The Fighter

“You think I won’t fight you!?!?!”, bellowed Butch Stupid.

“Excuse me?”, stammered the confused patron of the Popeye’s whom Butch was addressing.

It was over in less than 28 seconds, but took longer than 26 seconds. When the dust cleared an awestruck mixture of stoned high-school kids and obese adults could do nothing but gaze on as Butch strode out of that restaurant, blood-drenched knuckled adorning the hand with which he grasped his crotch.

To understand the curious scene which we just saw unfold before us, one must get inside the mind of Butch Stupid. Butch Stupid’s mind is by no means a pleasant place to visit, and I advise the faint of heart to refrain from reading further.

Butch came into the world on the day the Hindenburg went down. Such a stupid, stupid accident on that May 6th, 1937. Butch’s mother was the resplendent Alexandra Stupid. The scion of the Dumb family, Alexandra had become a respected theoretical mathematician after years of laboring to disprove her surname. While Alexandra was pursuing her PhD at Harvard she met the enigmatic Angus Stupid. After a particularly difficult day of studying, Alexandra caught Angus solving complex mathematical equations on whiteboards in the building, and the rest is history. When young Butch came into the world seven years later, the young couple were all too sure that his intelligence would rival and eventually eclipse their own.

What Alexandra and Angus could never have possibly foreseen was that Butch Stupid would become the greatest asshole of a generation. Venerated by frats for his unwavering masculinity while alienating all others with his obstinacy and generally poor attitude; Butch would lead a very different life from what his parents had envisioned. But how did this happen?

While historians have debated the subject tirelessly for many years, the generally accepted theory is that Butch was the unfortunate case of every single good trait skipping a generation. Statistically speaking, two fantastic people have a minute chance of harboring a recessive gene for a poor trait alongside every dominant positive gene within them. Even more unlikely would be that both parents would pass on only the poorer, recessive genes, creating a child seemingly as hapless as the parents were gifted. Alas, Butch was the unwitting result of just such a confluence of events.

While at first Butch’s disregard of the higher pursuits in favor of the baser desires troubled his parents greatly. His drinking and smoking in high-school, his drug use during what would have been his college years, and his peripatetic lifestyle all left Angus and Alexandra’s minds restless. Butch’s mind was as serene as his parents’ minds were turbulent. Butch acted swiftly, with no anxiety or crisis of conscience. He knew exactly what he desired and how to most efficiently attain said desire. Butch became the ultimate embodiment of the concept, “I cannot control how others feel about me. I can only control how I feel.”

Over many years Butch’s parents came to respect and even envy their son’s blissful ignorance, or concentrated interests, however you choose to view it. So it came to be on that day in Popeye’s that Angus and Alexandra, gracefully overweight while attempting to grasp the same happiness which their son had always known, proudly looked on as their son beat the living shit out of a 12-year-old boy whom Butch had backed into by all accounts.

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