12/15/2008

The True Meaning of Christmas: AKA He Wouldn't Shut Up, So I Got Him Pregnant... AKA Another Miracle Baby in December

Yesterday at the Meadowlands in Mezzanine Section 212, a little Joe Pesci lookalike (minus about 25 years) who was cheering for the Buffalo Bills started turning around and yapping at a guy (who seemed pleasant enough) in a Jerricho Cotchery Jets jersey. The men were both seated in different rows in front of me.

I don't know what precipitated this event (the Cotchery guy could have been a monumental ass, but I didn't see it), but by some point in the middle of the second half, Little Joe Pesci turned around and challenged the guy to a fight. The Cotchery guy merely laughed it off, which made Little Joe Pesci angrier.

How angry?

He called the guy a "Faggot" about four times. Then he paused. Turned around. And then turned back towards the Cotchery jerseyed guy and said: "I'm going to get you pregnant. I don't know how it is going to happen, but you are going to be the first pregnant guy ever."

It was at this point that Little Joe Pesci captured my undivided attention. It's puzzling that L.J.P. would think that a sexual act is a great way to "beat up" another person. Sure, I know that sexual violence between men happens in prison. Etc. I understand, I guess, what that is all about. But to the point of PREGNANCY?

How does this remain an insult?

Telling a guy you are mad at that you are going to get him pregnant--the ultimate act of love, some might argue--is telling him that you are pretty certain that a very intimate moment with him (in this case, also, a fighting moment?) would make you orgasm. And the ultimate impossibility of impregnating a man only tells the guy that you are really willing to give it your all sexually for a very, very long time, against all odds. It is at this point that it ceases to be an insult and more an confused, angry, unrequited love thing, commonly found in letters written by fifty-nine year-old men to Alyssa Milano circa 1987.

Get him pregnant? I guess it is the true, detailed, literal origins of the phrase "Fuck You."

"We're going to go out to the parking lot. I am going to remove my britches and get and maintain an erection in front of at least 55 drunken sweatpants wearing oafs in the waning light of this 31 degree Sunday afternoon, and then I am going to somehow dominate you physically, and put my penis inside of you. And, sure, my knees might get scuffed up on this gravel. And you might not stop punching me, but you are going to become pregnant....And that will teach you to root for the New York Jets so enthusiastically."

That is a scenario that can only come from someone from Buffalo's mind.

And who would get custody of the goddamn kid?

"Son, I know you are going to find this hard to believe, seeing as I am a 35 year-old man, but I am your mother. Tempers flared some years back at a New York Jets game, and I had a dispute with another man, and he did not like it, and some things happened, and I became pregnant. And despite all of that, you are the precious miracle that arrived. And I would love you as any father would, except in this case, I also love you like a mother. And good lord willing ,we will some day get at least a minimal amount child support out of your deadbeat Thurman Thomas loving dad."

It is true, Little Joe Pesci had a Thurman Thomas jersey on. And an iPhone. And a gray cashmere stocking cap. And 3 moronic friends. One in a white Jim Kelly jersey. And one in an atrocious Yankees winter jacket. And LJP did some sad, overly jubilant first-down arm gestures near the end of the game. And then Shaun Ellis shattered his world with a fumble recovery for a touchdown. And then the game ended. And the Bills did not win.

No comments: