Hatin'Tuesdys.

Hi, whores.

I want to start a new feature I'll stick with for about...this week, and then never do again, because I am absolutely incapable of making a routine out of anything. I'm also incapable of driving in a straight line from one place and coming back the same route, but that's another story for another time. Ask Aly about our 20 mile bike trip! (No, don't, actually.)

It's called Hatin' Tuesdys. But you have to pronounce Tuesday "Tewsdys" like they do in the Mid-Atlantic. (Mundy, Tewsdy, Wensdy, Fursdy, Frahdy, Sa'erdey, Sun-dee - "'Hay Fred, jeet yet?' 'Nay, hon.' 'Arrite, hon, da yoozhul 'daday?' 'Yeah, BarbaJean, y'knao haow I wook ford'ta Bacun'aig Tewsdys here, cuppa coffee awsao.' 'Nay prollem, hon, heeragao.'"

And yeah, yeah, save your jokes, "But Superbee, isn't every day hating Tuesdays with you?!" OH, HA, HA, HA. No, Einstein, hating Tuesdays come only ONCE a week. The other days are Hatin' ____day. Gawsh.

Today's Hatin' Tuesdy will focus on Neil Young.


I hate Neil Young.

Why, you ask? Because he's so ugly he gives me the heebie-jeebies. I look at his stringy hair and his tiny little mouth, and then I imagine him stabbing at some fat chick's thighs with his stubby wang, and it makes me gag.

And if I can divorce myself from what he looks like, some of his songs are really pretty. I can't hear the theme song from Philadelphia without wanting to hurl myself off a tall building to my death. It's a lovely, sad, haunting song.

But when I watch him, all pudgy and unshowered, and he probably smells like damp shoes and vinegared wine and butt-cheese, and that delicate frayed, pain-wrenched voice comes out... it's dissonant. It makes me feel like someone stepped on my grave.

My aversion to Neil Young is about as sensical as my aversion to Diane Keaton. But Keaton, I can sort of stand, with her imagined pate and crouton smell... Neil Young makes me want to rip my clothes from my body and flee, shrieking into the night. I can't explain why. He makes me feel like someone's eating a peanutbutter and banana sandwich in my ear. It's not a butterknife on my spine, but more like listening to an old person eat mashed potatoes.

Ugh.

So, Neil Young, congratulations. You're this week's Hatin' Tuesdys subject.

Coming up next week: the Ends of Hotdogs, or Salami Snaps as Seumas Finneganstein, Daniel Pinkwater's character, taught us to call them.

Word of the day I like: Popsnorkle. From the Tooth-Gnasher Superflash. Yeah, you remember 'em.