My Dream Fight
My coworker Andy blogged His Ideal Fight. I think men are at a disadvantage when it comes to fantasy fighting, even if the demographics around slaughter movies and pile-’o-corpses video games suggests otherwise. Women have deeply repressed desires to kick the shit out of someone(s), but they’ve been so effectively de-socialized regarding violence that these desires are left to grumble and stomp around in their alligator brains.
My dream fight, like Andy’s, starts with a real incident: Recently, while walking my dog, I was followed for a couple of blocks (weirdly and scarily deserted in the middle of the day) by a psychotic junkie screaming threats and invective. Most of the Psychotic Junkie’s dialog below is from the real incident, except for his screaming.
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Cue danger-type music (Jaws-ish, but not Jaws)
Camera: pan to show deserted streets, gradually pull in as junkie approaches the soon-to-be victim (me)
Over the soundtrack, we hear a low, ominous growl (Oi the Beagle doesn’t really have a low, ominous growl in her vocal repertoire - she has a kind of chain-saw rrrRRRrrrYIP! sound she saves for the seagulls that land on our skylight - but, hey, it’s my dream.)
Psychotic Junkie: Where ya going, ya ****ing **nt? Why the hurry? (peals of evil Psychotic Junkie laughter)
Jen and Oi walk faster. (This is a theatrical device known as “suspense”.)
Psychotic Junkie: You’ll ****ing stop when I want to talk to you, bitch.
Jen and Oi stop. Oi slowly turns to face him, her low growl becoming louder and more menacing.
Psychotic Junkie: Aww, is the little doggie mad at me?
Psychotic Junkie tries to kick her. Danger Beagle dodges the kick and sinks her canines into the flesh of his calf. All those years of rawhide bones and playing tug-of-war pay off - Psychotic Junkie writhes and flails, trying to get her to let go, but once she starts her “shaking her head to kill the rabbit” move, he starts screaming.
Jen: What did you call me?
Psychotic Junkie: Get it off! ****! Get the ****ing thing off me!
Jen: In a minute.
While Danger Beagle savages his leg, Jen digs around in her purse, at last finding her trusty Swiss Army Knife. (”Why is there always so much crap in my purse?” she muses.) Rather than unfolding the knife, she chooses the pointy-ended poky thing, ’cause she’s never found a use for it before and now seems like a good time.
She stabs him in the arm with it, sinking the pointy thing up to the hilt. He tries to grab her, but she pulls it out and stabs him through the hand. (Long shot of knife hilt on one side and pointy thing coming out the other.) His screaming is unabated. She perforates him a few more times. Danger Beagle is by now bored with his calf, which lacks the rich beefy flavour she has come to expect, and is instead trying to gnaw the chewing gum off the bottom of his shoe.
Jen: You wanted to talk to me?
PJ screams and runs away.
March 2nd, 2005 at 9:39 am
Wonderful! Damn that pointy thing and its lack of proper use.
April 12th, 2005 at 8:20 pm
Danger beagle! AwrOOooOoOOOOOH!
Ahem.