Free I Hate Everyone...Starting With Me by Joan Rivers Page A

I’ll swing by your house for some coffee and babka. I’min show business so I’m pretty sure that nowhere in the script did the writer or director say, “…and then Barry, in the ninth row, chimes in…”
    a. If the movie has to be explained to you as it’s going along, then you’re too stupid to be in a theater with other people. This is especially true if you’re watching the Zapruder film.
    b. Don’t keep saying, “What did he say? What did he say?” You may be deaf but I’m not. And don’t sit there and fiddle with your Miracle-Ear, either. Not only is the fidgeting annoying, but the damned thing buzzes and vibrates. If I’m in a dark theater and something is buzzing it better be between my legs, not in your ears.
    2. Don’t crinkle cellophane. There are only a few sounds more annoying than candy bars being
sloooowwwwly
unwrapped—a baby crying, a dog yelping, Yoko Ono singing—so unwrap your Chuckles the way you’d pull gauze off a third-degree burn—bite down on a sock and yank quickly.
    3. Don’t text message! If I’m in a dark room and I see a white light, I think it’s the light at the end of the tunnel and I’m dying. And kicking the shit out of you is on my bucket list. So don’t be stupid; turn off your smart-phone.
    4. If you’re late to a movie, don’t stand in the aisle hovering over me looking for a prime location. Just put your fat ass in the first seat you find. Unless that seat is next to me, in which case I suggest you go fuck yourself and sit behind the screen.
    5. Unless you’re at a private screening in the director’s house, don’t clap at the end of the movie. The actors can’t hear you; they’re not in the theater—they’re in rehab.
    6. When the movie’s over don’t stand up and linger and block the screen so I can’t see the credits. You may not care who the key grip on the Zimbabwe shoot was, but I do. A lot of those sons of bitches owe me money.
    I hate road rage. Road rage is all the rage, but it need not be that way. If people had basic car manners the world would be a much safer place; not nearly as interesting—be honest, you don’t get just a little moist thinking about a six-car pileup?—but safer.
    I hate people who honk their horns incessantly for no apparent reason. Traffic, slowpokes and the old lady looking through the steering wheel with her blinker on for two hundred miles create frustration, for sure. But none of them are reasons to hit the horn; they are reasons to hit the bottle. No, no, no, I’m not encouraging drinking and driving (I don’t want toget those crazy lezzies in MADD angry at me), but honestly, if you’ve got a buzz on, the sound of the horn will give you a headache so you’ll be
less
inclined to beep.
    I hate people who have sex in the backseat while I’m driving. It’s not only rude; it’s exclusionary. Also, if you’re going to give a blow job in a car—swallow! You don’t want to ruin the fine Corinthian leather. *
    I hate people who decorate their cars. I don’t want a bobblehead dog or a forlorn, bloody Jesus staring at me. Even worse, I don’t want to see pictures of your kids. Why do you have to have photos of Jimmy and Kenny taped to your dashboard? You saw them at breakfast a half hour ago; how much could you miss them? Even Jerry Sandusky doesn’t do that, and he really likes kids.
    I love games you can play on road trips. Here’s a good road game: If you’re driving in front of a motorcycle, slow down and throw coffee out your window directly into the motorcyclist’s face. His skid marks will go for miles. This is even more fun on a side street when you’re driving in front of a bicycle. You can take out the bike, the kid, a hydrant, a tree and, if you’re lucky, a cat.
    Want some fun for the whole family? Push the dogout the window and speed off and then place bets on how long Fido will chase the car before he collapses. Sounds cruel on paper, but trust me, this is a great, fun way to reunite a