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Friday, February 01, 2013   by: Kevin PecoreSamuel: What's a misanthrope?

Two Bob: A misanthrope is a bugger who hates every other bugger.

Samuel: Are we misanthropes?

Arthur: Lord no! We're family.
From The Proposition – screenplay by Nick Cave

“Break wind, not bones.” Uncle Wallace
*Scroll to end to skip this mess altogether and get to the fabulous free crap!

The 8 Rules of Fight Hair Loss Club for Men

- 1st RULE: You do not talk about FIGHT CLUB.

Yikes! I quite innocently made someone impossibly mad at me. Just today. It didn’t take much effort on my part. Odd. Although I find myself to be quite charming I was genuinely surprised at how my actions directly infuriated this cat to some twisted extreme. Less than an hour ago to be precise. Holy shit. It’s not a good time to make anyone impossibly mad for any reason. People are on edge. Everywhere. Ready to just go off. Snap. Snapping. Snapped. Crackle. Crackling. Cracked. Pop. Popping. Popped. Pooped. Ready to rumble and tumble. High anxiety. Coming apart at the seams. People looking for any reason to lash out before someone else to beats them to the punch. The best defense is a good offense while a good offense is the best defense, this according to most holy men who try not to offer any offence to anyone. Work the kidneys. Work the groin. Sucker punch. “Shoot Elizabeth!!” Fuses are shorter than ragged Merle Haggard hang nails. Flashpoints lay around like land mines. They’re everywhere while there’s no asylum to be found. Schools. Malls. Theatres. Temples. Diners. Convenience stores. Libraries. Hospitals. Workplace cubicle mazes. Tempers are smouldering. I don’t know if it’s a case of acute post-Mayan stress and/ or the residual existential letdown of another year wasted and / or just the fact that life is becoming a huge pain in the ass. Is it living with two minutes to midnight? People are pushing others off subway platforms. Crazy shit. People are becoming jaded and indifferent to random acts of brutality, and savage violence unless the act is so brazen and off the charts that public opinion goes off the rails! Bullets are flying off the shelves. Shopping for soap on a rope in JC Penny with an assault rifle slung around the back while a kindergarten kid is interrogated for three hours for just talking about a gun that shoots soap bubbles? Yikes. Oprah Winfrey is endorsing some kind of skin cream that uses harvested cells from hijacked foreskins? Something’s gotta give before the camel’s spine gives way.

- 2nd RULE: You DO NOT talk about FIGHT CLUB.

If Yahtzee has taught me anything, it is to know your odds. If I instigate a fight, chances are not in my favour, so I try and go through life sidestepping and keeping my head down. Charles Bukowski would instigate every fight he was in, only to lose every fight he was in. That may or may not be true, I dunno, but it sounds reasonable. The Barfly Back Alley Beat Down is just not my style. I have a punk jaw that’s made of glass.

- 3rd RULE: If someone says "stop" or goes limp, taps out the fight is over.

I didn’t go out of my way to agitate this guy. It just happened organically. It was almost beautiful. His anger so acute. The details are rather mundane. Trivial. Makes for dull story telling. I could make up something, but I’m stockpiling my fiction for the time being. It was just a simple case of a breach of traffic etiquette on my part. I blocked a half lane of traffic whilst jockeying for a parking spot. But he was irate. Irate with an upper-case I. At first I thought he was joking. Horn beeping.

Petulance for the drama of it all. In retrospect I guess I could have handled the whole affair better – diffuse the situation and so forth. Crisis intervention and what not. Had I been given the opportunity to atone for my sin, I would have surely shrugged and apologized, and the world could have continued spinning. But the earth ground to a halt. This guy was like Stagger Lee walking through the rain and mud looking for the place called The Bucket of Blood. As he lambasted me, I calmly replied with a grin: “Sorry man, it’s just how I roll.” I think he needed me to immediately recoil in fear, but I didn’t really understand the depth of his wrath. It didn’t compute. I didn’t comprehend. It was the classic mountain from a molehill scene that’s becoming endemic in a society on edge. Or maybe he was just being a dick. Or maybe I was?

Continues Here
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