Posted On:12/27/2007 2:00pm
I HATE YOU
I hate you.
It's nothing personal. If I have the time to get to know you, chances are I'll stop hating you. We'll go to lunch sometimes. We'll get together to play paintball. We'll talk about movies. Maybe we work together. Maybe you're just somebody who stopped me on the street to ask for directions. Some degree of personal interaction that confirms you're a human being, that shows me you're willing to be reasonable and that you're capable of acting rationally, is really all I require to stop hating you.
But I hate you right now. I hate you because you're one of THEM, one of the faceless legions of assholes who populate my day and make my life more difficult. I hate you because of the things you do and because of the way you treat me and others.
You cut off other people in traffic. You fill your apartment building with a godawful stench that that makes other residents of the building want to vomit. You indoctrinate our children in your classrooms with "diversity" programming that is nothing but left-wing racism and propaganda. You lie to your constituents and you try to give licenses to illegal aliens, when you aren't voting our freedoms away. You don't wash your hands before serving food in restaurants and you give people food poisoning. You play an online computer game and you complain that everyone else is cheating when you lose. You send spam about penis enlargement to millions of computer users. You flip-flop. You lie. You talk on your wireless phone in movies. You have no consideration, no basic human decency, and no reason to be -- other than to inflict your asshole nature on everyone else, of course.
I fucking hate you. I'd like to take one of my knives and gut you. I'd like to stand over you and laugh while you try to put your intestines back in. I'd like to put my Glock to your head and put a bullet in your brain, then another just to be sure. I'd like to bury you alive at the foot of a tombstone that reads, "This guy was a dick and Phil Elmore hated him." I'd like to leave you tied to a chair in a toolshed and burn the fucking thing down. I'd like to leap over my seat in the movie theater and gouge your fucking eyes out, then stomp your phone into tiny plastic shards. I'd like to beat you into unconsciousness with a crowbar and leave you in the middle of the New York State Thruway for the crows to peck at. I'd just like you to go away, to leave me alone, to stop inflicting yourself on me, to stop existing.
I fucking hate you so much.
Was it Matt Thornton who said something about the RBSD guys having a very unhealthy mindset toward self-protection and life in general?
You fill your apartment building with a godawful stench that that makes other residents of the building want to vomit.
This one in particular has me puzzled.
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:06pm
We no longer care about Phil Elmore.
Ghost of Kawaishi
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:09pm
Style: judo, parenting
How can you assume anything from Phil's phantasies are reality based?
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:11pm
Phil's phantasies. LOL.
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:17pm
Holy ****, while we are Safety Dancing down this memory lane maybe we can all go Footloose and punch dance our Phil Elmore rage in an abandoned woodland grove or junkyard.....
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:27pm
Style: creonte on hiatus
Phil Elmore needs to get laid.
That movie, "The 40-Year Old Virgin" is a fantasy - it shows the main character as a mellow, friendly, decent guy. And that's bullshit. Phil is the real one, and you can see it in his behavior.
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The street argument is retarded. BJJ is so much overkill for the street that its ridiculous. Unless you're the idiot that picks a fight with the high school wrestling team, barring knife or gun play, the opponent shouldn't make it past double leg + ground and pound - Osiris
Modesty forbids more.
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:35pm
Style: Muay Thai, BJJ newbie.
Eventually he will commit suicide and leave a verbose letter behind. Leave him alone.
PS: the stench part probably refers to foreign food cooked by foreigners. I´m sure Phil wouldn´t object to white americans cooking foreign food.
That civilisation may not sink,
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tether the pony
To a distant post;
Our master Caesar is in the tent
Where the maps are spread,
His eyes fixed upon nothing,
A hand under his head.
- W.B. Yeats
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:39pm
Style: BJJ, MACP (hiatus)
Wow. Fucker needs a Valium.
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:41pm
Style: Bits and pieces
What a psycho, you know he's the doormat type in real life though. fat shite wouldn't talk back to a child.
Posted On:12/27/2007 2:48pm
That was just sad. Guess he didn't get what he wanted for Christmas.
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