I place a curse on:

• anyone who does not respond in kind when I initiate a smile. Doesn't happen all that frequently, like visibility of Haley's Comet, so get out in your backyard with a telescope and smile.
• Captain Obvious (of which there are many) for enlightening me on just how cold it is outside while snow lies three inches deep on the ground. It's not cold. By the very nature of winter, and snow, it's undeniably fucking freezing...huge difference. You're wrong.
• that girl in my poli sci class two years ago who always wore a Von Dutch trucker cap just to portend an image of irony because she felt she was a spoiled princess, when I know for a fact that she was a spoiled princess bitch with tendencies on the side of hookerdom, reliant upon her father for her debatable one fourth of a functioning brain, wads of cash with which to buy shit like that lame trucker cap, and completely antiquated and ill-founded conservative ideals, I feel, for a nearing twenty-something floosy-because really, when we see more of your cleavage than your face, the word conservative doesn't belong in your vocabulary...your wardrobe, yes...sputtered from your mouth like an ignorant name-dropping/wearing fascist, no.
• Big Titsu, aka Tetsu, for the mere fact that his existence requires him to stalk my house, make lude gestures and stick his house down my pants...and it's getting old. Plus, he reeks.
• the parents of Donald Trump, Trump himself and his offspring. Oh, might as well include his pets while we're at it. Toss in the Hiltons as well, same obnoxious ballpark.
• N'Sync, for that torrid display of vocal cacophony they call talent, and sang outside the Rock-a-Billy's parking lot, in hopes of luring Ash and I to attend a post concert party. I don't trust any guy who a) bleaches his hair and b) "sings" with five other metrosexuals, because you can't spend that much quality time with metros before that sexual changes preceding meanings.
• that mouse in my ceiling
• reality television. I'll give you reality, take the aforementioned Trump, Hilton girls nd N'Sync, throw them into some hobo's shack for three weeks without food, water and an Armani outlet and let's see who bludgeons who first with either a shoddy hairpiece or sixteen inch stiletto heels. My money's on the Hilton's...I mean, c'mon...anyone who can survive the Simple Life, participating, or watching, can clearly survive Celebrity Bum Fights.
• anyone who wears hot pants. And if I have to elaborate my reasoning for you on this one, perhaps you'll grace the next list: Those I've secretly been plotting against using my intergovernmental intelligence resources, a Voodoo doll and really harsh Family Guy quotes. (Ha, governmental intelligence-that's ironic...or at least more so than a fucking trucker cap...no...no takers?)
• the makers and marketing strategists of Johnson and Johnson tearless baby shampoo...because they lie.