Saturday, August 19

The mind of an insolent child

Someone in my building has a snazzy, navy blue motorcycle he likes to park out back beside the back door.

Every time I pass it I get the urge to tiptoe up to it, put both hands on its shiny torso, shove it over on its side, laugh, and run to hide.

It's not that I have a beef with the guy who owns it, or that I don't care for motorcycles, or anything like that. I just have these recurring fantasies of pushing things over or knocking things out of people's hands. There's no malice intended; I just think it's funny.

I know, I'm an asshole!

Poor Phil. He's the one person I actually let myself enact these fantasies upon. He'll be sitting there reading a magazine and I'll just smack it out of his hands and laugh and laugh. Most of the time it's annoying for him, but he usually laughs when we're out in public (say, any aisle in Walgreens) and I do it and catch him off-guard. Bonus points if random passersby see me do it.

I think this pathology of mine can be traced back to the time Amber told me about the time she was coming up (or maybe it was down) some stairs several years ago and her former roommate Rachel was carrying a platter of chicken nuggets, and Amber wanted so badly to smack the platter out of Rachel's hands and watch the chicken bits fly.

That would have been awesome.


Blogger phallicpen said...

I should've done it. I'm almost sure I kept my cool only because she was hungry. And I was on Prozac.

Sat Aug 19, 11:49:00 PM  

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