Facing Up To How Much I Hate Kim Kardashian
Yesterday I tweeted the following:
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I was disappointed to hear that Kim Kardashian felt "victimized" by the press. I was hoping it meant that they had beaten her into a coma.
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The strange thing was I actually meant it. Nothing would have made me happier than to continue reading the story after the eye-grabbing headline to find that a group of reporters had beaten her. Not brushed up against her or insulted her, but grabbed her and stomped her like a narc at a biker rally.
I realized that I really do hate Kim Kardashian. Everything about her... from her scumbag father to her clown husband. She's famous for making a sex tape and now she’s a “celebrity.”
Now the question is... how much do I hate her?
Do I hate her more than cancer?
Obviously not.
Cancer kills thousands and thousands of people every year. There is no possible way I could hate a single person more than cancer. Impossible.
Right?
Hating her more than cancer would make me a monster.
Although... if I'm honest with myself... there's no way I'm getting out of bed on a Saturday morning and running 5k to help in the fight against cancer. Way too lazy. But if there was a 5K race to give Kim Kardashian cancer, I think I'd be the first one there.
Now that is assuming that someone has to get cancer. Let me be clear about that. I'm not running to create some more cancer to give to her; I just want her to get it instead of someone else.
And Kanye West. While we're redistributing cancer, why not make it a 10K and give him some too? I'm not in the greatest shape, but I think I have it within me to complete a 10K knowing that every step would bring these two dipshits closer to getting some aggressive type of colon cancer. I can imagine them both rotting away and capturing every second on film for their retarded fans to enjoy.
Now it must come as no surprise that this realization troubles me to no end. How did I ever allow these two examples of everything that is wrong with our culture upset me so much? I don't remember a single incident that sent me over the edge. It must have been some slow, insidious erosion of my fucktard defense system (FDS). Little snippets of an ad for her television show. A quick moronic quote from Kanye that leaked into my ears before I could change the channel. Endless magazine covers lurking at the checkout counter. Each one a wave lapping at the mountain that is my psyche.
I fucking hate Kim Kardashian.
It actually feels great to type that.
I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian. I fucking hate Kim Kardashian.
Wow, that felt awesome! I know you assume that I just copied and pasted that over and over, but I actually typed out each and every one of those sentences like Jack "All Work And No Play Makes Jack A Dull Boy" Nicholson in The Shining.
Very therapeutic.
Shit, make it full blown marathon and give the whole family cancer. I'll finish or die trying.
Which would be sort of ironic.