I proudly triumph the underdog. I enjoy nurturing and supporting people when they are down. I like sticking up for people that other people gossip about behind their backs. I encourage the weakling and invite the unpopular to join the party. That's my good side.

But when I am depressed, the dark side of that trait emerges. I sullenly mock the popular cheerleader. I hate people in luxury cars, especially SUV's. I despise the rich and beautiful, unless they have struggled and suffered to get where they are. I hate privelege. I hate popular music. I hate Banana Republic. I hate the top movies and the people who star in them. I could easily don a black wig, go goth and start sneering at my upper middle class neighbors at any moment.

I especially revile the women with "PGS" -- pretty girl syndrome. The world should step aside because they won the genetic lottery and were born with small noses and big boobs. Or at least daddies rich enough to buy them for them. They turned in their homework late and pouted their way out of receiving a lower grade. They got the job over more qualified candidates because they "knew someone," and then stuck their coworkers with all the work because they were both lazy and stupid. Self-absorbed useless wastes of human existence.

Ah, I have let the evil out. Muscles are relaxing. Goodness and kindness are returning to my heart. I am getting a little sleepy.

The magic of blogging.