This is a shout out to every person who has ever made me angry.

To every person who has ever had the nerve to tell me I wasn't old enough, strong enough, smart enough or brave enough.

To the guy who checked my height at Six Flags and my English prof who failed my last paper.

To every guy I've ever hit out of anger or jealousy, and to every girl who has ever made me cry into my pillow.

To my parents, my friends, my lovers and my coworkers: This one is for you.

It's for all of you. Thanks.

No, I really mean it. Thank you. Thank you for telling me my poem was terrible. It really was. The structure was all wrong and the message really was trite and obnoxious.

Thank you for picking me last for your basketball team. The other kids really were better, and I don't blame you one bit.

Thank you for checking the "maybe" box on that note I passed you in second grade. You kept my grade school years full of tension and suspense.

And thanks for betting blindly on an inside straight, only to beat me on the river card and take every last cent.

I can't thank you all enough.

It's because of you I'm sitting where I am today, in front of a computer, in a dorm room, at Penn State University.

It's because of you that I am writing this column -- that I am able to write at all, actually. It's because of you that I picked up the proverbial pen and haven't been able to put it down since.

Every night I fall asleep to visions of you stacking cinder blocks and mixing mortar, and every morning I wake up with a renewed fervor for demolishing everything in my path.

I'm packing dynamite made out of carefully chosen words and a bulldozer running on stubborn gasoline.

It's the way we all are. Nothing gives us more satisfaction than overstepping our boundaries. We love nothing more than proving you wrong.

We build our futures on you people making us overcome your insecurities.

Your criticisms become one more step on the stairs. Your impositions and obstructions become nothing more than another pressed button on our elevator.

Tell me I can't one more time. I dare you. Tell me I'm wrong. Give me one more double negative to mark down in my mental "to massacre" list.

It is imperative that you don't stop yourself from slamming me, from slamming everyone you know. You are an integral part of our social upbringing. You are the fuel for the fire of millions.

If you are a professor at this university and students do not leave your class in rage, you are not doing your job. If teachers do not aggravate their students to the point where they hear rumors about their sex lives, those teachers had better take a closer look at their education practices.

The best motivator that can be developed within the youth of this community is the seething anger we all possess. We don't like you. In fact, we might even hate you. If we don't, you can be sure we don't care about you. You are an afterthought.

If you are an education major, start recognizing attacks against your personal character as signs of your efficiency.

If you are a business major and get upset by things being whispered under the other guy's breath, you best find yourself lucrative self-employment.

And if the last time you blamed your friend for something was more than a week ago, it's time you start fishing for scapegoats.

Be the big bad bully you've always wanted to be -- just don't be out for blood. You have to be judicious about your use of criticism. If you are not willing to help the person once you have judged them, then you aren't doing anything but helping to brew another postal service bloodbath.

Be there to offer a hand once you knock someone on his ass. Let them know if they zigged left when they should have zagged right. Give them a reason for getting back up instead of letting them accept the ground as a suitable living arrangement.

The best teachers life has to offer are the ones you hate two or three days out of the week.

I have been lucky enough in my life to have these people present at every turn of the page. My friends and family have never shied away from planting obstacles in my way. In fact, if I am able to do something without any noticeable resistance, I begin to check and re-check my detachment from reality.

I love these people for what they have done for me. They made my life harder than it could have been, and they trained me to be better than I was the day before. They have taught me more about life than any book or movie or Oprah operatic ever could.

Because of you people, I am going to be the most successful me in history, and I don't think I could ever thank you enough.

All I can do is make sure to be there to return the favor and cut you down every chance I get.

Hopefully, the rest of the people around here are doing the same.