Aleksy Altercation.

Sorry for that angst-ish post down yonder. Just tired is all.

It’s been an interesting week, to say the least. Which has left me yawning every so often, with stories to tell.

I went to the football game last (Friday) night. If it isn’t glaringly obvious, I am a student, and therefore participate in studenty things. Anyway I went with Blondie, Winston, Hamilton, and Tiffa.

Our football team sucks. They suck soooo bad. We didn’t get any baskets or whatever. Nothing! Not until the 4th part! Hamilton assured me that that is really, really bad. Needless to say our little group migrated over to a hill on the outskirts of the field. Hamilton, who is an ex-boyscout, pointed out lots of stars and something named Cassiopeia. Than we all adopted British accents and acted out an episode of Monty Python, which was recorded and will later be used as black mail when one of us becomes fabulously wealthy.

After ingesting copious amounts of sugar, rolling up and down the hill, and generally acting like hyper preschoolers, we were starting to wind down. I guess other people were bored by the game, because when I looked beyond my orange soda stupor I noticed that there were a lot more people on the hill. Also, Hamilton had gone somewhere else. Miffed, I sat up to survey the crown.

Blondie sprung up next to me, and before we could crack another sophomoric joke a boy went careening down the hill off to our right. Not only was he contorting in strange ways, but it wasn’t even remotely theatric. About to scoff at his lack of dramatic flair, it became glaringly apparent that he wasn’t messing around. Especially when he groaned and curled into the fetal position. That’s usually a sign. A few seconds later a troupe of cretins came barreling down the hill after him. Blondie nudged my ribs and off we went, down the hill to stick our noses were they didn’t belong.

Winston and Tiffa trudged after us, on edge. Winston looked over the crowd and quickly departed. Tiffa stood behind me. She is tiny, so I don’t blame her for wanting to use my freakishly tall body as a shield.

I guess the boy at our feet got kicked wherethesundoesn’tshine. Being of the female variety, I don’t know too much about the pain associated with an injury such as that. But we have all heard horror stories. The boy was practically comatose so I guess he felt pretty ouchy.

A little blonde kid, who I will aptly declare a testosterone laden wanker, continued to sneer at his pray while his gang of imps poked and prodded in unmentionable areas. Not only was I offended by such displays of unvirtuous behavior, but a lot of people must never gang up on ONE person and steal his jewels. It simply is not done.

Blondie and I were justifiably angry. Therefore we glared daggers and spewed expletives until the crowd dispersed.

I think the world would be a better place if testosterone were replaced with lemon juice. Now I’m not sure how that whole system works, but the way I see it is whenever people get nasty, vengeful thoughts in their heads they would be subjected to a spurt of lemon juice right in the old brainpan.

Problem solved!