2002-07-17 - 11:03 a.m.
Spotted this morning on the rear bumper of a Hyundai:
CHILDREN NOW
Um, is that a promise or a threat?
***
I guess I showed my Axe Murderer Face to half the people at the Casbah on Saturday night. I didn�t even know I possessed an Axe Murderer Face. It�s not the type of face I have on when I�m looking in the mirror or having my picture taken--those faces usually say things like, "You stud--go out there and knock �em dead," or, "That shirt makes me look fat," or, "Stop fucking around with the camera and take the picture already." But the faces that tell other people, "I love you"? "I hate you"? "I want to throw you to the ground and ride you till next Wednesday"? I never get to see those.
Anyway, I�m at the Casbah. During the second band�s set this one testosterone-damaged wuckfad is--how best to describe it?--moshing with himself. Circling the dance floor in a counterclockwise direction, pinwheeling his arms, pointedly throwing himself against people standing nearby, basically doing everything he can to get a pit started. The rest of the crowd is having none of it, however, and he�s too drunk, too skinny and too uncoordinated to pose a significant physical threat to anyone. I park my chair on the other side of the P.A. from him, and enjoy the rest of the show.
Afterward, the guy--as stoopidly drunk guys often do--decides I�m his new best friend. His way of showing affection is a unique one, however. He sidles (or staggers, actually--drunks don�t really sidle very well) up to me, grabs the push-handle of my chair and gives it a good yank. Then, he does it again. And again.
"How about not doing that ever again, shithead?" I say, politely.
"You mean this?" Another yank.
"Yes."
"What about this?" Again, this time on the other side.
At this point the footrest attachment of my chair is in my hand and is late for an appointment with Mr. Grab-and-Yank�s kneecaps.
Fortunately, one of my actual friends steps between us and smoothly sends the guy off in the direction of the bar (where, about 30 seconds later, he gets belligerent with the bartender and winds up getting tossed out).
"Thanks for the rescue," I say.
"I was more worried about him. You had that look on your face."
"What look."
"Dude, you can look scary if you want to. I�ve seen your Friendly Face, I�ve seen your Evil Face, and I�ve seen your Please Don�t Bother Me Face--but that was the first time I�ve ever seen your I�m Going to Kill You and Stand Laughing Over Your Body Waving a Bloody Axe Face."
"Really? Next time, take a picture. I want to see it."
***
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Damn it. I wanted to be God. Why don�t I ever get to be God?
***
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