Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:

Tuesday, May 29 2012. I hate that the air on a plane has to be recycled. I hate that the cool stuff is always on the other side of the plane. I hate that there aren’t enough pillows. I hate the fear that the airline lost my luggage–again. I hate that my carry-on never fits.

This calendar was written by Matthew DiBenedetti. He was born in a hollowed out sycamore tree in the wilds of Hoboken in 1883.

Wednesday, May 30 2012

I hate that I never discovered dinosaur bones.

As a lad of one, Matthew loved to learned about civil war trivia and decided that he was going to fight in it. He did, despite the war ending some twenty years before he died. His parents put on a show with a number of friends and staged the first re-enactment. It was awkward because a lot of the survivors were still, you know, alive, and they complained that they didn’t get the rape and torture of their families down right. Plus, General Sherman said they never got the fire quite right. More orange than red, he said.

Thursday, May 31 2012.

I hate that scary movies keep me up at night. I hate that when I pull the covers over my head, I feel safe. I hate knowing that is so not true.

When he turned three, Matthew was declared a genius by his schoolmarm. He was sent to a school for advanced students only for his new marm to discover that Matthew could neither read, nor write, nor speak English. Matthew’s files got mixed up with a man named Smitty, who was a genius. Smitty was sent to an “Institution” where he was promptly murdered with the other dullards of the time period. Smitty left blueprints for a waterless toilet but, alas, the math involved so complicated that no on could understand it.

Friday, June 1 2012

I hate When I run out of dryer sheets. I hate that all shirts aren’t wrinkle-free. I hate starched clothes.

At five, young Matthew discovered that his father was a local politicians, by the name of Krist Cristie, who had restarted the “Know Nothing Party.” Matthew took his father’s message to heart and burnt down several priests and hundreds of German immigrants. He stole their strudel. He did not enjoy the taste.

Saturday/Sunday, June 2/3 2012

I hate that I’m always hungry. I hate that SpaghettiOs are for kids. I hate that Saturday-morning cartoons aren’t nearly as good as they used to be.

At eight, Matthew wrote his first daily desk calendar titled “Things I Am Not Very Fond Of.” Each day had one item that Matthew was not fond of. He ran out of things that he was not fond of in March and the rest of the year simply reads: Beets. The calendar sold very well and became the official calendar of the Silver Party.

Monday, June 4 2012

I hate clotheslines. I hate that you can’t see them in the dark. I hate outdoor motion lights.

On Monday, June 4 2012, Matthew DiBenedetti sent me a cease and desist letter to stop making fun of him. Slander, he said. Slander! I told him that I would meet in in the center of town at low-noon for a duel. I’ll let you know what happens next week, gentle readers.

Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:

Thursday, May 17 2012

I hate that I love salt.

Come, Pilgrims! Once more we must tredge through the much of sin to reach our destination of the eternal love of our Lord, sucking at his bosom for all of the eternities. Come! Come! We must hate that things that we love and learn to love the things that we hate to stamp out all of the malice in our hearts for our heats must be free! Free! Heart free mind clear!

Friday, May 18 2012

I hate slugs.


Thine enemies whilst crawl on thine bellies on thine ground and try to slime thee. We must avoid. But, we must not hate them for they are fulfilling a particular porpoise in Lord’s design. Of course, we must crush as we see fit for they are testing our mettle! Come! Let us show the goodness that we are made of by crushing! Crush!

Saturday/Sunday, May 19/20 2012

I hate that my teen mix tape was probably left in a car I sold years ago. I hate that someone else is still laughing at the songs I had on that tape.

No! That bothersome beast Nostalgia threatens to devalue our sense of valueness. No! Do not listen! For did Christ listen to the Devil in the Dessert? Custard, I believe. The most sinful of all things! Quick. Some Angel Food Cake. Succor. Life. Remember your past, but overcome. We all HAD to listen to Moz at some point in our lives, but we live! We grow! Adult! Life! Plus we don’t hate minorities like Moz.

The devil has many cats.

Tuesday, May 22 2012

I hate leaving a tip for someone who doesn’t deserve it. I hate when I don’t get a tip. I hate when people give you unwanted advice. I hate when someone gets to the free stuff before I do.

Greed! The Enemy that wants us molten, like bread. Let he who is without stone throw the first sin! No! Judge not! Tip. Tip merrily for life is hard stuff! Don’t judge! Remember the devil and his cats. All free things are not created in equality. For instance, for no price at all I will stab you in the genitals. Is that what you want? Oh please please please let me get what I want, you say. NAY! Forward! Pilgrim! The journey matters! The destination not so much. 

Wednesday, May 23 2012

I hate being the chauffeur because I have the largest car. I hate that nobody kicks in for gas money. I hate that the Internet wasn’t around when I was in school. I hate that technology keeps getting smaller, but my fingers stay the same size. I hate that babies have fat fingers.

Pilgrims! Sometimes the much will overcome. You can’t go on but you must GO…ON… GO! ON! The ravages of age deafen us to the glories of death. Lord is on our side. Come. Let us rest for some TaB. That shall give us the vitamins we need. TaB! 

Thursday, May 24 2012

I hate that wind chimes don’t always chime. I hate the wind. I hate that you saw that coming. I hate being predictable.

Pilgrims! Our patience has come to fruition. We are breaking the Dev-Eel down in the most basic of stuffs. Soon. Defeat will be ours.

Friday, May 25, 2012

I hate that I can’t afford things on the menu that are “market price.” I hate that seafood tastes like the sea.


Yeah, I don’t know about this one either, you guys. Maybe we should just put our headphones on and listen to “The Passenger” by Iggy Pop for the rest of the trip. The music will let us ignore all! Pilgrims!

Saturday/ Sunday, May 26/27 2012

I hate that I hated school. I hate that I want to go back to college hate that teachers don’t get paid more. I hate that I don’t get paid more.

For every righteous hate you must MUST not turn that hate inward, Pilgrims. You may hate, but not with your heard, as Lord said, “I hate you, but not myself.”

Monday, May 28 2012

I hate that after watching Titanic four times they didn’t see the iceberg sooner, not even once. I hate that Rose didn’t make room for Jack on that piece of wood. I hate that she said she wouldn’t let go, but did. I hate that you know I liked Titanic. (It was for the historic aspect, I assure you)

Ah! The devil doubts himself! Pilgrims! Progress is ours! The goal is in our sight. Well, mine anywhom. Come. The Beast awaits! 

ENNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO

Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:

Monday May 7, 2012.

I hate that pasta sauce is attracted to white. I hate that whiteout takes too long to dry. I hate that I can’t reach the numbers keys when typing. I hate that if it’s not on a list, I forget. I hate lists.

Tuesday May 8, 2012

I hate not knowing everything

Ah, gentle readers. We are digger ourselves deeper and deeper into the subconsciousness of a mad man, and I mean mad as in crazy. Come! Come! Let us see how far we can descend! For we must stare into the abyss because we can only learn what we are truly made of when we stare into the abyss! Come! Come! Let us test our mettle! 

Wednesday May 9, 2012

I hate that people still call me a smart-ass. I hate that people don’t realize I’m always right. I that cheating on exams wasn’t easier.

Thursday May 10, 2012

Egads! Fellow pilgrims, our spiritual journey has reached the crossroads of a great recipe. Uh. Precipice. It is impossible to truly understand the madness that lies ahead. Turn back! This is not for the feeble! Come! Tell us a story good sir Comic Book Store Owner. Artisan Artisan Bagel Maker, what say you? No. No. Burrito Cart Sir. Don’t. Don’t be discouraged. Our heart of hearts is all heart. Sir Geoffrey Chaucer scholar at Portland State University, what say you? What? Oh. Nooooooo!

*The following appears upside down on the calendar for May 10 (Michael Magnes’s birthday):

I hate playing by the rules.

Friday May 11, 2012

I hate that alcohol has adverse effects. I hate that some of those effects are yet to come. I hate that bar people get more attractive as the night gets later. I hate that I don’t.

More tits! More mead!

Saturday/Sunday May 12/13, 2012

I hate public displays of affection. I hate that people aren’t more romantic. I hate that you have to take three apsirin…why not just make one big one?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. THE HOARY HOSTS OF HELL ARE UPON US! SHOULD WE FLEE, GENTLE PILGRIM? OR SHALL WE CONTINUE? FAITH MUST BE TEMPERED IN THE FIRE. JESUS HAS TO BE TEMPTED. WE…MUST…PRESS….ON

I hate swallowing horse-sized pills.

Monday May 14, 2012

I hate the smell of a smoker’s car. I hate that the word ginormous officially became a word. I hate school loans. I hate that school loans are so…dammit… ginormous.

 

Do you see that, Gentle Pilgrim? A clearing. Yes. Calm. Peace. A pond. We… we shall rest. Come, Come! Tell us a story to pass the time. There is much road ahead of us. We must take advantage of the rest stops along the way, because life does not offer much in the way of succor. Wait? What? You want to suck on my……

Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

Hey everyone. It’s time for the Portland Review’s most least favorite feature. The one where I make fun of the desk calendar or something. Whatever. It’s a rough time of the month here at the Review. We sent the last issue to the graphic design department at Portland State and they seem to be holding it hostage, or are too lazy to finish it. They accidentally formatted it with the old issue, meaning that it was the new stuff plus the old stuff. Obviously, you’d think that would be easy to fix. Add some of the new material. Get rid of the old. Also, stop putting typos into the text like the film/video issue. That was a few months ago. I’m pretty sure it’s never going to come out, at this point, but if you want to read the new issue of the Portland Review please file your complaints to the Graphic Design Department at Portland State University at….

OH SHIT! HIDE. WE’RE BEING SHUT DOWN. CALL JOHN TITOR!

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:
Wednesday, May 2

I hate stretching. I hate combination locks. I hate that locker-room smell. I hate pretending that I like sports. I hate reading posts on ThePortlandReview.

Hahah. Oh. Wait. Huh?

Thursday, May 3

I hated showering after gym class. I hated that I developed late. I hated that they developed early. I hated puberty. I hate Michael Magnes the jerk is who the Managing Editor of the Portland Review.

Wait a minute. I’M MICHAEL MAGNES!

Friday, May 4

I hate when people ask you for help because you are good at something. I hate helping people move. I hate when they don’t help you move on your moving day. I hate that I carpeted my home with trendy colors. I hate that I didn’t know magenta and turquoise were going to be trendy. I hate that I have to murder Michael Magnes.

Murder? Magnes? Michael? Oh shit. If you add those words up it says Michael Murder Magnes!

Saturday/Sunday, 5/6

I hate that ONE is bigger than the other. I hate that you know what I mean. I hate that I’m standing right behind Michael Magnes with a knife.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

 

Well. I’m dead now. So the good idea I had earlier was for you to email me thing that you hate. So do that. I’d tell you my email address, but I don’t want to. Instead I’m going to tell you to email the PSU GDC and tell them to get offa their fat fucking asses. You can reach them at….

Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

Hey everyone. It’s time for the Portland Review’s most least favorite feature. The one where I make fun of the desk calendar or something. Whatever. It’s a rough time of the month here at the Review. We sent the last issue to the graphic design department at Portland State and they seem to be holding it hostage, or are too lazy to finish it. They accidentally formatted it with the old issue, meaning that it was the new stuff plus the old stuff. Obviously, you’d think that would be easy to fix. Add some of the new material. Get rid of the old. Also, stop putting typos into the text like the film/video issue. That was a few months ago. I’m pretty sure it’s never going to come out, at this point, but if you want to read the new issue of the Portland Review please file your complaints to……

OH SHIT! HIDE. WE’RE BEING SHUT DOWN. CALL JOHN TITOR!

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:
Thursday, April 26, 2012

I hate that I never learned to drive a stick shift. I hate seeing big, even-passenger SUVs with one person in them. I hate that “blood rushing to your head” feeling when police car lights come on right behind you. I hate when the cop rushes past you after you get that feeling–for no reason.

Zzzzzzzzzz….snork.. huh? What? Oh. Yeah. I hate. Whatever. Too……ZZZzzzzzzzzzzz

Friday, April 27, 2012

I hate stupid souvenirs. I hate when people don’t bring me back a souvenir. I hate cruise ship photos. I hate that I look so good in every picture that I have to buy them all.

Duh, yeah!

Saturday/Sunday, April 28/29, 2012

I hate that I can never refold a map.

You know what I hate? Performing simple tasks. Yessiree. Nothing worse than having to perform a simple task. Ugh! I’d use the term first world problems, but I went to college, am fat, and white, so I find that term offensive. Or something.


Monday, April 30, 2012

Ugh. Another long one. Well. We can get through this together, I guess. Even though I hate you, reader. Hey! You know what a good idea would be? Wait. That come out wrong. I’m not asking you what a good idea is. I know what a good idea is. It’s an idea that is good. All of my ideas are good. Except when I told Neil Young that Trans would be a good idea. Or the song Ordinary People. Or his entire career. Look. The point is, you know what would be a good idea? No. You don’t. You’re dumb. Here’s the good idea:

OH SHIT! THE GRAPHIC DESIGN DEPARTMENT IS ATTACKING AGAIN.

I hate looking into an empty fridge–again–and hoping something will appear. What? Like a centaur? I hate that mini-fridges aren’t bigger. What? Like a centaur? I hate finding an empty ice-cube tray. What? Like a centaur?

Tuesday, May 1, 2012.

I hate that Vanilla Ice still doesn’t kick out more catchy tunes like “Ice-Ice Baby.” I hate that they took the awards away from Milli Vanilli. I hate that I can’t blame it on the rain.

 

Well. I’m dead now. So the good idea I had earlier was for you to email me thing that you hate. So do that. I’d tell you my email address, but I don’t want to. Instead I’m going to tell you to email the PSU GDC and tell them to get offa their fat fucking asses. You can reach them at….

Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:

Wednesday, April 11

I hate that Polaroids are a thing of the past. I hate that I never developed that roll of film.

Well, there’s your problem. You don’t develop your Polaroids at the store. That’s the whole point. It’s all right there in the camera. Simple. Convenient. Elegant. Poor quality, which is the opposite of elegant. Your favorite, right? Looks like someone’s got ‘roid rage!

Thursday, April 12

I hate that I don’t know what’s in my junk drawer. I hate that I have more than one junk drawer. I hate that I can’t fit a car into my garage.

A) Junk drawers to cars in one easy step, eh? Makes sense.

B) You must hate that you can’t fit your victims into your junk drawer. Or is it that you have too much junk in your truck. Get it? Because of the car? Low hanging fruit, people. The sweetest fruit there is.

Friday, April 13

I hate that my dog doesn’t bark when someone is at the door. I hate that the other dogs bark when I walk by their houses.

That’s the voice in your head telling you to MURDER ALL OF THE DOGS.

Saturday/Sunday April 14/15

I hate taxes.

Oh good. IT’S SO HARD TO FILL OUT FORMS. IT’S LIKE DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME! IT’S NOT LIKE YOU HAVE A YEAR TO PREPARE. ALSO, YOU MUST HATE PUBLIC SERVICES LIKE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION, GARBAGE PICKUP, AND A POLICE FORCE. DID YOU READ ATLAS SHRUGGED AS AN UNDERGRAD? FUCK YOU.

I hate that politicians can be corrupt.

Can be? Someone’s being uncharacteristically optimistic.

I hate that there’s an animal called a jackass.

Eh. Low hanging fruit ain’t so sweet after all. I’ve been hoisted by my own petard. I have a tummy ache now.

I hate being politically correct.

Do you hate being an idiot? Or do you want to keep on “telling it like it is?” Fuck you. Go watch Real Time with Bill Maher and get a chest tattoo with some Smiths lyrics or something. Also, jam a broom handle up your ass. You’ll feel better.


Monday, April 16

I hate finding grinds in my coffee. I hate finding stickers on my fruit. I hate that stickers don’t taste better.

LEAVE ME ALONE, CALENDAR.

Tuesday, April 17

I hate licking envelopes. I hate running out of stamps. I hate missing the mailman.

AAAAAAAAAAAAH

Wednesday, April 18

I hate that my computer is already outdated.

So, is this calendar a cry for help? Or does the author want to be murdered?

UNTIL NEXT TIME!

Notes From a Desk Calendar (Underground)

So, for Christmas my father bought me a desk calendar titled “I Hate Everything,” which promised 365 days of something to hate. In other words, my dad wanted to tell me to go fuck myself. This calendar was clearly written by a psychopath:

April 6, 2012 Good Friday

I hate feeling so dirty after riding the subway.

Well, it’s good to have some Catholic guilt in there.


I’d hate the subway if was clean too.

If was clean too? Sounds like a rage storm is about to explode.


I hate that I buy new fashion trends too late.

I hate knowing that there are better options of everything I own.

Whatever. Repress your rage like a good Catholic.


April 7/8, 2012 Easter

I hate finding out that the Easter Bunny doesn’t exist.

I hate that now people say Santa doesn’t exist either?!

LOW HANGING FRUIT! IT’S THE SWEETEST FRUIT THERE IS!

April 9, 2012 Easter Monday (U.K)

I hate that my dog is always watching me. I hate that my dog doesn’t listen. I hate that it probably got that from me.

I hate that I have to write these.

Well, folks. I guess it’s time to cut my throat in a field! See you next whatever!