In a way that I hide now, I really, really like when things go boom. Smashy loud fireballs still get me all excited and hand clappy like a 2-year-old. Super American style. Once a friend’s treadmill fell out of the back of his truck on the freeway and I actually shed a tear because I didn’t see it. Man, that was probably fantastic. (It belonged to Dr. Foxmeat)
At a fundraiser our very American High School would take the windows out of a donated car and haul it on campus and let you beat the shit out of it with a maul for 3 minutes. You better believe it was like the Oyster Fest Beer line for me; just right back in.
Destruction Therapy is an actual thing. Like Fight Club with doctors. A bunch of middle aged dudes who really want to punch their teenaged sons go out and punch washing machines instead. Win/win, unless you’re a liberal washing machine advocate or something.
This is why we fight for oil instead of just asking politely. It’s like how you feel after you downed a Big Mac in your car and now you have shame trash that you must get rid of as soon as humanly possible. So good. Sooo bad. I’m old now and I like to watch things grow and Namaste and all that, but destruction is a part of nature. An erasing of what’s there so you can start anew. Like the Big Mac. I’m erasing feeling good about myself so I can start fresh.