I was lying in bed, minding my own business as I heard an approaching voice amplified by a megaphone. It cried out some bullshit, then a mass would repeat it, like war cries.
It bugged me.
Being somewhat tense anyway, and now having my quietude disturbed by these idiots, I went out to see what it was, hoping it would be bullshit I could beabout. It was.
A big group of maybe two hundred animal rights activists was marching through my peaceful neighborhood and had already passed my place. Police and city services was escorting them. One of the police girls looked hot.
I was not sure what I was up to myself as I automatically started catching up on the sideway. A simple, yet arousing idea formed in my head and as I perceived it, I was tempted – purely by habit – to drop it. My chest filled with hot fear.
But something was different this time. I kept going, without thinking.
I caught up near a supermarket and passed one last girl on the sideway who was packing her stuff. The sheep were repeating their current chant: “Out of the laboratoriums! Out of the laboratoriums!”.
They sounded so meek and pitiful. A sad bunch of bored city hipsters. A few hot girls in there.
I was now pretty much near the center of the march. Perfect.
I turned around to face the crowd, breathed in and shouted as loudly as I could: “Hey, you animal fuckers!“. I was surprised by the loudness of my voice, which silenced out everything else. People turned around. As I had their attention, I flipped two birds at them and shouted again: “Eat shit!”
Some guys flipped birds at me, too. I did not care. That had felt so good.
The girl at the supermarket looked at me as if I was crazy. A big wide and mischievous grin formed on my face and I calmly started to walk back.
As I passed the last small group of protesters – hot girls – something awesome happened. I do not think I ever saw hot girls smiling at me like that. They shouted something and one joyfully and childishly stuck out her tongue.
Despite the fact that I had just insulted them, they looked innocently fulfilled, like little schoolgirls in love.
In the past,.
With the same mischievous grin on my face, I joyfully gave them thumbs up.
But more than them looking fulfilled, I felt fulfilled.
These idiots had disturbed me and I had repaid them. It really was so simple. I did not care if they were right, if they had deserved it or whether they were good people. I only thought about myself. I was – in that moment – one with my masculinity. It was not moral, it was not for a greater cause, it was just for myself – something I needed to do.
Pure, innocent joy.
Life as it is meant to be.
So, the guys angrily flip birds at me, the girls cheer me. For insulting them!
Animal rights. One big?
My ecstasy had a primitive, almost sexual quality. Which reminds me of Tank Abbot in the early UFC shows shamelessly saying that he was sexually aroused when he beat up the other guy and looked into the crowd.
The only other time I can remember feeling this way was when I ruthlessly.
As I walk back home and try to use the keyhole, I notice that my fingers tremble in excitement. I feel a fading sensation of guilt, but do not care today. Do they not call it guilty pleasure for that reason?
I did this without alcohol and I did it fully..
Does it always feel this good to be an asshole?