Tighten Torn On My Own Pun

What is it that causes hatred? For some it's an event early in life that leaves a scar so deep that nothing can wax over it to change things for the future. Sometimes, we aren't even aware of our own hatred; it's such an embedded thought process in our lives that we can't truly fathom our wrong-doing. Such a strong word is used so casually in our vernacular that we glide over it's intensity and we use it to describe the onions on our hamburger. The burning intensity of hatred can be compared to a million exploding suns...in August. As any English-language speaking person should, I try my best to respect the language that we've chosen and agreed upon to express the wide array of complex ideas and schema that the human brain is possible of. That being said, I verily hope that the next four words that your eyes scan over are understood in their fullest.

I hate the beach.

Everything about it. The sunshine, the sand, the water, the bonfire. If there were evidence against intelligent design, this would definitely be it; no intelligent person would throw all of these things together in one spot. Today was the third time in the last year that I went to the beach. It wasn't so much of being taken on a Sunday vacation as it was being laid out for a guilt trip. This is how most of my ventures into Mother Nature's vast wilderness start out. People often criticize me for being a natural-born California citizen and not enjoying the beach. Why then do we not criticize the natural-born California Republican then, hm? I have yet to discover what makes the beach stand out among a hose and a dirty backyard. What is it that makes such a cliche place so wonderful? It's not like they add new rides or attractions every season like Six Flags. Maybe that's the special mysticism that draws people into it. The reliability of a special place that won't change. The world may never know. I may never know what caused my hatred of a bunch of rocks and some water, but until then, I can still write about it.