockeys who try to talk real hip (and always sound
completely stupid doing it).
- People who insist on showing you pictures of their children when
everybody knows that all children look the same.
- People who insist on giving you their business cards. Don’t they
know that you’re just going to tear them up and throw them on the floor
as soon they leave?
- Bald guys who actually think they’re fooling people by combing
their few remaining strands of hair backwards over the bald spot.
- People who make a big deal out of the fact that they’re
vegetarians. Frankly, I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t eat meat.
- People who talk about sex being “beautiful,” and “natural.” Am I
the only one left who thinks sex should be dirty?
- People who blabber on and on about the “glorious sunset” they
just saw. Or worse, people who invite you to go watch the sunset
with them. As far as I’m concerned, sunsets are just like Scientologists
— you seen one, you seen em all.
- Missing kids faces on buses, grocery bags, milk cartons, etc. I’m
sorry, but I don’t enjoy eating my breakfast cereal while staring into
the puss of some hapless kid.
- Feminists. While I am not quite in agreement with Norman Mailer’s
assessment of (these) women as “low, sloppy beasts” I don’t think his
suggestion that they should be “put in cages” is a bad idea at all.
- Waiters in restaurants who say “Hi, my name is Jerry!” I don’t
give a damn what your name is pal. I’m here to eat, not to make
- Sweaty, overweight women in jogging suits who insist on running
in place at stoplights … as if this were actually doing any good. Just
quit eating, lardbutt.
- Mexican gardeners with those horrible blower things that threaten
to burst your eardrums. (What ever happened to rakes?!) How come
these guys always manage to be right outside your window when you are
either writing, sleeping, or having sex? Clearly, this has got to be a
conspiracy of some sort (I have, of late, become a firm believer in all
- Trucks. These noxious things (always driven by some lamebrained
yahoo with a handlebar moustache and a baseball cap) are responsible for
80% of the traffic jams (and accidents) in the entire world. Trucks
should be immediately banned from all streets and freeways and made to
drive on specially created truck highways.
- Roadwork. I’m sorry, but it’s impossible that every other street
in this stupid city (L.A.) needs repair. Also definitely a conspiracy.
Possibly the Illuminati?
- Those God-awful self-service gas station pumps when you can’t get
the stinking nozzle in your stinking tank and then the stinking thing
clicks off every two stinking seconds so it takes ten stinking minutes
to pump five stinking dollars worth of stinking gas into your stinking
car. (I, for one, refuse to pump my own gas. I find this a highly demeaning
and humiliating task, much better suited to guys whose names are probably Chuck or Leroy).
- Guys at the gym that grunt real loud when they’re exercising.
(You know that these are the same guys that make a bunch of noise when
they’re having sex.)
- Anybody who makes a bunch of noise when they’re having sex
(what’s the big fuss?).
- When a perfect stranger sitting next to you in the sauna decides
to tell you in detail about their recent rectal surgery.
- Guys at the gym who stand around naked in the locker room for
hours talking about their forthcoming trip to Hawaii or their insurance
policy or how many miles a gallon they get in their stupid car. I’m
sorry, but I simply find nothing especially pleasant or gratifying about
standing around with a bunch of stinking, sweaty, and largely
- Mimes who accost you on public streets. There is, however, a
simple solution for this. Simply walk up and punch them in the face.
- When your dentist (or dental hygienist) has an abundance of hair
coming out of his/her nostrils, and you have to resist the overwhelming
urge to reach up and yank it out.
- Anyone carrying a ghetto blaster in public (or playing the radio
real loud in their cars). These swine should immediately have an icepick
inserted directly into their eardrums. (This simple gesture would cure
them of the need to engage in this foul behavior).
- When your agent doesn’t return your call for two weeks. Other
than agents (who live in a different stratosphere), anybody who doesn’t
return your call the same day you call them. My advice is that
you program these people’s numbers with the “call block” feature
provided by your local phone company, so that when they do call back,
they’ll get that horrible automated voice telling them that their call
is “not accepted.” (Never fails to make ’em furious).
- Those hopelessly blissed-out refugees from the Love Generation
who wait on you at most New Age bookstores. Inevitably these Pods take
20 minutes to ring up your books, because they’re “experiencing the now”
or some such thing. Meanwhile, you’re stuck in a line with a bunch of
Zen Zombies, while trying not to choke to death on the incense that’s
always wafting through these pest-holes. Then when they’re finally done
ringing you up, these brainless pagans have the nerve to tell you to
“Have a nice day.”
- Women who bring babies to bookstores, libraries, and (especially)
movies. These witless sackbutts should be horsewhipped within an inch of
their lives for being so thoughtless … or at the very least, arrested
for disturbing the peace.
- Women who bring babies anywhere. Clearly the babies don’t
care where they are, so it’s simply that these bimbos are too bloody
cheap to hire a babysitter.
- Those disgustingly long-winded, nauseatingly sincere pleas for
money on KPFK (radio) and KCET (TV), and the “failure celebrities”
(yeah, Mickey Dolenz, I’m talkin’ to you, man) who lend credence
to this horrible ritual.
- Salesmen and religious fanatics who insist on knocking on your
door when you have a large sign clearly posted saying: “No Salesmen …
religious or otherwise.” The best remedy for this is to greet them with
a big smile and then — before they get a chance to say anything —
throw a glass of water (or any liquid of your choosing … be creative!)
in their face before slamming the door on them.
- The word “homophobia,” which is simply a sneaky attempt to get
around the fact that homosexuals are sick, twisted and possessed by
- People who hang up on your answering machine and tell you later,
“I hung up because I can’t stand those machines.” What does this
mean? That they’re too sensitive to talk into a machine?
- People who leave clever messages, bad music, or stupid poetry
before the beep on their answering machines. Whenever I encounter this
middle-class attempt at “creativity,” I always leave an incorrect number
— preferably long distance — for them to call back.
- Secretaries who say “Do you mind being put on hold?” — then put
you on hold before you have a chance to say “Of course I mind,
you pea-brained, ignoramus!” Remedy: Call back, posing as the long
distance operator with an “important” call for their boss. Then put
them on hold for at least 20 minutes. After the allotted time has
passed (they’ll always hold … it’s their “job”) come back on the line
and say “Your call is ready now” — then when the boss comes on the
line, you immediately hang up on him — which will hopefully cause him
to become enraged and possibly fire the bimbo for her ineptitude.
- Restaurant reviewers who give you minute, intimate details of the
process of consuming their food — how it feels as they roll it around
on the tongue, etc. These disgusting creeps are clearly orally-fixated,
anally-retentive individuals, who are obviously sublimating their
sex-drive through their “work.” They’re also usually fat.
- Music reviewers that use an over-abundance of technical
terminology in their reviews. Inevitably these bores are in some stupid
band, and they want you to know that they actually play an instrument,
though obviously they aren’t any good; otherwise they’d be out there
playing instead of writing about it.
- People who go to the gym, drive, jog and/or stroll around with
Walkmans stuck on their fat little heads. What is this incessant need to
listen to music? (What’s wrong with silence?) I can’t stand
people who say, “I’ve just got to listen to my music.” These fools
should be forced to listen to the latest Snoop Doggy Dog release at a
painfully ear-shattering volume for a minimum of 48-hours straight.
- People who play acoustic or electric guitars in public places
(this is happening more frequently in front of Starbuck’s and other
cutesy pie little cappuccino joints) who can’t play. (Ninety-seven
percent of all guitar players, in fact, cannot play). Actually, I
am of the opinion that the guitar — the most maligned instrument in
history — should be abolished for at least the next 200 years.
- When airline stewardess give you the little speech about how to
use your oxygen mask and act real bored while they’re doing it — as if
you aren’t a hundred times more bored then they are.
- Horrible, idiotic movies about moronic teenagers, starring
disgustingly overpaid and largely untalented teenagers, which draw
hordes of stupid, idiotic, whacked-out teenagers to theaters, which in
turn make horribly untalented and greedy producers (who are not
teen-agers and couldn’t care less about the actual plights of
teenagers) richer, fatter and greedier then they already are.
- Old has-been movie actresses whose agents have managed to get
them on Leno or Letterman. These hags inevitably come on the show
outfitted in some embarrassingly revealing gown that exposes sagging
breasts and an overabundance of old, mottled flesh. Yuuuuuck!
- Restrooms in gas stations that have a sign posted telling you to
“Wash Hands Before Leaving.” Inevitably, these are the ones with huge
puddles of urine on the floor and a crapper that hasn’t been flushed in
- People who tell me,” You’re obsessed with death.” Of
course I’m obsessed with death, you idiots! It’s a horrible,
idiotic, pointless, stupid and (in all probability) extremely painful
thing, and it makes me absolutely nuts that there doesn’t appear to be
any way out of it.
- People who send e-mails and address me as “Goldman.” Where are
your manners, you sausage-eating creeps! (Especially when you’re talking
to your betters.) For your info, all such e-mails get deposited (unread)
in ye olde trash bin. Oh yeah, in case any of you wiseguys decide to get
cute and send me a “Hey Goldman” email … don’t be surprised if your
computer suddenly develops a very nasty virus that causes you to
lose all your files when your hard drive crashes. (My loyal hacker
minions stand at the ready, just waiting for the word from “on high.”) A
word to the (un)wise. …
- People who write letters to the editor in which they accuse me of
being a “bad writer.” I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what this means.
Do I use too many commas? Are my paragraphs too long? In fact, there is
no such thing as bad writing. There are only ideas — none of
which are in themselves “good” or “bad” — but which — because of your
personal conditioning, you either agree with or disagree
with. So what you really mean is, you don’t like what I’m saying.
And that’s your problem, Gomer.
Well, that’s it, gang. Hopefully, this column will induce you to take
the pressure off your heart and colon, and to hop onto the Anger Boat.
In fact, I suggest you begin making your own “Hate List,” right this
very minute. It’s great therapy! (For God’s sake, just don’t send em to
And don’t forget — in a nation ruled by swine, everyone is upwardly