Pentathlon.
For someone who'd rather avoid confrontations, I'm highly prone to ruffle feathers a bit too much. Whether or not it was something that I was imbued with at birth, or something that I've picked up whilst feeling the pain of losing skirts to philanthropic playboy poseurs, my tendency to annoy and repel people with only the lightest of easy has yet to be surmounted or outdone. I suppose it's more of a passive ability than anything else. It's a reflex action.
They say that humour can be a saving grace in the gravest of situations. If that's the case, it's safe to say that my life has been one of hell of a tragedy. If only that were true.
I don't spend my time picking fights with a shortlist of people; I find that I get bounded over in the most unusual of situations. The only real fight that I've been in saw me get bounded over; not because I was a pushover, but because I was punched at the back, without any forewarning, or even a witty quip ('Hey, fat-ass, whoop-ass is here!').
No. I wasn't even granted that luxury. Someone was jealous that my geography teacher had made a remark about how I was sharing a textbook with a girl he fancied. This was in Year 7/Form 1. Schoolyard fights were few, and far between. And it's not like I even got to pull a punch.
I was an overweight dweeb. And I still am. And mighty proud of it. I'd probably excrete whatever testosterone you'd give me. Though I've never had a secret wish to have adamantium bonded to my skeleton. Or to become the Thing. Or even Superman, for that matter. Superman's a pussy. Captain America's a hero. (I wouldn't mind picking a fight with you if you're a fanboy who disagrees with me on this one.)
I suppose that I'd take the Alan Shore option and pay a bunch of barflies a good deal of money to beat someone up when it comes to a bar fight. It saves me the trouble. And it wouldn't crease my suit.
Plus, despite not being much of a fighter, I'm also not much of a lover, either. So I suppose that it doesn't work both ways.
Back to the drawing board, then.
They say that humour can be a saving grace in the gravest of situations. If that's the case, it's safe to say that my life has been one of hell of a tragedy. If only that were true.
I don't spend my time picking fights with a shortlist of people; I find that I get bounded over in the most unusual of situations. The only real fight that I've been in saw me get bounded over; not because I was a pushover, but because I was punched at the back, without any forewarning, or even a witty quip ('Hey, fat-ass, whoop-ass is here!').
No. I wasn't even granted that luxury. Someone was jealous that my geography teacher had made a remark about how I was sharing a textbook with a girl he fancied. This was in Year 7/Form 1. Schoolyard fights were few, and far between. And it's not like I even got to pull a punch.
I was an overweight dweeb. And I still am. And mighty proud of it. I'd probably excrete whatever testosterone you'd give me. Though I've never had a secret wish to have adamantium bonded to my skeleton. Or to become the Thing. Or even Superman, for that matter. Superman's a pussy. Captain America's a hero. (I wouldn't mind picking a fight with you if you're a fanboy who disagrees with me on this one.)
I suppose that I'd take the Alan Shore option and pay a bunch of barflies a good deal of money to beat someone up when it comes to a bar fight. It saves me the trouble. And it wouldn't crease my suit.
Plus, despite not being much of a fighter, I'm also not much of a lover, either. So I suppose that it doesn't work both ways.
Back to the drawing board, then.
Labels: Pacifism is not a weakness.
posted by funkyhippopotamus at
9:02:00 am
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