By Craig P. Dixon, southcoast247.com correspondent . Social Commentary 143
January 4th, 2008
I used to hang out with this kid. An absolute fucking mess. Put it this way: When I hung out with him, it was imperative to stay sober because he was going to end up causing some sort of violent shenanigans by night's end.
I liked the kid. Thought he was pretty cool to hang out with when sober. He had wisdom that you just don't see in 20-year-olds. A fucking hilarious old soul. For a while, I didn't mind staying sober and limiting myself to three drinks when in his company. When he inevitably ended up bombed beyond recognition, I'd be calm, collected, and completely able to control the situation.
And what situations! This guy would completely self-destruct. He'd end up pissing in closets, running his mouth at meatheads, knocking unnamed chopped-up powders to the floor, puking on couches, puking on himself, puking on others, passing out in a heap in the middle of the floor. More than once I saved his ass from beatings. Told the pissed off mob that I'd take care of it, get him out of there. Get him home. More than once, I literally carried this dead-to-the-world kid to his door, cradling him in my arms like a hundred-pound bony baby.
Then, something clicked. I was tired of babysitting this goofball. Weary of standing up as he pissed off every single one of our friends and acquaintances with his drunken bullshit.
That day, I'd chugged down a few more drinks than normal while observing my friend's antics. After going to the bathroom, where he'd promptly pissed all over the host's hand towels, he returned to a young lady, grabbed her pleasantly plump breasts, squeezed and said, "Wow. Somebody ought to milk these corn-fed fuckers."
The scene was unfuckingbelievable. The girl's hefty boyfriend came charging like a mountain gorilla and threw a wild haymaker at my awestruck friend. If it landed, it would've killed the skinny bastard. But, if there was anything to be said of my friend, it was that he led a charmed life. The fist missed and continued it's flight until meeting the sheetrock wall and, more importantly, the stud behind it.
Somehow, I managed to get between the big guy and my pal. The boyfriend had split his knuckle to the bone and likely needed medical attention, but was definitely prepared to kill my friend with his other weapons. It was only after some nimble diplomacy on my behalf that he finally calmed down.
"Look." I said after some time. "Take care of that knuckle. You're bleeding all over the place. I'll handle this asshole."
He agreed. After vowing to kill my pal if he saw him out on the town, he turned away.
"That's right! That's right!" My moron buddy screamed. He'd hopped around like a crack fiend once I got in the middle, taunting the monster and throwing more gas on the fire while I desperately tried to make amends. "Walk away!"
It was all I could stand. I grabbed my friend by his preppy polo collar and dragged him through the party to the door.
"Yo man, yo MAN, whatcha doin'? Whatcha fuckin' doin'?" He yelped. "Watchtha fuckin' shirt man! Itsa fifty fuckin' dolla shirt!"
At some point during the long drag outside, he managed to scratch the shit out of my neck. You see, he had pretty, rather long fingernails. Now he had a bunch of my skin under those nails.
Once outside and on the lawn, I held onto that goddamned collar with my left and gave my friend a vicious backhand slap across the teeth. I then came back across his face with the open-hand. The fucker had his mouth open, and I ended up cutting my hand on his teeth. That hand would eventually get infected, but that's another story.
And I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I punch the kid? Well, the truth is, some people aren't worth punching. A punch can break bones. And there's the absolute disrespect that goes with slapping someone. To take a slap is a shameful, embarrassing experience.
This kid fell to the ground and wept like a baby. It was pathetic. He probably hadn't been hit in his life. I left him spitting up blood on someone's front lawn, crying until his parents eventually picked him up. It was the last time I ever hung out with him.
As a rule, we allow people to go too far. Assholes are assholes because people allow them to be that way.
Running your mouth. Pissing in someone's cookies. Shitting on someone's pillow. Never mind a slap: A hundred years ago, these were offenses punishable by death. No one would blame you for killing the punk that dared do something so disrespectful.
Nowadays, we're so afraid of lawsuits and jail time that we give these dipshits the leeway to get away with absolutely shocking bullshit. Doing anything but turning the other cheek not only gets you incarcerated or sued: It is considered bad form. In effect, we've built a nation of assholes unafraid of repercussions and pussies wholly willing to take their shit with a smile.
My, how far we've come.
