“Let the hating commence“, he declared.
Silence, at first. Hesitation. Maybe even fear.
But then, the great relief, in shape of a rant about people who walk slowly on Oxford Street.
And now it’s her turn, but no, only silence.
Octavian, the emperor, shivers, shakes, and throws out how he hates lack of spontaneity. What would the answer to that be?
Of course, the safe card, hatred against people who stand on the left in elevators. Nuke them. Nuke them!
Bastards, they only have a set taking place around Valentine’s day. I need to be there. I need to meet my twin hater. No, not my twin. My soul hate(r).
And I imagine waking up every morning, starting up with how much I hate her farting in the sleep, but never while awake, and she replies how much she hates when I snore, and drool whilst asleep. And we sigh. And we laugh. And we kiss each other. Stop kissing. Jesus friggin’ Christ, how can a human being smell, and taste like that unless you have been eating some garbage during the night, and drinking gallons of toilet water.
And then we sigh again. And we laugh. What the hell, we kiss, and we put the kettle on, read the morning mag, look at each other and concludes without opening our garbage water mouths: This will be a beautiful hate day.