I HATE PETER ON THE BUS TO WORK

I hate you peter. You and all your coffee. I would be perky in the morning to if I had coffee but I am too tired to make it. I bet you have one of those machines that will make it for you. So you are probably rich. Why are you taking the bus if you have a machine that makes coffee for you?

-Lambasting Latte Lovers in Lakewood

I HATE PETER ON THE METRO

Peter, I see you every morning on the Metro train. You sit there in your power suit, with your checkered collared shirt and solid blue tie, carefully scrutinizing that bible-sized hardcover biography of that boring ex-presidential appointee like it's your job, with your rimless eyeglasses and your undeserved sense of propriety. You can't be more than 23, but you act like every glance, every "excuse me" and every human interaction at 7 am or 6 pm is the most painful event your important day has to offer. You've got important things to do in your stupid Capitol Hill job at your stupid Capitol Hill office. That's why you stand directly in front of the metro doors when they open, why you stand on the left of the escalator when everyone is trying to get by, why you push through people, why you stand so close I can feel your hot breath on the back of my neck, why you take the open seat when old women are waiting, and why, when I sit down next to you in the only open seat on the train, you shudder and shirk away as if I've got the bubonic plague. I wouldn't want to infect you with the normal gene. God, I hate you. I hate you in the depths of my soul.

You're important. I get that.

What I don't get is, if you're so God-damned important, why you have to commute 45 minutes both ways every day in the worst display of directionless ire I've ever seen? If it pains you that much to rub elbows with the masses your boss represents, get in your fucking Lexus and drive to work from your overpriced, 24-hour gym and your little box condo in northern Virginia.

Oh yeah, that's right. You can't afford a membership, can't afford a Lexus, can't afford a condo (yet) and can't afford that suit dad gave you for Christmas. You work on the Hill. God, Peter, I hate you. But not nearly as much as you must hate yourself. Stick it out, though ... just two more years and you'll be in Law school, and then back working on K street.

-Passive-aggressive in D.C.

p.s., I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I wish you would die. I hate you.

I HATE PETER AT 24 HOUR FITNESS

Hey, Peter. What's going on? It's been awhile. Did you think maybe I was starting to like you? I wasn't. Still hate you. And let me tell you why. Don't worry. I will keep it short and sweet. Unlike you (short and pungent):

I waited for the elliptical. I'm fairly certain that at least one of the 20 people already on the elliptical type which I was waiting for had been on the elliptical for more than 20 minutes. I did not walk up to each of their machines, checking to see how long he/she had been on the machine. I did not stand in front of someone who had been on the machine for 27.5 minutes of his 30 minute work-out huffing and puffing, with an obnoxious look on my face signaling either my highly inflated self-worth or my extreme constipation. I did not call over a fitness trainer to kick said person off his elliptical with one minute to go in his workout. When I was waiting for my elliptical, I just waited. I know that's a novel concept, but I'm sure next time you might be able to handle it.

I hope the rest of your workout went exactly according to your master plan, Peter. I desperately hope you were not one minute late to your 1:00 appointment with the ugly stick.

Good bye, Peter. I hate you. More than you could ever know.

-Hot and Bothered in Hollywood

I HATE PETER AT "UNNAMED CABLE NEWS NETWORK"

Oh Peter. How did you get this job? You are a producer of a cable news show and you apparently don't know the basics of producing or cable or news or television. All things you should know to have the title of producer, Peter, you don't know. I'm pretty sure with the title you have, you are considered staff. This means you have job security and health insurance and other nice little perks. You know what I'm not Peter, I'M NOT STAFF. No health insurance here. NO TUITION REIMBURSEMENT. Yet, you're asking me to do your fucking job because, well, you don't know how to do it.

In case you were wondering, Peter, it's not MY job to do YOUR job plus MY job. My job is enough.

Now had you sent an apologetic email asking HOW you go about doing your job and you were so sorry you didn't know how to, well, I still would've been annoyed that you are staff and I am not and you don't know how to do your job. But I would've given you a call and worked with you on the problem. Instead, you basically passed your work on to me.

And I would've done it too, because I'm a nice fucking person.

Luckily my boss stepped in to explain the situation and teach you how to do your job. She was nice about it because she's a nice fucking person too.

We're both nice fucking people and you Peter, you're a moron. But I'm sure you're a nice fucking moron.

-Mad in Manhattan

I HATE PETER IN THE COMMERCIAL CASTING OFFICE

Hey, guess what, Peter? You're a turd.

Also, you're grouchy. What's the big hairy deal, buddy? I showed up on time for the audition, early even. I had been memorizing "La Cucaracha" in it's native Spanish all afternoon. I'd been practicing butchering it in a thick southern accent, just like you told me to. I did everything right. So why were you mad at me when you completely changed the sides on me without telling me? Shouldn't I have been the one who's mad? You didn't call my agent to tell her you changed the script at the last minute, so I was no longer going to sing a Mexican folk song about Pancho Villa to advertise your new fast food breakfast burrito. I might be wrong, but I think that makes you as the as the villain here. So, don't you go into the audition grouchy and stand-offish with me, Mister. It's your job to watch a million actors a day read the same lines again and again. If you don't like it, you can just "butter my butt and call me a biscuit." Oh, did I say that too over-the-top for you? Maybe it's because it's an over-the-top line.

Kiss my grits, Peter. You're still a turd.

-Unhappy in Universal City

I HATE PETER AT BARNES & NOBLE

Peter,

I’ve never wanted to choke someone more than I want to choke you. I would rather have a sack of angry bees emptied down the front of my pants than have to listen to another one of your fucking stories. The customers hate you, and I have heard from more than one of our many bosses that they wish they could fire you just for being a jackhole. Stop inviting yourself to shit, Peter. Stop inviting yourself to live at Matt’s house. He fucking hates you too. No, I will not buy liquor for you, because first of all I don’t buy Zima for anyone, Peter, okay…?...and secondly, I don’t want the basic level of goodwill such a favor would create to taint my hopefully increasingly antagonistic relationship with you… Understand, Peter? I want to hate you; it gives my life meaning. Here’s a social rule that you seem to have missed: you can’t put someone’s number in your cell phone and promise to call them later when that person hasn’t given you permission to call him. I would rather have a woman screaming into a blowhorn held up to my ear following me and stabbing my thigh with a rusty screwdriver than have to endure you constantly following me around after the store closes. You should be euthanized; it would be merciful to you and everyone who has to listen to you. You should be placed in a large sack attached to a boulder and thrown into a lake or river. You’re fat, by the way, and your lips are abnormally large and reddish for a man.

-Riled up in Rochester

I HATE PETER ON THE DENVER BRONCOS

I hate you, Peter. I hate that your 1980s Denver Broncos teams thrice denied my Cleveland Browns their rightful place in the Super Bowl. I hate you and your horse face and your horse teeth. Every time I see your No. 7 jersey I want to shove whoever is wearing it. I hate your college, too. Stanford. Your mascot is a tree? That's so fucking weak. Weak like your 1980s Broncos teams' performances in all three Super Bowls. I know the Browns could have won one of those. Your team barely managed to score in those games. The only reason you finally won a Super Bowl in the 1990s is because the coach changed the offense so that you would hand the ball off 35 times a game. You are the most overrated quarterback of all time. If there were any justice right now, Bernie Kosar would be in the NFL Hall of Fame. Bernie Kosar's player rating on the old Madden classic teams would be 99. Bernie Kosar would own his own chain of car dealerships in the Denver area - just to spite you.

I hate you, Peter, so much.

Want ... to punch ... your ... horse teeth.

Sincerely,
O. Newsome of Cleveland