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R3SP3KT T0 TH4 H4T3RZ!!!!!1

I have decided that "hater", or one of its many variations, is my new favourite word. It is, I think, the best and most cast-iron defence against any form of criticism I have yet encountered. Just think about it - "hey, yer record sounds lame!!" "shut up, y'goddamn hater!!1" "Hey, EVERYONE thinks yer rekkid = sux0r!!" "All you motherf-kcin' haterz can kiss my ass!!" "hey man, that gig was really really boring" "Security!! Get this hater out of my face!!" See, I win, coz it implies that my work is inviolable, and yer reason for dissing it isn't anything to do with any inherent flaws it may have, it is because you are the sort of lamer who just runs stuff down for no good reason, IE, a hater. You can't get out of it, b/c whatever you say just reinforces the fact that you just like dissing stuff, and the reson you like dissing stuff is that you are a hater. Tough luck, eh? That's the ball batted back into your side of the court, so shut up, goddamn it, because I ain't got nothin' to say to YOU, hater. Besides which, while I am off to thee after-show party in my chauffeur-driven lincoln town car, my minders will have taken you round to the back of the venue, beside the dumpster, where it is very dark & smelly, for a bit of the old ultra~violence. And while they be getting busy, and you be getting dizzy, you may consider this pertinent question. Why you always be drinkin' tha HATORade on people?

Of course, when you have an entourage, like mine, you may encounter haters just by going about yr daily business. Like you go into the supermarket for a litre of milk, a box of rice krispies and a microwave vegetarian cannelloni, and what d'y'know, the guy at the checkout shows disrespect, just b/c you don't have the correct change, and he's ran out of fifty-pence pieces. Is he a hater? The only way to find out is to get your security to ask him, so, they rough him up a little until he does show you respect, and everybody's happy, or they would be if he hadn't pressed the security button under the till, so the manager comes, and asks you to leave, so your minders beat his ass, then the police come, and cuff you, and take you away in the back of their prowl car, and you get taken to court, and fined quite heavily, and judge, gah, JUSTICE JUDGE MOTHERF-KCIN' HATER HIMSELF tells you that you are lucky to avoid a custodial sentence, thus proving beyond any doubt that if you are successful, and bling, then this whole world is just full of jealous motha f-kcaz who want to go around hatin' on you, and taking what you've got. What's that? If I have an entourage what the hell am I doing wasting my valuable time shopping for trivial groceries like that? Look, don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, yo, I know where I came from. What the hell are you anyway, some kind of hater??1!! And what's that? I am lucky that the checkout guy didn't have his own security with him? Ah, yes, now that is a good point, it pays to be vigilant - that checkout guy learned it the hard way, I pity the fool.

Of course, it can be easy to sympathise with the hataz, especially when I send my entourage out to the newsagents to pick up the latest copy of "Heat" or "Hello". What do I see when I look at it? Well, I see the same as what you see, a bunch of people with nothing to say, and everyone is giving them loads of respect, and they have bling coming out their asses. Hating on these people is pointless, and a waste of precious mental resource etc, but at the same time, what else can one do? In thee, uh, HYPeRMeDIALISe_D/HYPeRSeXUALISeD ENVIRONMeNT in which we live, it is literally impossible to avoid knowing, and learning all kinds of stuff about them, like even if you only occasionally glance at tabloid headlines whilst in thee newsagent, you pick it up, you absorb this stuff, via some kind ov 3V0L knowledge-capilliary/osmotick action seepage proCESS. Eventually, I reach this point where the TV actress, The boy-band member made "good", or dear lord, the footballer, and his pop-star wife, and maan am I ever sick of hearing about them!! - If only I could gain r00t access into my head, and delete all of the information I have picked up therein, so that I know nothing about them, their lifestyles, their clothes, their k-lame philosophy ov life, even what they bloody look like, all gone, leaving space that can be reclaimed for something, ANYTHING more interesting. But I can't, so it's all in there, and there it stays, and all I have left is this kind of dull rumbling numb hatred of them, because I wish they'd just f-ck off.

Also, I look at their stuff in the photos in "Hello" or whatever, when I'm in the dentist's waiting room, then I look at my stuff, and suddenly it doesn't seem so bling, like the gleam goes off it a bit, like, I look at my beat-up old SAAB, with its knackered cam follower which rattles annoyingly when I drive it, and I see them in their 911s or Maserati Quattroportes or whatever. And I wonder why are these people getting all the respect and all the business that should be coming my way? And what do they do? They play football, or sing pop songs, or act on the tv, or model clothes!! Dammit where's the glamour in that? And the more I read, the madder I get, until the red mist comes down, and I cock my Glock, and go postal, and blow a coupla holes in the damn worthless rag. Then my entourage calms me down and reminds me; don't go hatin' on these people, show them some respect, because they are more successful than I am.

Now I have gone and got myself all confused. Are h@t@z the most worthless wretched creatures alive to-day, or is it actually ok to be a H4T4? I don't know. I don't know, and now I have a headache from thinking about it too much. Maaan, I think I'm going to have to go and lie down for a bit.