Learning Day: I Hate You!

Think of a time you claimed true revenge. Real, brutal, satisfying, justified vengeance.

No you fucking didn’t.

At least not all four. It might have been imaginary. Or useless. Or depressing. Or psychotic. But life doesn’t hand out the full John Wick. Your revenge story is either impotence or insanity.

I Hate You! offers an antidote. A chance to even the score, and see criminal court in person.

Offers, not provides. Scamming angry obsessives seems fraught, yet it’s a genre. And George Hayduke’s prolific, thanks to barely writing. Reader submissions filled titles like Get Even, Make ‘Em Pay, and Quick & Dirty Homemade Silencers, as if revenge were a bottomless pit. In fact, he passed finishing this one off to a friend: M. Nelson Chunder, who went on to do nothing. Consider Chunder the impotence to Hayduke’s insanity.

I Hate You! is more than an artfully named map to jail. It's a crowdsourced map with the wisdom of liars, defendants, and liars worldwide. I could start with Up Yours!, the first collection of tall tales for small men. But as a ghostwritten sequel, I Hate You! takes angry jelqing further.

At a glance, I’m pulling the wings off of self-help books again. But maybe these tips can help you. Just in case, I’ll include each lie’s equal offense. The crimes worthy of the payback, per revenge experts. Try to match them, or you might make a public, permanent mistake.

A classic. E.g., stolen and discredited. HotDog PSA: the blue urine prank is as harmless as the liver punching prank. You may cherish memories of pulling it off. Your grandparents cherished memories of laudanum. Same genre. Your urine’s like your baby: it shouldn’t be blue.

Proportionate Crimes: Mocked haircut, texted slowly.

More fucking with food. I might co-sign this one, since it doesn’t involve poison or condoms. The condoms come later. My senators say supporting crimes prevents bigger theoretical crimes, so go ahead and dose health nuts. You know, the people obsessed with becoming stronger and faster than you. Antagonize them.

Proportionate Crimes: Purchased breakfast, grew distant.

Waiting for a warning? It’s not coming. If I have to mock this one, you’re boned. Your next prank target’s a district attorney. Assuming you’re not after Diebel for your divorce.

Proportionate Crimes: Arson, left you on read.

There are questions about shooting a neighbor, and your plan after shooting your neighbor. Abandon them. What does the Crank Yankers fakeout add? They live next door. You can shoot them without a signed confession, at leisure, and incriminate yourself two percent less. You shouldn’t, but you can.

Consider The Art of War’s spiritual sequel: Pinky & The Brain. Every task you give Pinky invites failure. Also, you’re Pinky.

Proportionate Crimes: Ate your cat, dumped you by emoji.

Chunder skips how to use fake blood. I don’t know why, when we’ve already shot, drugged, and framed the neighbor. The restraint ship’s sailed. These pranks read like Dick Wolf’s dream journal. The best move’s playing lawsuits against each other like John Constantine selling his soul to multiple judges.

It’s not respect for our imagination. I’m confident the first draft’s entry for “gun” said “aim for the middle” and “warn your favorite classmates.”

Proportionate Crimes: Left alum in breakfast, moved out.

Excellent start. Expectations are high, like a legacy athlete. Don’t let me down, like a legacy student. Or at least fail colorfully, like a legacy actor.

Earth’s a big planet, and this came out a long time ago. I won’t say no one’s done this. I will say that invisible voices cheered them on. Forty seconds into coating anything with blood, you should stop fretting over details and focus on flights to Mexico. I just use Google Flights, but my roommate swears by Hopper.

Proportionate Crimes: Planted fake bones, blocked texts.

It’s true! Unreal bombs are great. You can use them to visit unreal prison, and join an unreal hate group to survive. Later, when your unreal parents pick up their lost unreal child, they’ll see your unreal windmill tattoo and know your unreal suffering. Unless they forget you, and you rebuild alone in a system designed to grind you into unreal dust.

Proportionate Crimes: Reported fun pranks, shared normal texts.

This will achieve less than nothing. If you buy attraction theory, it’s more productive to sit in a dark room and imagine your enemy’s credit card debt. But this is just close enough to workable to depress me.

Proportionate Crimes: News Corp employment, took favorite sweater.

Going forward, I’ll assume everyone has Houdini’s sleight of hand. It feels more sporting. Still, who’s the target in this lie?

Let’s follow Jim’s logic. I’d draw a diagram, but Adobe’s hiking my rates and GIMP tutorials are wordy. Jim frequents bars and school cafeterias, so he’s an undergrad, teacher, or systemic failure. Let’s say undergrad.

The cafeteria chowder sucks. Jim wants someone’s dignity, but whose? A team of cooks–or one underpaid, sleepless soul–reheats the chowder. That’s one target. Admin sets the chowder budget. That’s another. The student council exists, and early resume padders always make the world worse. Another valid target. So Jim’s ruthless, ribald revenge rains ruin on…a random girl. I’m sure Jim resents women as much as any fan of the Up Yours! canon: half as much as a given Star Wars partisan. But it pays to focus.

Proportionate Crime: Entered buffet while girl, refused to return sweater.

Nope.

Proportionate Crimes: No Contest.

Kidding, I’m King Excess Effort. And with Adams and Hochul teamed up, sanitation could easily implode next. Let’s hear it.

Alright, Adobe gets their pound of flesh. This needs a diagram.

I, Human A, want revenge on Human B.

I, Human A, collect garbage.

I, Human A, collect shit.

I, Human A, collect child pornography.

I, Human A, wallow in isekai. Until it reeks. My spouse flees the country. My children disown me. My friends forget my name. My mother challenges me to a duel, simply to clear her name. My dog walks away.

I, a legend townsfolk dub “The Shitman,” mail local officials. I use Human B’s name, which confuses local officials. Because this letter is obviously from the Shitman. The Shitman has the smelliest child pornography collection in town. Human B’s barely compares.

Human B is owned.

Seems odd.

Proportionate Crimes: Euphoria, shredded sweater.

Hold on.

Chunder’s publisher. Is Paladin Press a shared universe? Will reading about the Shitman help me understand Ninja Death Touch? Are there cameo lies from Ninja Mind Control? Why abandon ninjas for a sadder power fantasy?

It’s a plug. And the best thinking here. Anyone trading wages for one Paladin Press adventure is ready to part with their full savings. Why not go for a combo?

Proportionate Crimes: Tripped silent alarm, burned sweater scraps.

Cool. Something eludes me. You’re mailing food lies to an almost-writer without standards. Make it fun! Tell him you’re an NSA agent taking revenge on your CIA ex. Tell him mixing Skittles and Coke causes dick cancer. Chunder will print it; he has pages to fill and half a sense of humor. Tampon fiction just wastes everyone’s time.

A quarter of a sense of humor.

Proportionate Crimes: Opened diner, mailed back sweater ashes.

Leases must have been nicer in 1983. If you do this now, the landlord gets your baby. You’re still on the hook for diapers and tuition, but they own the kid.

Proportionate Crimes: See “Tenants.”

Self-defeating. Let your enemies keep the dumbest, angriest partners possible. If they’d fall for this, pray for marriage. It’ll inflict almost half as much harm as hoarding child porn and garbage.

Proportionate Crimes: Phone ownership, making PoxLove profile.

If Paladin Press includes a warning, a plan’s perfect. There’s no better way to infiltrate a prison. As for revenge pranking, reconsider. Only a lunatic would draft civilians with the same name into a feud. You’re not a lunatic, right? You just need justice.

Proportionate Crimes: Had name, matched friend.

Sounds interesting! The plague fried my short-term memory, so I’m excited.

Parades. I’m sure floats deserve just as much pain as food. But you can’t promise revenge on a McMahon without delivering.

Keister, arm, neck. A little chance makes life fun. And I dig chemical pranks on public events. But we’re missing some key information: how do I deal with the billionaire hucking throwing stars at me? Or the masked teen doing flips while calling me “snake cuck?” Nicknames like that stick at the asylum, especially if you end up next to the clown.

Proportionate Crimes: Crossed the League of Shadows, ignored PoxLove message.

I had a zany police report edit loaded for this one. It was hilarious. Then I recalled the sensation of baton on ribcage. There’s a xylophone inside all of us.

After faking transit signs, campaign ads, plague warnings, and Sanitation Grades, I gently suggest faking anything but a police report. Try a will! You might make enough to pay off the cops.

Proportionate Crimes: Mail theft, reported PoxLove profile.

Fair play to Chunder: I’m a little torn. Making a Behemoth album cover is the best food waste so far. More of a party favor than a prank, but context varies. That said, I suspect the average Paladin Press reader has a low bar for zany foreign food. Dumping CostCo kimchi over snails won’t impress the devil or shock your neighbors. Aside from the food waste.

Do you need help tricking someone this dumb? Can’t you tell them the Debit Fairy is coming, and you need their pin number to survive? Or that you’ll bring back coal?

Proportionate Crime: Low review score, suggested therapy.

In a better life, I’d root for sanity. But she better have done this, or she’s both a liar and a plagiarist. This “takeoff” is older than Gorilla Glue or dicks. Disloyal Gluedicks sit between lying politicians and indigent writers in the global hivemind. Right next to Southern Belles coasting off others’ work.

Proportionate Crime: 1930’s husband.

The next few elections will suck. If you run for anything above Village Idiot, brace for HD video of you beating Bluey to death with a smaller Bluey. But this is still a shit tip for 1983. Fingerprint lifts were further along than audio edits ThAT SouNDEd LikE tHIS.

Proportionate Crime: Incumbency, rejected apology.

This is porn for lawyers. Don’t share it if you’re courting one, you’ll come on way too strong. Let them chase you a little, like you’re a limo on New Year’s Eve.

As for the attitude? I’d never advocate guillotines. That’s firmly in the “insanity” slot. BuT a FakE DeNNard MighT SuGGEST killing all landlords iN A fAKe schEmE. Those edits are wild.

Proportionate Crime: Poverty, posted new partner.

This seems more like an attempt to kill me, the reader. Is that you Dad? It’s time to let go. Offing me won’t make Shottas the Jamaican Godfather. It’s barely the Jamaican Shottas. That’s why three people reading this have seen it, and two think Major Lazer is real.

It has to be Dad. A writer in the most litigious country north of Antarctica wouldn’t say “pull apart toasters for pipe bomb parts, it’ll probably work out.” Either the shit doesn’t work, and they sue, or it works, and I repeat that prison gang joke.

Proportionate Crime: Restraining order.

If you like this idea, brace yourself for C.W.’s next hit: round rocks. They spin around axles to move heavy loads. Keep an eye out, they’re gonna be big. Spear big. The Neanderthals will never see them coming.

Proportionate Crime: Cootie dispersal, engagement photo.

Trolling entire highways sounds like a good time. As long as there’s no strain of violent, explosive anger that emerges on highways. Then showing strangers your massive balls might end in losing them.

Proportionate Crime: Driving, withheld wedding invitation.

I can’t test this one, and every search engine I liked is dead. I’ll assume that, physically, it works. But I’m not sure what this hides. Unless there’s a plague of suicidal windows, they’ll assume some asshole did it. And you own this book, so you’re “some asshole.”

Proportionate Crime: Flashy windows, fifth anniversary photo.

Obviously, lines about living well are horseshit. But they’re pithier than “the best revenge is an obvious and embarrassing lie.” Or “the best revenge requires the skills, budget, and plot armor of James Bond.” Or “the best revenge looks bad to a jury of your peers.” Or “Daddy got the best revenge, so he lives at Arkham now.”

Healthier options exist.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Sarcophski, who understands the best revenge is living well, and the second best is killing a parade horse.

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