Dear Hell, It's Been A While

The situation: You walk into a sporting event, excited and ready for something magical to occur. You either walk to your designated seats or maybe its a little GA action and you can sit anywhere your heart desires. There it is... the court or field or rink or diamond. Looks great. Ready for a few hours of entertainment. You take your seats and all of a sudden you notice something. Maybe it's a sour smell, maybe a bad vibe, maybe it's the noise of retard humping a door knob. You slowly turn your head to the left... oh fuck. It is a retard but it's not humping a doorknob.

So many things are blazing through your mind right now. You look around for empty seats that you can switch to. But no, the people behind you noticed you noticing the tard and may notice you noticing the empty seats. You think.. fuck I can't move I will look like a complete dick. And you're right. You cant move. You know that you have to remain in these seats for the duration of the game. You also know that you are going to end up paying more attention to its' antics than you are to the game you were so ready to enjoy. 

Luckily you are one of the 40 year old men (who listen to the game they are observing on a walkman) has a radio with ear phones. You can always ask for that if things get out of control. The retarded kid is a super fan. Stomping up and down the aisle, screaming "YOU STINK" to the other team, giving out the occasional "AUGHHHHHHHHH." It is worse than you thought it would be. 

Then the inevitable happens... He starts to walk over to you and you know what's coming... "HEY YOU LIKE BASKETBALL?!?! I LIKE BASKETBALL! HIGH FIVE!!!! And there it is. His hand. He wants a high five. Do you give it to him? If you do then you are going to be his high five buddy the rest of the game. You don't want that. Then you look over at his parents; they are smiling at you. You have to do it. You give a grand high five and this ensues a cheer. 

It is halftime. Thank God. You could just leave. But its tied. The retarded kid went to go play with the mascot. He is for sure coming back with nachos, face covered in cheese, and he is definitely offering you some. Full of slobber and spit.

Time for the walkman. Cant wait to be one of "those guys" who have to listen tot he game they are attending. The tard comes back. Sees your headphones. The moment you look the other way, he comes over and spikes your freedom on the cement ground. Seriously what the fuck. Dad says to let it go. He doesn't know better. You beg to differ. 

Skip forward. 4th quarter. Your team is up huge. THE KID is just so happy. You know what's coming next. HIGH FIVES FOR EVERYONE. Even the guys behind you. He leans over top of your body, smothering your oxygen, violating your private bubble. You smell corn. He smells like fucking corn. 

Finally, the buzzer. This completely ruined the game for you. It is a little mean, but you know that other people have to feel the same way, they just don't say it. As you walk away you look back at the court... you think what could have been if you just chose a different section. No high fives, no slobber. You get to the parking lot and head home. Luckily it is time for dinner. Mom brings the plate to the table... FUCKING CORN.