February 5, 2007

• A Violent Giant?
  

  People find it hard to accept that I was once seven foot ten and three hundred sixty pounds.
  
  "What?  You're hardly 6'5" and 240 soaking wet!" they'll say.

  But there was a time, believe it or not, when I towered well over seven feet.  I feel compelled to mention it only in response to nitpicky readers who send me e-mails like this:

  Dear Stupidocles,
  
  You would do well to understand the difference between "big brutes behaving violently" and "big, violent brutes"--It goes well beyond semantics!  When you characterize all football players as "big, violent brutes" you give the insulting implication that violence is an integral part of their being rather than something they just happen to do.  It's an insult to all the truly big, violent brutes out there.  It makes me so angry when I see the galling insensitivity of such imprecise phrasing, angry I tell you!  And believe me, you don't want to see me when I'm angrrrrr!  GRRRRRR!!!  GRAAARRRRRR!!!!!  BULK SMAAAAASHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

  (return address hannerbruced@bulkster.com)

  Okay, okay, so I made a mistake, I'll admit it.   But don't accuse me of insensitivity.  I know what it's like to be a misunderstood big brute.  How, you ask?  I know, because I cared enough to put myself in one's place.
  
  First, I sewed together a couple pairs of pants and fashioned a suit out of darkly colored sheets and upholstery.  I then commissioned a local leather-worker to construct appropriately gigantic shoes after a failed attempt to secure those of popular restauranteur Donald McRonald. 
  
  After months of intensive stilt training, I was ready for a stroll around our fair city with a couple water-filled inflatable muscle suits on underneath my well-crafted giant-sized clothes in order to simulate the weight and bulk of an everyday, ordinary big brute.
  
  So prepared and outfitted, I began traipsing through Salem one pleasant autumn evening, light of heart and light of step, whistling a happy tune.  Though I was indeed a "big brute" for a day, I had no inkling of violence in my entire being.  For I was a benevolent big brute, wishing nothing but joy upon the little people of this quaint village.
  
  But what was this?  As I made my way northward to Bryan Park, groups of little children pointed and ran away in fright.  Their mothers peeked through the drapes and screamed.  Their dogs barked.  Their dads looked up from their leaf burning to take up flaming brands of wood in pursuit.  But why?  I ducked under the traffic light at the intersection of Broadway and Boone as car horns honked hurtfully at me from every direction, throwing me into a bewildered rage. 
  
  The leaf-burning dads had coalesced into an angry mob.  I ran up the hill upon my stilts and dashed through the woods, my pursuers growing ever closer despite my great lengthy strides.  At last I leaped upon the centuries-old trunk of an enormous tree once owned by William Jennings Bryan, to make my stand.  I turned to face the angry mob.
  
  "Gentlemen of Salem!  I perceive that you are in every way very superstitious!"
  
  "Kill the monster!  Burn the big, violent brute!" roared the mob, thrusting their torches upward menacingly.
  
  "Wait!  I am not a monster.  Though I may appear to be a big brute I assure you I am not violent, gentlemen.  No more violent than... Donald McRonald, whom you love..."

  But alas, my words were of no avail!  The mob closed in around me and would have set me afire had not the mask at that very moment fallen off my face to the ground.   Mask?   What mask?
  
  "Why, it's that dadburn optometrist!" exclaimed Mayor Derguson.  The crowd gasped.  "There'll be no burnin' tonight, boys!" he announced.  The crowd sighed in disappointment, breaking up and shuffling back to their homes, muttering and complaining. 
  
  "Why in tarnation did ya pull a fool stunt like that, son?  Don't you know it's All Hallow's Eve?  Yer lucky I recognized ya, 'cause yer face is scarier than what you had on.  They woulda burned ya fer sure!"
  
  It all came back to me--the mask!  I had put it on earlier in the afternoon in the spirit of the holiday and had forgotten to take it off before going out for my stroll, silly me.  It hadn't occurred to me that I was still wearing it, nor had the thought ever crossed my mind how people might react to the situation.  It was a Frankenstein monster mask. 
  
  So "hannerbruced", before you criticize me about being insensitive, you should know that I know what it's like to be thought of as a big, violent brute, myself.  People jump to conclusions and make snap judgments all the time, judgments which lead to painful misunderstandings.  I'm sensitive to that kind of thing so really, rest assured it has never been my intention to offend any big brutes, violent or otherwise.  You have my word.
  

  • 8:50 pm
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