I consider myself an extremely loving person. I emote on a regular basis, and I have little trouble displaying my love for life’s most precious things, like family, friends and Leatherman multi-tools, which contain convenient fold-out corkscrews and tweezers. Many argue it would be ridiculous to love handy, plier-knife hybrid tools as much as humans, but to me, it’s completely normal; I love all things greatly and equally, because that’s what Jim Caviezel, the actor who played Jesus in Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ,” would have wanted.

But, as true as my palpable love for the world is, there are a few things that are simply unlovable. Mass execution comes to mind, as does Nickelback. But after the most inane conversation I’ve ever had with my roommate, I now know the one thing in this world that is not only unlovable, but that elicits the purest hatred I have ever felt: the city of Boston.

I’ve never really liked Boston before because, unlike most people who live there, I enjoy happiness, clean surroundings and intelligible English. To prove my hatred to my roommate, who is from Boston, I routinely tell him that I can’t think of a single reason why anybody would like that city. Being the argumentative smartass that he is, he recently responded by saying, “Why exactly do you hate Boston?”

He’s so smug. Everybody in Boston is so smug. It was such a ridiculous question that I just blew it off. But, like a small child, he just kept asking until finally I broke things down for him using short sentences, small words, and simple analogies, since people from Boston are incapable of understanding anything more than that.

“I don’t like your city because it’s a pain in the ass to get around,” I said. “If you want to get anywhere there, you have to ride the T. Aside from the fact that the lower case version of the letter ‘t’ looks exactly like a cross and is offensive to Jim Caviezel, who played Jesus in Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ,” the system is awful; to go anywhere, you have to go into the city. Every line goes in and out of the city, and that’s it.”

I was certain my sound logic had convinced him. But, like a true Bostonian, he just kept arguing, even though there was clearly nothing to argue about. “That’s just how all cities work,” the American Studies major retorted. “Trains go in and out of cities because people need to go in and out of cities. All urban transportation works like that. Places like New York, for example, are the exact same way.”

“Don’t change the subject, wiseass. We’re not talking about New York, we’re talking about Boston.” Obviously he was missing the point. “Alright,” I said, “you’re obviously missing the point. I’ll give you a simple analogy. Let’s take Boston and compare it to an undeveloped country — say, Colombia. Now, when I was in Colombia, I went to a street-side restaurant and ordered an entire chicken. The guy working there killed a chicken, plucked it, cooked it and served it to me. Not only was it delicious, but here’s the kicker: everything in Colombia is so clean that he didn’t even have to wash his hands that entire time. When I ordered a chicken sandwich at a Subway in Boston, the guy washed his hands twice.”

My stunned roommate, ashamed of his city’s filthiness, looked at me and said, “That’s disgusting. And that’s also probably why you got a rare stomach bacteria that only comes from South American chickens.”

I hate Bostonians. Whenever they don’t understand something, they just try to act smarter than you and respond in nonsensical medical jargon. “Stop speaking in nonsensical medical jargon,” I shot back.

“It’s not medical jargon. You get sick like that because people don’t wash their hands. It’s just common sense.”

“Yeah, sure it is, American Studies major.”

We sat silently. Rarely do I have such a difficult time making myself understood. I couldn’t grasp why this idiot — who I thought was my friend — was so ignorantly stubborn. Is the educational system in Boston so bad that basic universal truths like the existence of gravity, the roundness of the world, and the shittiness of Boston simply aren’t accepted? I couldn’t make sense of it. I grew up in rural Colorado, and this sort of stupidity just doesn’t exist in rural places.

After several seconds of shaking his head in embarrassment at his city, he finally said, “I can’t believe I’m even having this argument with you.”

Finally, I had won. He had realized the futility of defending Boston against my reasoning. I was victorious, and he looked like a fool.

But then, out of nowhere, the audacious bastard continued: “I mean, you just make everything so personal. You turn every difference between us into a huge deal, and then you don’t shut up about it. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t hate Colorado, even though that’s where you’re from.”

He’s such a dick. Only a Bostonian would have brought Colorado into the argument, even though it had nothing to do with the topic at hand. I called him out on it.

“You know what? I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to get under my skin by making this personal, and I resent that. You can’t undermine my argument by making personal attacks.”

“But what is your argument?!” he yelled.

Clearly he hadn’t been paying attention the entire time. What an asshole. Bostonians are such assholes.

Daniel Zier may or may not have informed his roommate that he was writing this column.