Often, I end up going out and meeting people, and every once in a while, these new people I meet are tough guys. You know, as in, they're impressive physical specimens, enjoy a good fight, and have alot of macho pride about things. They're the type of guys who think you're a pansy if you break your finger and seek medical attention for it, or if you catch some other dude looking at your girl's ass and you don't at the very least tell him off while employing as many expletives as possible.
I'm not mocking these kinds of guys; some of them are actually pretty cool. Since I turned about eighteen or so, I feel like I've been meeting an inordinately high number of these guys, and for some reason, I tend to befriend them alot now. The funny thing about this, and about befriending tough guys in general, is that they're always saying things-without any provocation or solicitation- like this:
"If anyone has a problem, send them to me. I've got your back no matter what goes down, dog!"
Apparently, it is an integral part of the tough guy ethic that one shows affection by vowing to squash any potential foes of one's friends, even when the plausibility of such foes' existence is slim to none. This is very reassuring to hear, and actually kind of generous of them when the person in question is a genuine tough guy who strikes fear in the hearts of Non-Tough Guys (like myself) everywhere. But what I find unfortunate is that now that I've done enough social maturing to actually win over all these tough guys and make them my allies, I can't really take advantage of their allegiances because not enough people want to kick my ass anymore.
Only five years ago, I would've loved to have had legions of tough guys looking out for me. When I was sixteen, I went to the mall with a couple of friends where I was brutally mocked and even had rocks and spare change thrown at me by a group of eight homeboys (come to think of it, these wankers were kind of like the forefathers of the assholes who descended on me at the movies last week) who had decided that because my hair was dyed red and I was clad in a white dress shirt, black tie and sneakers that I must've been a "***". My two male Drama Club enthusiast companions offered consoling words once the mob had *finished* pelting me with nickels and quarters and calling me "flamer", but they did little more than shrink away and pretend not to know me while the going was actively getting tough. My female company that night tried to assuage my tender male ego by saying those guys were" total pussies for attacking in such a large group".
Where were the five to seven, 6 ft-plus and 200-plus-pound WWE afficionados that are my current acquaintances back then? Were they congregating in the food courts at counterpart malls and hurling rocks and homophobic insults at other nerdy punk rock kids while their wimpy friends and powerless dates looked on in dismay? And, if that happens to be the case, what exactly caused their change of heart now? Did all of these bullying types have some sort of collective religious conversion?
Someone should really be looking into this. I'm pretty sure that this is a pressing sociological conundrum. That's just my opinion and you're more than welcome to disagree.
But if you choose to, just remember that this time I've got backup, ok?