I saw ‘The Departed’ this weekend and almost everyone in the entire film took lead in the head. Typically, visuals like that might startle me or make me cringe. But in this particular instance, every time someone’s skull got popped, I laughed. Do I suffer from anger issues? Do I have violent tendencies? Am I a closet murderer?

Is the smell of blood considered aroma therapy?

I’m not a violent person by nature. I grew up around violence and, for the most part, I avoid it. Granted, I didn’t avoid it when I was a teen but hey, testosterone does crazy things to a young man’s brain. Some teenage aggression is normal. Of course mine lasted into my twenties. But instead of running around fighting I just got a job as a bouncer and spent my time “protecting” patrons in my workplace by “escorting” unruly customers from the establishment.

“Excuse me sir, but as you’ve started a scuffle with another of our guests, I’m going to have to politely wrap my arm around your neck, drag you out onto the sidewalk, and place you gently upon the curb. Have a grand evening and please come again.”

My last real bout with violence was, in fact, The Battle of New Year’s Eve, chronicled in a famous blog and discussed on my weekly internet radio broadcast, The Bad Ass Frank Show (shameless plug over). I outgrew it, tired of it or simply matured. I moved on to bigger and better things like fucking and drinking. Most of the time those things resulted in less injuries. MOST of the time. But now, at an advanced age, I’ve suddenly discovered a renewed enthusiasm for violence. I can’t get enough of the UFC, arguably the baddest ass fighting sport around. When I watch it I wish I was younger so I could start training and participate. I want to body slam some guy, put his head against the fence and beat him til the officials stop the bout to save his life. The problem is that I’m 36 and suffer from a variety of injuries stemming from years of bodybuilding, powerlifting and drinking coupled with a bullriding accident along with the occasional bad hair day. None of these, save the bad hair, will assist me in becoming a UFC fighter.

That doesn’t mean I can’t shoot somebody, right?

Yes, I know this isn’t the old west. I’m not gonna stand in the middle of Santa Monica Blvd at high noon. But I mean, couldn’t some gang of thugs have the common courtesy to stage a home invasion at my apartment? I’ll even leave the door unlocked. I’m not here to inconvenience anyone. Just give me the opportunity to shoot somebody. They don’t HAVE to die (although if they cared about me at all, they WOULD). Hell, it’s not like I don’t want them to be armed. Fair is fair, right?

So I shot a man in Venice,
Just to watch him die.
When I hear them homeless yelling,
I hang my head and cry.

I understand that I’m not going to actually get to shoot anyone. I also understand that I probably wouldn’t be that psyched if it happened. But that doesn’t prevent me from fantasizing about it. And who knows, maybe some day, the use of deadly force will arise from a need to protect my family from some potential danger. Then it’ll not only be justified but I’ll be able to say things like, “I only did it to protect my family. It’s horrible this had to happen.” while secretly thinking to myself, “Boo ya bitch. Bet them bullets felt hot, huh?”

Ok, I’m gonna stop now before all the pansy tree-hugger, anti-gun people have a cow. And before every person I know questions my sanity because I’m claiming I want to shoot someone. Who knows, maybe I’m just kidding. Maybe it’s just to see what kind of shit I can stir up. Maybe it’s cuz usually I just want to make everybody laugh and this is something different. Maybe none of this is true.

Stop by my place around 3am wearing a mask and find out.