Five Song Friday: How to Take a Punch
Episode #122: Futon Flashbacks, Internet Misdemeanors and Gen X Lullabies
Violence is never the answer, unless the question is “you wanna GO bro?”
Because if someone asks if you wanna GO bro, the answer will always be HELL YES, BRO, LET’S GO BRO!
And then bingo bango, it’s off to pound town.
Dukes up. Down for trouble. Ready to rumble.
You feel me?
I’m always down to scrap. Want to throw hands? Awesome. I love the taste of blood in the morning and finding strange teeth marks on my knuckles.
Who am I kidding? Brawling is not my jam.
Maybe you could tell.
I probably gave myself away by calling them “dukes.”
And I’m pretty sure “pound town” is a sex thing.
I’m not a violent guy, even though some people tell me I can look intimidating.
But that’s just because I’m a bulky, bald and beardy man who doesn’t smile.
I have “resting henchman face.”
If you unzip my skin suit, you’ll see that I’m actually full of kittens and cotton candy.
My white hot rage is reserved for remote controls that don’t work (even though these batteries are brand fucking new), slow internet (you have ONE job you stupid Cox suckers) and getting asked to log back in to Apple TV like every GODDAMN TIME (you’re ruining the company Tim Cook and I wish it was you who died instead of Steve Jobs).
Other than that, I’m a sweetheart.
But I’ve got violence on my mind because the other day, a buddy of mine got punched in the face.
In his FACE! For no good reason.
Some guy went nuts in a store, came outside and attacked a sign and then saw my friend’s face and thought it would look better with a fist in it.
Did my guy say something sassy? No.
Did he look intimidating and aggressive? No.
Did he do, or say anything that might have been construed as disrespect? Nope.
This was just a case of “wrong place, wrong time.”
Dude really wanted to hit something and figured that an innocent bystander’s soft, fuzzy face was better than a stop sign.
My friend’s story got me thinking about what I would do if somebody punched me. Or tried to punch me. Or even looked like they were going to ask me to GO BRO.
Ideally, I would get all Bruce Lee about it. Be like water. Bob and weave. Shuck and jive.
Redirect the aggressor’s energy and send him to the pavement, through a plate glass window or over the edge of Niagara Falls (wherever it is we were fighting).
But that’s fantasy. Reality happens much quicker.
You need to think fast and act faster. That’s why it helps to help some pre-loaded tricks and tactics.
Keep in mind that I haven’t been face-punched since I was in short pants (corduroy OP shorty shorts to be exact), so some of my strategies may sound dated.
First, always try talking.
I refer you to the epic battle of Mork versus Jason Bourne from Good Will Hunting. Perfect example of a soft, middle-aged man defeating a government-trained killing machine without spilling a drop of blood.
Before that first punch is thrown, hit him with a little “It’s not your fault.” Say it again and keep saying it. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”
Anybody who defaults to fisticuffs has inner, unresolved trauma and nothing pokes that raw soft spot like a flurry of empathy jabs.
“It’s not your fault” him until the dude’s a sobby, snotty mess in your arms.
If that doesn’t work, pull a Fred Sanford.
Grab your chest and fake a heart attack. Instead of saying “It’s the big one! I’m coming for you Elizabeth!” you should use your real spouse or partner’s name to make it sound more authentic.
Most people who punch other people just want to blow off steam and aren’t looking to do time for murder.
If THAT doesn’t work?
Go for a Bill Bixby mixed with Martin Riggs.
Drop a quick, “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” then grimace and flex and try to rip out of your shirt. If your clothes are too loose, start laughing and segue into your impression of Mel Gibson doing Curly from The Three Stooges.
Act batshit bananas. Nobody likes fighting a crazy person because they do weird stuff like bite ears and pee themselves.
If all else fails, you could throw down. Go mano a mano.
My best advice here is to do more hitting and less “getting hit.”
But if you do get hit?
Bleed graciously. Do NOT cry.
Thank your opponent for his time and let him know that you’d really like to do this again some time. Get his name and number and home address and say you’ll be in touch soon for another beatdown.
Here’s the thing though, you DON’T call him back.
You call the police and file assault charges.
OR… you save the information, dedicate your life to getting bigger, badder and stronger… become a one-person maiming machine who does fingertip push-ups and punches trees until they splinter into firewood.
And then show up at his door dressed like a FedEx driver.
When he goes to sign for his package (which is just a box of dog poo), cock your arm and unleash a lightning fast, upward strike with the palm of your hand, driving his nose cartilage straight into his brain.
Instant ragdoll. Problem solved.
Which… now that I write it out, sounds a tad extreme.
So maybe just file charges?
And get a bag of frozen peas on that eye to keep the swelling down.
Five Song Friday #122
“Stutter” - Elastica
Some opening song sounds are forever stuck in my brain. The first five seconds of “Stutter” brings me back to the grand old mid-nineties when I lived a simple life with my stacks of compact discs and my electric typewriter. I slept on a futon and fell asleep to the sounds of the Jon Stewart late-night talk show. Oh my god, was Elisabeth Shue really flirting with him? She TOTALLY was.
“Everything You Want” - Rogér Fakhr
If you want to know how obscure Roger Fakhr is, the Lebanese singer-songwriter doesn’t even have a Wikipedia entry. Twelve of the 17 Real Housewives of New Jersey have entries, but NOTHING for a Middle Eastern musician who has gifted us with a reissue of his lost 1970 masterpiece? I’m not saying it’s a federal crime, but pretty sure it qualifies as an internet misdemeanor.
“Da-a-a-ance” - The Lambrettas
These British mod-sters named themselves after an Italian motor scooter and called their 1980 debut album, Beat Boys in the Jet Age. That’s pretty quintessential EIGHTIES. But really, they could have tried a little harder and been even MORE eighties. They could have called themselves Rubik and the Cubes. Or Ronald Reagan’s Head on Alf’s Body. Or Rambo Madonna Jackson and the Extra Terrestrial Moonwalkers. Really missed some opportunities there. I wonder if it still keeps them up at night?
“Push Na Ya” - Karl Hector & The Malcouns
What is this music? A wildly hybridized meld of Krautrock, neo-psychedelia, jazz-funk, and Afro-beat, that’s what! And no, I didn’t make that up… because I don’t even really know what most of those things are! I’m just here to pass along information that may be helpful.
“Trouble” - Kristin Hersh
What happens when you get she of Throwing Muses fame covering a Cat Stevens song? A three-and-a-half minute Gen X lullaby. Warm and comfy. Snuggly wuggly. Nighty night. Don’t forget to hit the lights on your way out!
“Breaks to win and breaks to lose / But these here breaks will rock your shoes / And these are the breaks.” - Kurtis Blow (Born August 9, 1959)
Thanks for reading!
Sincerely,
DJ CrankyPete