I don’t hate a lot of people. A Soldier that worked for me once said it best: “I’ve disliked a lot of people, but never enough to kill them. Some are close, but not quite. But someday I’m going to meet the one person that I will kill. At that point, I’m going to pull out my list because if I’m going to jail for murder, I might as well go away for mass murder.”
However, I do have a pair of nemesises… nemesi… nemesisees?
Bob Ross and the Ice Cream Truck. I hate them both. Legitimately hate them.
The Ice Cream Truck story is fairly straightforward. They play only one song, which they play at decibels roughly equivalent to the take off of a jet engine. Over and over and over and over. That same damn carnival clown song over and over. When we lived in Tennessee, our neighborhood had seven roads that all ran parallel to one another. In the summer when people kept their windows open – and, ironically, when people wanted ice cream – the truck would drive up and down the streets blaring its song for hours on end. I was actually forbidden from running outside and setting in on fire.
Bob Ross. There’s not much to tell about that puffy-haired bastard. You can’t paint a mountain and “happy” river with only using a 3-inch brush and two different shades of black! You cocky son of a bitch! He makes it look so damn easy! And. It’s. Not! I made the mistake of picking up one of his painting instruction books at Hobby Lobby one day. Each painting was a two-page spread. The left side was a photo of his painting with his fucking happy trees and river. The right side was squares of instruction. The instructions were: “Then take your brush and paint a mountain”. Just like that? Pick up my brush and magically create a freaking mountain? It wasn’t a painting instruction guide. It was a suicide aid for those who weren’t sure if life was worth living. Because after reading his “instruction guide”, I wanted to slit my own wrists!
I still haven’t found that person I’m willing to kill, but if I do watch your back Bob Ross and the Ice Cream man!
EDITOR’S NOTE: I realize Bob Ross is dead. I’m sure he’s painting happy trees in hell right now.