I Hate Wayne Brady
I hate Wayne Brady, and I hate his show. I don't know -- I guess it's because he so happy all the time. He's always singing and dancing or something. Maybe it's because I can no longer see the good in the world. Maybe I'm just a glass-is-half-empty kind of guy. Whatever the reason, Wayne Brady makes me sick inside.
He reminds me of this time me and some buddies went to Applebee's, and the waitress was like relentlessly cheerful. Every five minutes she's coming over and asking us how things are going. She just won't leave us alone! How can a man eat that? You can't! Every time I'd try to get into some kind of eating rhythm, she'd be back checking up on us. And it was always at a moment you'd least expect it. You'd have mouthful of chicken-fried steak when she'd come out of nowhere and scare the bejeezus out of you. I swear to God, I almost choked to death three times.
See, the sad thing is, she thought she was making us happy customers. But every act of kindness and consideration on her part was just making me hate her. That's fucked up, I know. But it's just that I don't trust those who are too happy. What right do they have to be so happy and why do they have to impose their happiness on me? I'll admit it, I'm miserable son of a bitch. But the thing is, I'm happy being a miserable son of a bitch.
Anyhow, we never went to Applebee's again, that's for damned sure.
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