(U-WIRE) NEW YORK – Two years ago, on my birthday, I went to see Dane Cook perform live at the Laugh Factory in Los Angeles. I was at this factory that mass-produces laughs when Mr. Cook, in his usual irreverent manner, said that there are certain noises in his life that make him want to punch a baby. Did he really say that? Wow — what an irreverent guy. For me, one of those noises is the sound of two people making out. It drives me particularly crazy when I see two sweaty lovers going at each other like they’re the last bit of sugar in a bag of Fun Dip. In these instances I would like to karate-chop my hand between them, and I would if it weren’t for the fear of getting my hand licked on both sides.
Now, I am not going to go around punching babies. I’m more reasonable than that — the worst I’ll do is utter a quiet “ugh.” But my question is this: How long can a relationship so public really last? When I’m trying to make it back to my lonely, cockroach-infested New York University apartment, would you mind stepping off of Broadway for two seconds to do whatever it is you need to do, and then resume the life of a normal human being? Geez.
Ladies, shut up. It’s not romantic. I know what you’re up to: You just want to tote your guy around so you can show the world what a woman you are. And guys, you shut up, too. I don’t care if that chick is hot — get out of my way as soon as possible, or I swear to God I will buy a bazooka and separate the two of you myself.
And another thing: Feel free to hold hands, but if you clothesline me, then, well, maybe I should have saved the bazooka line for this part. But I digress.
Now I’m sure there’s some freshman girl reading this, sitting in Washington Square Park with her spaghetti-strap whatever, thinking “But I think it’s cute!” Well, I got news for you, honey: You are stupid. Go home, change into a turtleneck and use the collar to wipe your tears away.
Maybe I’ve been too harsh — I have no problem with a public display of affection. But I do have a problem with Non-negotiable Active Zealous Intercourse Sessions, or NAZIS. Just don’t make out in the park or on the sidewalk and I promise that you won’t face the wrong end of a bazooka — and to be honest, I’m not sure which end is which, so maybe I only half-promise.
With this paper in one hand and your lover’s butt in the other, you might be asking yourself, “But what does this have to do with NYU?” I’m going to have to get back to you on that one, but I will say this in my defense: Young people are way more likely to engage in PDA than anyone else, and also more likely to die via bazooka explosion. Insensitive? Probably, but when else is social injustice going to be this funny?
In all seriousness, I understand that sometimes feelings just take over and you want to express your love to the apple of your eye. Feel free to do so in restaurants, so long as it’s at your own table, or in phone booths, which don’t actually exist anymore. Also, you should probably see a doctor about that apple in your eye.
On the other hand, if you ever feel so moved as to engage in a public display of hatred, please do so. I am very entertained by watching the same couples that annoyed me seconds earlier go through the more painful part of an emotional roller coaster ride.