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That shirt you’re wearing right now? Chances are, Dick Cheney hates it. That car you drive? Thinks it’s for whiny un-American pansies. The fact that you’ve probably eaten tofu and wear designer shoes and have actually had sex while standing up? Pervert heathen traitor to the real America, Dick thinks. He hates that.
Some days, Dick has trouble counting all the ways in which he hates you, the world, life. Some days, he hates the fact that there are not enough hours in the day for him to count the ways in which he hates you and all you probably stand for. This makes him sad. Which he also hates.