Fight, Flight, or Act commited....

On two separate occasions yesterday I was reminded how it has been a long time since I have posted a journal. Once by my wife, the other by Qcx918. Incidentally enough, something happened yesterday that reminded me of something that happened to me in middle school that gave rise to one of my most favorite theories.

When people mess with you, act like you're out of your freaking mind. Seriously.

Amanda and I went to go see Disturbia yesterday (Go see Rear Window instead), and before the movie got rolling a thrown quarter nails Amanda in the back of her shoulder. We turn around to see two rich teeny bopper "gurls" sitting two rows back smirking at us. We had no proof it was them, and they knew it. Their faces sent the message "What are you going to do about it?"

We did nothing really, but we decided that if it happened again we would go get the theater manager and raise a fuss, demand our money back, and so on and so fourth. I secretly decided that while Amanda went for the pimply faced manager that I would immediately hop over the two rows of seats, sit next to one of the Paris Hilton wannabes and make them so uncomfortable they would cry every night they closed their eyes to sleep. You don't mess with my wife. And I can be a scary creepy dude when I want to be.

This method arose due to that incident I mentioned earlier that took place in middle school. The players in this saga where myself "Josh" , some fat bad boy dude "John" and the prison bound "I don't care I'll still mess you up in front of the cops" guy "James." Hey.. three J's... who knew? Anyways, I had to pee... like really bad one day, and so I agreeably answered natures call. This particular day all the urinals were full and I was forced to use the stall. Right about when I was unleashing the fury I hear John tell James that I had just that second insulted his "momma." A claim that was entirely untrue and had the sole purpose to serve Johns desire to see James kick my scrawny butt and possibly kill me. Sometimes I wondered if John was a distant relation to one of those fat Jerk Caesars that killed thousands of people just so he could get it up. I have yet to test this theory.

Anyways, James was of the type that he didn't need any proof of what was said, nor any investigation to what was going on, he must have been a Dirty Harry fan. Anyways, James starts to kick the stall door in so hard that it bounces back at him, he repeats this little stunt like seven times. I'm not sure if it was because he knew it was scaring the crap out of me, or if because he though the bouncing door was funny, either way, I was on the wrong end of this stick. James kept yelling at me to tell him what I said about his momma, and I knew what I did next was going to have to be quick and fast in order to get myself out of that dung hole alive.

I turned around and "weeweeed" on his shoes. Then laughed... loudly with my pitiful peewee flailing about. You see I don't know why I did this... no clue.. no idea, but I soon realized that I was doing it and I had better follow it up with something quick or else my fate would be sealed. Before James could get his sweaty bear hands on me to choke the life out of me I began to scream things that would cause even the most serious biker dude to cast down his leather jacket and take up the cross to correct the worlds wrongs. I began to kick the stall wall as well as the toilet (all with my peewee still out.) I allowed myself to hurl spittle everywhere and demand that I be taken to his uncle so I could give him a proper "what for." I slammed my head against the wall prophesying the coming of the next potato king to the sacred garden. I let go of my peewee and flailed my arms about striking everything within distance in that small stall crying that the math books of the world were trying to get into my nails and that I mustn't let them. I was (As Lewis Black would say) two hairs away from becoming a Baboon.

I had become so psychotic, that James decided that it just wasn't worth it, and walked out with the look on his face that stated he had just escaped some undesirable way to view humanity.

Me? I zipped up and got my butt out of there faster than stink. I was never approached about the incident again, no questions, no inquiries, no threats. It was as if I managed to erase any involvement with both John and James, future, past or present. It was as if the event never happened. Well, Lucky me.

And last night these two tabloid reading punks nearly got the same treatment.. well.. minus the yellow stuff. But the result would have been the same. They would have witnessed something so personally disturbing, and yet so entirely legal that they would undergo an entire background check on someone before throwing at stinking quarter at their wife. Dang straight.