He Hate Me

Years ago, Spike Lee had a movie called She Hate Me. I figured he was on to something because I hated him just for the sheer misuse of the Kings English.

I vowed never to watch another movie which so unjustly butchered a title to make a point. And I didn’t. But then, over the weekend, I went shopping for a few ends and outs at my favorite high-end luxury store, Tarzhay, and picked up something that made me use Spike’s title in such an appropriate circumstance, I shamed myself.



Oh, Bo. I really shouldn’t do him as wrong as I do.

I love him. He loves me. I let him sneeze in my face. He lets me clip his claws and clean out the wrinkles in his face.



Our love is obscene.



He was my North, my South, my East, and West…



…My working week and my Sunday rest…



But sometimes? Oh, sometimes. I do things to King Bo Boceephis The Third…



…where hating me probably wouldn’t do the situation enough justice.



I’ve traumatized my son.


Please send help.