Punch’d.

Punch’d.

Violence is never the answer. But still, violence happens each and every day, for a number of reasons. I’ve never been one to advocate violence and will usually turn the other cheek, mostly because I float like a bee and sting like a butterfly, but that’s besides the point.

Chris Rock (ironically enough) said in one of his comedy routines, “There’s a reason to hit everybody; you’re just not supposed to do it.” Supposed to or not, people hit people all the time. I didn’t respond well to corporal punishment when I was a kid, so even playful nudges or smacks trigger me a little bit, so if I can avoid a fight, I’ll try. But sometimes, punches need to be thrown, if only to prove you’re not gonna take anyone’s crap.

I don’t care too much, at all, really, about Hollywood big shots getting slapped on the national stage over some stupid joke. You gonna hit a grown man because he made a joke in poor taste about your wife? Pull him aside out of the sight of cameras and talk it out like men. Grown-ass men who aren’t boxers shouldn’t be hitting each other in public. No good can come from it. Whatever; it was probably staged, anyway. If it wasn’t staged, it’ll be backpedaled, and Will and Chris will be making a movie together that will come out Christmas of 23.

But did y’all hear about this punch? Probably not, because these are just average Joes, and they don’t have millions of Twitter followers. But what happened between 22-year-old Corey Pujols and some old crotchety racist dickweed is FAAFO in action. This dumbass lost his life over not being civilized enough to wait through a delay in getting his overpriced, processed breakfast.

The “MORE” is a free ass-whuppin’ with every racial slur.

I had a similar situation not too long ago. It was at the Post Office (I know). The line to get service at the counter was slow because there were maybe two employees working the front. My wife and I were in line, waiting patiently and more important: we were waiting quietly. But not the guy in front of us.

Old white guy was just completely fed up with the wait time. Actually, there were two old white guys; one of them simply refused to wait in a slow line and decided he’d come back later or try another post office, because, leaving a post office, driving home or to another post office is a better use of his precious time than waiting in the line at the post office you’re already in, I guess. Guy in front of us decided to stay and kept complaining to Vikki about how long it was taking to get to the counter. We were waiting too, and our wait was going to be longer, because we were behind him. But we were quiet. We knew the people up front aren’t any happier about the slow line than we are. And they have to deal with customers, some of which are so clueless that they have to be told which side of the stamp to lick (neither side, as they are all self-adhesive). No, but let’s all stop what we’re doing and cater to Privileged Pete over here.

I say he was complaining to Vikki, because I had to turn away. All the crap that’s going on in this world, and the thing you wanna get all hot about is a long line at the post office? I’m turning the other cheek because if I don’t, I’m going to tell you to shut up and wait, like literally everyone else in here is doing. I would have asked to trade lives, as I would freakin’ love to have things going so well for me that I have time and energy to bitch and moan at a beleaguered postal worker for making me wait for an extra 20 minutes. I was perfectly fine with waiting a little bit longer, until you started spoutin’ off.

In truth, I probably would have said something snarky like, “Yeah, it’s a long line, but complaining isn’t making it any shorter, now is it?” Or, “If a long wait at the post office is the worst thing I have to deal with today, I’ll take it,” when what I really want to say is, “Man, if you don’t turn your bitch ass around and shut the f*ck up and wait. I know misery loves company, but this ain’t misery, my dude. Spend some time out here in the real world if you want to know what true misery is. Enough, already.” Then he would have directed his misdirected and unjustified anger at me, I would have told him again to shut up and wait, he would have called me a N—–, and I would have said “Sir, you forget yourself,” and punched him and hopefully ended up with just house arrest like Corey Pujols.

Choose kindness. There’s enough strife in the world. Don’t talk to me about how pissed you are at a long wait in line; spend that time trading dad jokes with me. Old white guys are supposed to be the absolute best at dad jokes.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: