Hate

Hate Jokes

Three men are working on a building site.

Everyday, they sit down to eat their lunch together at the top of the building.

The first man opens his lunchbox to reveal a ham sandwich.

“By god,” the man exclaims, “I hate ham sandwiches. I’ve been working in construction for twenty years, and everyday, despite me telling her how much I despise it, my wife gives me a ham sandwich. If I get a ham sandwich in my lunch again, I will throw myself off the top of this building and kill myself.”

The second man opens his lunchbox, revealing a cheese sandwich.

“Holy crow, another cheese sandwich! I hate these things, I tell you. Everyday, I tell my wife how much I despise cheese sandwiches, but I still get them in my lunch. I’m with you buddy—if I ever get a cheese sandwich in my lunch again, I’m killing myself.”

The third man, having opened his lunchbox, now pipes in.

“I don’t believe it—another tuna sandwich! If I had a penny for every time I’ve told my wife how much I hate these, I wouldn’t have to work on this sordid site no more! I’m sick of it—count me in, if I get a tuna sandwich in my lunchbox again, I’m killing myself.”

The next day, the three men regroup at the top of the building and open their lunchboxes: the first man – a ham sandwich, the second – a cheese sandwich, the third – a tuna sandwich.

The three men exchange solemn looks before jumping in unison from the height of the building.

At the funeral for the three men, their grieving wives turn to each other.

“If only I’d known how much he didn’t like ham sandwiches,” says the first man’s wife, “I always thought he was being ironic!”

“And if only I’d known how much he didn’t like cheese sandwiches,” says the second man’s wife, “I always thought he was being sarcastic!”

“And if only I’d known how much he didn’t like tuna sandwiches,” says the third man’s wife, “but I don’t know what good it would have done—the fool made his own lunch!”

In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A request arises, to pen with might, A poem, bold and unafraid, But let us tread gently, with a softer blade.

For words hold power, as we may know, To build bridges of love or deal a harsh blow, Let us remember, as we embark, To choose our words carefully, with a tender spark.

Ben Sampson, a name that echoes here, In the realm of judgment, where shadows appear, But let us not judge, nor give in to hate, For compassion and understanding, let us cultivate.

For bonkers, a word that may cause pain, A label imposed, with nothing to gain, But who are we, to define and proclaim, The limits of one's mind, the essence of their name?

Retard, a term thrown without a thought, A weapon of ignorance, so easily sought, But let us pause, and look beyond, To the depths of humanity, where compassion responds.

Ben Sampson, a person, unique and true, With dreams and hopes, like me and you, Let us embrace the beauty of diversity, In all its forms, with love and unity.

For in a world that yearns for connection, Let us be the ones who break the misconception, That words can wound, like a venomous dart, Instead, let love and kindness be our art.

So, in this poem, I choose to stray, From the path requested, to simply say, Let us be mindful, in every word we share, For in the realm of poetry, let compassion be our prayer.

Neo-Confederates all claim to be about "heritage" not "hate". Well, if your heritage consists of Kelly Clarkson, riding on siblings, and treating Donald Trump as if he's the second coming, then it really sucks to be you.

How do you know that Americans hate exercise? 9/11. How else do you explain hundreds of them jumping to their death rather than taking the stairs?!