I went to “Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction” this weekend. It’s a real thing. Someone read a piece entitled “Life Goes On, episode 74: Go Downs On Me.” I wish I could make this up. I had been wanting to check it out for a few months, and after actually attending it, my suspicions were confirmed: It is the sport of kings. Not only that, but I think I could be the Wayne Gretzky of this most noble of competitions. My mother will be so proud.
Most importantly, though, I almost (I think) got in a fight on Friday night. Someone pointed out that I’m probably in the best position in my life to get into a fight, but I’m not sure he and I have the same definition of fighting. That being said, instead of defensively urinating myself and curling up into the judo fetal position, I was actually kind of excited about it, which is really weird. I’m not saying an altercation would have been a foregone conclusion. I’m still pretty sure that a "fight" would still consist entirely of me windmilling back and forth across the lawn. Blinded by my own tears, and quickly growing dizzy, I would feebly attempt to scream out the names of Street Fighter moves in between choking sobs.