I kicked Ponell Williams in the head in second grade because he tripped me when I was rounding third. I also got into a locker-room scuffle after gym class in seventh grade. I think some girl was disrespecting me during 4-square. Other than that, my hands are clean.
Sure, I verbally smack shit right and left and it gives me more pleasure than you know. It’s a great release for my anger, be it a passing peeve or deep-seeded fury.
What I’m not down with is physical violence. I try to keep this blog light but I have to tell you, I wanted to smack Rhianna upside her head after she entertained thoughts of returning to a guy who tenderized her face. And yesterday, I heard that Perez Hilton, the reigning king of the verbal shit-sling, got clocked by the Black-Eyed Peas’ manager. He allegedly got into it with will.i.am and the next thing you know, boom, boom, pow! A black eye and a call to the po po. Will, I am not impressed.
I am reminded of something that a former co-worker told me: “Sometimes, words can hurt more than fists.” I know what you’re saying, brother, but tell that to a woman who is holding her face in her hands after being hit in the face with a baseball bat or a recumbent cyclist who’s been sideswiped by a red-faced (and possibly redneck) driver. Sometimes, Perez Hilton or I am going to say something that somebody will take offense to. That's fine. Talk back; we can take it and we'll get your point loud and clear.
Raise your voice, not your fist, or I’m coming for you. yes.i.am.
(photo: this is Perez Hilton with a fake black eye; haven't been able to find one of the real shiner; buzzworthy.mtv.com)