Don’t Make Me Hurt You…

If you’re alive and have had any exposure to mass media this weekend, you know that tonight is the big, bad premiere of Rollergirls on A&E.

Essentially, it’s a reality show about tattooed and pierced chicks who skate around a rink and beat the living shit out of each other.

Fucking awesome!

So awesome, in fact, I will not be glazed eyed in front of my usual weekly television viewing pastime, Medium (god I fucking hate TV), but rather will be interested to watch the carnage.

And it’s not just for voyeuristic purposes, I should add, as I out one of my secret aspirations: for a few months I’ve been hearing about the Philly Rollergirls, a group of waaaay more tattooed, pierced and badass chicks than the glossy Texas women from tonight’s show.

I soooo want to be a Philly Rollergirl … so, I e-mailed and asked them to let me know when the next tryout date is.

Now, it really does make sense in light of the chronology of my life:

Ages 2—16: ballet
Ages 4—16: gymnastics
Ages 5—teen: rolling around my concrete and asphalt New Jersey ’hood on rollerskates… that’s right, four wheels for all you younguns out there
Ages 7—18: cheerleading (Captain in high school, no less. That’s right fucker, c’mon, give me a smartass response and I’ll pop you one… er… I mean, go team!)
Ages 18—30-something: chronic mosh pit participant
Ages mid- to late-20s: bike messenger (SF. Fueled by nicotine and caffeine.)

And now, seeing as I’m fucking old, why not continue the body-carnage? I mean, getting smashed up thanks to a little endo this fall was par for the course.

I really just want to hurt people, and unfortunately, when I’m trying to navigate the ridiculously hard to maneuver aisles of Trader Joe’s, driving surrounded by oblivious suburban fucks whenever I travel beyond Center City or my West Philly ‘hood, or just attempting to deal with assholes like Aetna health insurance (the single worst company in the history of the entire universe, which should be burned to the ground by angry peasants such as myself for being such motherfucking money grubbing fuckheads who cannot do a single thing right, let alone actually provide any services related to health care, aside from sending out erroneous bills in the hopes that, I’m guessing here, people like me will get so frustrated at their outright lies and utter ineptitude we’ll simply pay up in order to never, ever have to deal with their imbecilic bullshit again. They’re tied for worst “customer service” in the entire universe with Hitler-sled manufacturers Volkswagen as far as I’m concerned. I hate them both. I’d like to get some of the lying assholes they employ in a dark alley some night …. But alas, I digress….)

… anyway, it seems like a good idea….

Of course, if it’s hoity-toity NY Times-level entertainment you’re looking for, you might want to check the listings for Masterpiece Theatre, considering the tone of today’s review by apparent tightwad Alessandra Stanley. In fact, my guess is she’ll be spending this evening attempting to remove the stick that’s jammed so far up her Ivy League ass it probably hurts to sit.

I’m not too upset by the piece, though, considering the fact that she appears to be a moron who makes countless fact errors for a living. (Which, in j-school, gets you an instant F, and in the real world will usually get you fired if you rack up enough, which you’d think she has.)

Of course, considering the fact that we’re pretty much surrounded by idiots at every level of government, I guess stupidity and lazy work is par for the course…

3 thoughts on “Don’t Make Me Hurt You…

  1. Mags

    E. Oh my god. You would be PERFECT as a roller derby queen! Why haven’t we thought of this before??? You could SO take those bitches!

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