Doc Russia gets it RIGHT, again.
This is what I'd have liked to have written, if I could have stood to be in my computer chair at the time, and if I could write that well.
I don't want to know what my blood pressure was doing while I watched that movie. It's always too high, and I'm sure it was at dangerous levels during that film.
It was hour and a half or so of clenching and unclenching my fists, teeth, and guts.
Remembering that morning. Remembering my boss calling and waking me up (my shift started at noon then), telling me not to come to work that day, that we were closing shop, and that I should get up and watch CNN.
Seeing replays of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers. Going through the uncertainty of "Was this two freak accidents?" to "NO. THIS IS AN ATTACK" as the reports came in about the Pentagon, and United 93 going down in Pennsylvania.
Remembering preliminary reports that United 93 was targeted for DC, but apparently passengers crashed it.
Clenching and unclenching... Until finally, near the climax of the film, when Lisa had taken my hand and pulled it into her lap, trying to hold my hand, she said, "You're hurting me!". Without realizing it, I'd been crushing her hand when she tried to hold hands.
I left the theatre with my hands and forearms aching. I WANTED to be the one breaking that Islamofascist's arm, and choking the life out of him, even if it meant doing so on a plane plummeting to the ground, and my certain death.
I'd like to die an old man, and free. If that's not going to happen, I want to take AT LEAST one of these subhuman pieces of crap with me. The more, the merrier.
God have Mercy on anybody who acts out of line anytime I'm on an airplane again. I don't fly often (ever if I can help it) - but Ridge's Retards don't check for things like rolls of quarters, or rodeo belt buckles, and after September 11, 2001, I WON'T be disarmed on a plane. I just won't be using the arms they're looking for.
Fuck me if the plane I'm on gets turned into a guided missile. Not Gonna Happen. Give it up, Jumpin' Jihadis - that wad's been blown, and you don't get to pull it again.
I don't want to know what my blood pressure was doing while I watched that movie. It's always too high, and I'm sure it was at dangerous levels during that film.
It was hour and a half or so of clenching and unclenching my fists, teeth, and guts.
Remembering that morning. Remembering my boss calling and waking me up (my shift started at noon then), telling me not to come to work that day, that we were closing shop, and that I should get up and watch CNN.
Seeing replays of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers. Going through the uncertainty of "Was this two freak accidents?" to "NO. THIS IS AN ATTACK" as the reports came in about the Pentagon, and United 93 going down in Pennsylvania.
Remembering preliminary reports that United 93 was targeted for DC, but apparently passengers crashed it.
Clenching and unclenching... Until finally, near the climax of the film, when Lisa had taken my hand and pulled it into her lap, trying to hold my hand, she said, "You're hurting me!". Without realizing it, I'd been crushing her hand when she tried to hold hands.
I left the theatre with my hands and forearms aching. I WANTED to be the one breaking that Islamofascist's arm, and choking the life out of him, even if it meant doing so on a plane plummeting to the ground, and my certain death.
I'd like to die an old man, and free. If that's not going to happen, I want to take AT LEAST one of these subhuman pieces of crap with me. The more, the merrier.
God have Mercy on anybody who acts out of line anytime I'm on an airplane again. I don't fly often (ever if I can help it) - but Ridge's Retards don't check for things like rolls of quarters, or rodeo belt buckles, and after September 11, 2001, I WON'T be disarmed on a plane. I just won't be using the arms they're looking for.
Fuck me if the plane I'm on gets turned into a guided missile. Not Gonna Happen. Give it up, Jumpin' Jihadis - that wad's been blown, and you don't get to pull it again.
posted by Aaron Neal at 11:51 PM
6 Comments:
"I'd like to die an old man, and free. If that's not going to happen, I want to take AT LEAST one of these subhuman pieces of crap with me. The more, the merrier."
Couldn't have written it better, my friend.
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Sorry, tring to be clever (not too good at that). I refuse to watch that movie because I get nosebleeds when I get really pissed. I'm getting really pissed just thinking about it all again.
Thanks, Rivrdog. That's high praise from you.
Tommy... Watch the damn movie. Take a few handkerchiefs to blot your nose (and eyes, trust me) if you have to. And take your kids. Most importantly, take the kids to see this movie.
The oldest is well-equipped for it now, and the youngest most likely doesn't remember that morning nearly five years ago... but he needs to understand it, and he needs to FEEL it in his guts, the way we did that day.
'Tis a gut-wrencher, but it's also a damn good movie. Go see it, and take the kids with you. I'll go again, if you want us interspersed with the kids. We can talk about it with them afterwards.
I'll get it on DVD where I can stop it and explain things to the kids when they ask or as it happens. I find it easier to talk about things like that when you're not in danger of bothering other movie-goers.
Good point, and a good plan.
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