If there’s one thing I truly cannot stand, it’s having people think that I’m “just okay.” “Hey, Jo, do you know that kid Shelby?” “Yeah, Bob, he’s just okay.” It creams my corn and spits in my bean curd.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently, and I’ve decided that I’d much rather have people hate me than think I was just okay. After all, it takes a special kind of jerk to have people truly hate you; whereas being thought of indifferently isn’t that much of an accomplishment whatsoever. In fact, one could almost go so far as to say that being apathised is an anti-accomplishment, as it takes no willpower of any sort. You just are, and people say, “you are.” There’s no action going on there besides the general action of existence.
So, my dear friends, love me, hate me–just don’t think I’m okay, because if you do I’m going to send my legion of flying attack monkeys and Tom Selleck look-alikes after you, and, trust me, that isn’t fun.