I am beginning to wonder if I should be allowed to walk freely among people or if perhaps I need to wear a sign that warns people that I my bite is worse than my bark.
You’d think that a guy who wrote “You never want to look back upon your day while sitting handcuffed in the back of a squad car and wonder how it could have gone to hell so quickly” would be cautious about how he behaved in public.
Surely he wasn’t interested in wearing a pair of silver bracelets again. You’d think he wouldn’t want to explain to another judge how it is not his fault he got into another fight.
It wasn’t worth getting arrested for beating a man with a salami. Sure it makes for a great story but when you realize that it is not the only tale of you engaging in fisticuffs you have to accept that people begin to question your self control.
You can try to distract them with 69 Reasons Why Fathers Make Better Lovers but eventually you touch upon the time you beat up a surly, drunk and horny clown at a birthday partyÂ and people wonder if maybe you have self control issues.
Can’t blame them for asking, especially when you talk about blogging without shame.
It’s The Dumbest Way To Get Arrested
If you ask me to pull a card from any deck I can promise you I am going to pull the Joker every time. Can’t tell you if it is good luck or a curse because there is enough black in my ledge to balance the red.
But then again that is what it looked like before this last incident.
The only thing I hate more than food shopping is doing it in a crowd which is why I chose to hit my local establishment for a couple of beers and some wings.
I figured by the time the game ended the grocery store would be mostly empty and I was mostly right. Mostly because I chose to hit the produce department at the same time as a group of college boys did.
Don’t ask me to explain why they were staring at the lettuce and checking out the melons and not buying beer because I don’t get it either.
I can’t explain that any better than I can tell how two of them and I started exchangingÂ artillery fireÂ in the aisles. What I can tell you is that if you ever get into it in the store don’t try throwing cantaloupes at your adversary, especially if he is me.
That is because I can throw green apples harder, faster and more accurately than you can. If you are smart you’ll take cover or if you are young, dumb and stupid you’ll let me come at you and eventually I will use a pile of watermelon’s to destroy you.
You can’t imagine how dumb you’ll look after you get hit by several 8 pound melons.
The thing you have to remember is that eventually someone is going to call the police because you are fighting in the market. Said police will come and give you silver bracelets and you’ll think that a watermelon war is the dumbest way to get arrested.
Later on your public defender will ask you to explain yourself so he can provide an adequate defense and you’ll quote Sean Connery’s character in The Untouchables.
Malone: You wanna know how to get Capone? They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. *That’s* the *Chicago* way! And that’s how you get Capone. Now do you want to do that? Are you ready to do that? I’m offering you a deal. Do you want this deal?
And then your PD will look cross eyed at you and you’ll try to explain that you were minding your own business and that it started when these other guys made fun of you dancing.
When your PD asks what you were dancing to you’ll say you started with Paul Revere by The Beastie Boys and explain that what really set you off was when Barry Manilow’s Weekend In New England came on.
The PD will ask why that song is on your phone and instead of giving him a civil answer you’ll jump across the table and start slapping him because you think he questioned your masculinity.
And when push comes to shove you’ll admit that maybe you lack impulse control but demand that you aren’t charged with assault because you are entitled to defend your person and your taste in music.
My shrink says I shouldn’t talk about these moments in the third person because it makes it easier for me to disconnect and not be accountable. I told him that he shouldn’t talk to me that way and he asked if I was going to hurt him too.
I told him talking like that was a good way to get a beating and he kept doing it so I proved I am a man of my word. I don’t think my Freud wannabe will do that again.
Editor’s Note: This was 32 minutes of flash fiction I wrote just for the heck of it. I have never been arrested or beaten anyone up with fruit or processed meat.