…I’m not a violent person. I don’t carry a gun with me at all times. The last time I got in a fight was in high school. It was a miserable defeat to a guy who mounted my chest and punched me so many times that I got a black eye, numb cheeks, and chewing difficulties. One of the administrators cracked a terrible joke about how I was a lover and not a fighter. I’d expect that kind of humor in the UFC or WWE, but not at school. But I suppose there was some truth in that joke, because ever since that day, I’ve responded to any amount of stress the same way: freezing like Walt Disney eating a popsicle in the middle of a tundra. Fight and flight are gone. Freezing is all that remains. Staying perfectly still and not being confrontational is supposed to be a survival mechanism. But what am I surviving?
While I don’t have a violent life or a criminal history of
any kind…I have so many violent thoughts swirling in my head. So many people
have taken advantage of my freezing response and said whatever the hell they
wanted, like the first amendment was made specifically for assholes. No amethyst
colors here, just red, white, and blue. I’ve been fat-shamed, called the
R-slur, called a pussy for not joining the military, I’ve had slanderous rumors
spread about me, and I’ve been accused of laziness when I didn’t want to get a
job and go to school at the same time. These people who abused their first
amendment rights…they bear the brunt of these violent thoughts. So...many…violent…thoughts…
Punches in bunches. Sprawling and brawling. Knees to the
face. Kicks to the balls. Maybe a piledriver if I’m feeling strong that day.
Hell, let’s go full UFC and throw in a rear naked chokehold. In my brain I’m
undefeated, even against well-trained marines and martial arts blackbelts. I
justify these victories by saying, “Whose dick did they have to suck in order
to get those accolades?” I’m sure they can explain the bruises on their faces,
but how will they explain the bruises on the inside of their mouths to their
dentist? Dentists can tell what you’ve been up to in the bedroom. Or under the
sensei’s desk, wherever you feel more comfortable.
But it’s not just unarmed brawling that I fantasize about.
Sometimes I’m armed and dangerous. Sometimes I’ve got a big fucking knife.
Sometimes I justify those knife victories by saying, “A blackbelt doesn’t give
you puncture-proof skin.” Come to think of it…what is a blackbelt good for
anyways? Holding up your pants so that we don’t have to look at your Sailor
Moon crotchless panties? That kind of intimate wear would never withstand a few
strokes from a big ass knife. And neither would your skin. Just hack, slash,
hack, slash, an arm there, a leg there, a throat somewhere else, and a glorious
bloodbath that will never make me want to shower ever again.
But why is it just melee ranged weapons? Why I can’t I shoot
a gun? Surely, it can’t be that hard to shoot a gun. It’s like using America
Online: point and click. Maybe I’m oversimplifying complicated technology, but
remember, it’s my brain, I’m undefeated. If some bozo driving an obnoxiously
large truck drives by me and shouts the F-slur, I’ve got a bullet with his name
on it. It’s weird to think about, because in order to have a bullet with
somebody’s name on it, I have to know that person’s name. Drive-by loudmouths
don’t give you their name or any information about them. That’s a big part of
what makes them cowards. Not only do they shout their shit, but they drive away
before facing any real consequences. Sure, your truck has a badass engine, but
can your truck outrun a bullet? Will a V8 engine matter if there’s a bullet in
the gas tank? Will all the horsepower in the world matter if the bullet shatters
glass and that glass cuts you up? And what good is driving a truck if the
driver gets shot and the vehicle flips on its back? Drive-by loudmouths don’t
think about these things in advance. Then again, I wouldn’t call anything they
do thinking.
Violent fantasies are so much fun to have. I love bathing in
blood. I love listening to screams. I love the symphonic melodies of bones
snapping and organs sloshing. I love listening to my insulters plead for their lives
only to lose them anyways. But it’s important to remember that these are
fantasies. They don’t exist outside of my brain. If they did, there would be
serious consequences. Seeing this many dead bodies would break so many hearts.
I’d have my own broken heart as I sit alone in a prison cell with regret on my
mind. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life with an
imagination: fantasy and reality are not one in the same. That’s why people
caution against porn being unrealistic. Porn isn’t designed to tell a realistic
story. It has one purpose: to help masturbators achieve an orgasm by any means
necessary. If you can’t separate fantasy from reality, you’re already waiting
to get fucked.
So go ahead and listen to gangsta rap on repeat. Dream of
killing your enemies in cold blood. Drink that cold blood like it’s as
refreshing as Coca-Cola. Hell, you can even write about some of these daydreams
in your stories if you’re an author of some sort. But that comes with its own
set of responsibilities. As authors, everything you put on the paper is held in
high esteem. Your readers will take everything you say literally and they’ll
apply it to their own way of thinking. That doesn’t mean they’re stupid, but
they are impressionable. If you’re being held up as an arbiter of truth and you
tell a bunch of violent or sexual lies, that’s going to have a bad influence on
your readers. Think of all the BDSM rookies who wound up in the hospital after
reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Think of all the women who will get pregnant
because of birth control misinformation in The Missus, which is written by the
same author. You can have your bloody fantasies on paper, but don’t lead your
audience astray.
If you’re watching Quentin Tarantino movies, don’t duct tape
your enemy to a chair and cut his ear off while dancing to 70’s music. If you’re
watching WWE television from the 2000’s, don’t simulate sex with a corpse as a
way of insulting someone who wronged you. If you’re watching Mind of Mencia and
I hope to god you’re not, don’t throw racial slurs haphazardly and then later
wonder why you’re being “canceled”. And by the way, cancel culture isn’t real.
If you write a shitty story chock full of irresponsible violence and rape, your
audience has the right to react in a negative way, because criticism isn’t
censorship. Criticism is the other half of free speech.
If you must have violent fantasies, reign them in. Don’t
unleash them out into the real world. If you’re a peaceful guy in real life,
but you have violent fantasies, don’t let anybody judge you for it. Truth is, everybody
thinks about violence at least once in their life. At least once, don’t let
them lie to you. Nobody’s this candid about their violent fantasies, but we all
have them. Some are more mild than others, but they still exist. It’s a normal
part of the human experience. Thinking about something is a healthy way to
process it. Thinking is the best way to travel. Doing these things in real life
will cause so much heartache, for you and your victims. And for the love of god…don’t
join the military just because you happen to be good at playing Halo.
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