People I Have Decided To Kill If I See Them Again: #23

May 14th, 2006 Posted in Blog Posts, Rants

Welcome, once again, to People I Have Decided To Kill If I See Them Again, a feature of this website wherein I threaten someone for the slightest of infractions. Many people have emailed me, curious as to the details of their imminent murders. Sadly, sir or madam, I can’t get into specifics, as I am unaware of the environment surrounding our future meeting. Much like in the Jet Li film Romeo Must Die, when Mr. Li finds himself suddenly thrust into a situation where it is both suddenly raining and he and his opponent find themselves perfectly encircled in a ring of gasoline, I prefer to improvise as the conditions dictate.

Were we to find ourselves in the situation just given, for instance, I would most likely pummel you to death with a series of precision kicks to the face, chest and knees. Conversely, were I instead to encounter you in the vegetable aisle of Whole Foods, I probably leap through a stack of avocodos and pummel you to death with two cobs of corn.

This, you should note, is how I roll.

#23: Teenage Meathead Who Almost Killed Me While Trying to Impress His Friends

Time of Offense: 9:02am, June 29th, 2006

Particulars:

According to a 2002 National Vital Statistics Report , suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers, with some 132,000 suicide attempts among those those aged 15 to 24 recorded in the United States. This evidence suggests several things: a) that people aged 15 to 24 have such a low sense of self-worth that they’re trying to off themselves in large numbers; and b) that, unsurprisingly, they’re not even successful at it, which might have been the cause of the low self-worth in the first place. (Here’s a tip, kids: you can’t actually kill yourself through writing bad poetry. At best you might inspire a homicide.)

Should the police be reading this, I’m of course not suggesting that teenagers kill themselves; I’m just saying it’s probably clear to anyone who’s talked to one for more than five minutes why they’d want to. People aged 15 to 24 are at a pivotal stage in their lives, where the necessities of life have forced them into the unenviable position of defining their personal identities in an arena where having one is frowned upon; while their small accumulation of time on the planet leaves them ignorant of vast amounts of necessary data that only experience can teach. In other words: they’re loud. And they’re stupid.

And they’re everywhere; again, because they seem to lack the basic motor skills to properly kill themselves. A group of them walked over next to me on the subway platform this morning, loudly and clumsily acting out a “Who’s the dominant alpha male?” scenario right out of Chimp Week on the Discovery Channel. Three teenage boys (wearing enormous pants, as well as basketball jerseys so long and flowing it occurred to me these things are essentially a socially acceptable way for men to experiment with wearing dresses in public) flexed, displayed and showed their silver backs two teenage girls, who I’ll call The Pretty One and The Pretty One’s Friend. The biggest, stupidest one, who I’ll call AlphaTard, waxed rhapsodic about BetaTeen and OmegaTeen and how much cock he surmised they enjoyed sucking. His conclusion: a lot of cock. Pretty One was letting out squeals of pleasure at a pitch that only teenage girls can hit, most likely permanently obliterating the hearing of most dogs in the area (with the exception of her friend, who didn’t seem to mind.)

All of this, by the way, I could care less about. If I got bent out of shape every time I had to watch teenagers acting like idiots I’d have keeled over of an aneurysm by now. What made me want to throttle AlphaTard was what he did next. In a show of bravery clearly directed at The Pretty One, he suddenly walked right up to the ledge of the subway platform, just as the subway was hurtling towards the stop. Then, with a sneer only the very young and oblivious can attain sincerely, he held out his arm into the path of the subway, holding a can of Coke in it. Just as the subway hurtled past us, he snaked his arm back in — leaving the Coke can, which the subway car hit at a speed of 50 miles an hour, exploding the can on impact and sending shards of metal everywhere. As the subway slowed to its stop, AlphaTard adopted a look of smug accomplishment, confident he’d just won his way into Pretty One’s pants through his steely-eyed bravery.

I’ll ignore for a moment the supreme pants-wetting idiocy of playing Chicken with a subway train as a way to meet girls, which strikes me as somewhere between Drinking Bleach Shooters and Mock-Stabbing Your Eyes With Scissors on a “Worst Ways to Impress Women” scale. What was inconceivable about the entire episode was how easily he could have maimed or killed someone with the exploding metal shards from the Coke can; that the idea had never even occurred to him; and that he was oblivious to this even now.

Luckily, a nearby bodybuilder with enormous arms had in fact caught the possibility, due to a shard of aluminum sailing past his face and ricocheting off the wall behind him. Striding quickly up to the group, and interrupting AlphaTard in mid-sentence, he grabbed him and silently looked at him with a glare that said, “I am waiting for a reason not to destroy you.”

AlphaMale stuttered out confused “Whats?” for a moment. Eventually, the bodybuilder realized if he kept hanging onto this idiot he’d miss his train, and let him go. I hopped onto the train too, and the teen posse reluctantly shuffled in soon after.

They didn’t say a word the rest of the ride.