Wednesday, April 30, 2008

I Am Gifted, and it is a BURDEN, yo.

I have beatin' vision. I am gifted with a view of people that not everyone can comprehend. I am well aware of various people's needs for a solid beatin'. I can see it. I can smell it. But I need your help with this heavy gift that I have.

Sometimes I read about someone or hear about someone and say that the person needs a beatin'. There are people that need beatin's and a lot of them I refer to as "the one that got away." This means that they didn't take that high school beatdown that sets so many of us on the proper track. Lots of famous people have gotten away for too long with that great physical life-lesson. Gene Simmons comes to mind. You know he really needs someone to go all out on him with an aluminum bat and a tire-iron. Don't front. Gene Simmons is a total asshole. A beating of such a nature would cleanse him of multiple bad traits. A baptism of broken bones and pain would do that man a world of good.

The reason why I can say such things is that I took a good beatin' when in high school and it brought about an epiphany. I learned to be much more tolerant. I learned to get out of the way if a stranger is coming at you with all of their personal trash. I learned a level of social maturity that I couldn't have learned any other way. I also became gifted with beatin' vision.
Unfortunately, a lot of what I learned is purposefully obscured in my writing. I write in an aggressive, vicious style. This is different from how I actually handle myself in day to day exchanges with my fellow man. Using this, one could argue that Gene Simmons is an act, and that he doesn't really need a beatin'. Perter, your writing is a stance, and at times an act, based on what I know of you, you need a beatin'. I would have to respond with the fact that this very blog here absolves me of any "would-be" beatin' because I am telling you from the heart that I took that beatin' and I have been cured of the ills that plague someone like say, Gene Simmons. Perhaps I am wrong, but I rather doubt it.

So I refer to people as in need of a beatin'. What I mean is that they are in need of that same revelation I had when my lights got dimmed. The beatin' that I took was groundbreaking in my life. It inspired me be more tolerant. It inspired me to consider the needs and struggles of others around me. It also inspired me to go push iron and become someone who could defend himself. A person really only needs one serious beatin' in their life. Ultimately, it inspired me to become a better person.

I know that the beatin' that I took was good because after I had hulked up for a few years, I ran into the very guy who administered the beatin' to me in the first place. I had grown about four inches and my pecs were bolted to my chest because I was working out 7 days a week. I looked down at him and he looked up at me, and I let him go. I shot him a weak smile. That was a lesson in forgiveness. I think that was a beatin' paying itself forward...in some sort of perverse way.

So when I say someone needs a beatin', I mean it with the greatest comprehension of brotherly love I can muster.

Well, this past Sunday, I was legally in the position to administer a beatin' to a guy and his ladyfriend in order to show them the light. It has to be public that I failed.

I should have stepped right up and pummelled this guy something unmerciful. I should have grabbed his woman by the hair and delivered a couple of sharp ones to the kisser. I had every right to do this and I didn't. I had Every Goddamn right on the planet to beat these fools into the beginnings of that afterlife white tunnel we hear so much about. But I didn't. Why? Read on, gentle reader.

It was hot last weekend. Uncomfortable concrete on bare foot hot, but not LA summer hot. It was bad enough. So we went down to the beach. We went down to catch some of that cool Pacific breeze. Yzzy now has a camera and she was shooting some pictures with some film she had just gotten. Santa Cruz is a beautiful spot. We were walking along the shore. Kids were out playing in the sand. It was idyllic. Families were out. Men and women both obese and fit were doing beach things. It was a perfect afternoon. The waves were almost nil, and the calm was soothing. The Boardwalk was in the distance and the beach was speckled with people as far as there was beach to see. The distance hazed from the heat, and there were advection clouds on the water towards Monterey. The Moss Landing power stacks were barely visible. It was paintable.

Up in front of us, as we walked on the sand that had just been licked by the ocean, some people were coming out of the water. A pasty guy in his 20s and I would guess his 20 something girlfriend. But upon examination and a few doubletakes, it was apparent that these two were naked. The guy's chilled dork swung in the free air and as she walked, you could see her flanks pump. He got right to the shore and pulled on some shorts. She walked about a hundred yards up to where their towel was and took her sweet time toweling off and continuing with the show. Eyes were on her, and she knew it. Eyes were on him and he knew it. And here I am with my daughter.

I was flummoxed. I was shell-shocked. Sure I have seen naked bodies before. But my thing was that this was all out of context. My brain immediately went into the zone of, "What are these people thinking?" What would drive them to do this public nudity maneuver? Was it that they had forgotten their suits? Were they looking for a reaction? Were they playing truth or dare? Was this completely nonsexual or had they tired to do something freezing and abominable in the water? My brain kicked out Rolodex card after Rolodex card as it attempted to master the situation.

In all honesty, I don't know how much of this Yzzy actually saw as I went introspective. As I babbled incoherently.

It wasn't until hours later that I realized that there were two serious beatin's I should have delivered. I would have had to immobilize the guy first with many precise crunches to the face and nutsack. Then, albeit I don't find myself to by a misogynist, I would have had to knock the bitch out too. Probably just a few face shots. Fair is fair.

And they would have learned. They would have had their great lesson. Their epiphany. They would probably blog about it decades later, how they'd had their genitalia ransacked on the beach by a crazed man with his daughter (because if I had started up on these fools, I know Yz would have backed me up) and they learned that here in America, we aren't ready for public nudity. After waking up in a hospital, him pissing through a tube, her eating through one, they would both realize that if they ever walked a beach again they would keep their clothes on.
I think my conclusion is that yes, they were in need of a beatin', but I don't know that I am the one to give it to them. I have the vision. I am the man who knows when someone is in need of a beating. But alas, I don't have it in me to deliver this thing that their basest human desires cry out for. I think that the idea of my pummelling these people is actually beyond me. I don't think I could do it unless they had both turned to me and shambled at me like zombies.

I think that the beatin' I took years ago cured me from being a potential beatin' deliverer. I think that physically, such a confrontation is something that I am just about incapable of.
But I definitely have beatin' vision. What I need is to have a number to call to get a beatin' deliverer on the scene.

Perhaps the beatin' deliverer is you. Feel free to contact me with your ideas on how to get these beatin's out.