Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

Do you have a list of things you want to do before you die?

I do.

Among other things: Hang out naked in public, give birth naturally without medication, dye my hair pink, and conquer a third language.

But there's only one #1. If I could only pick one thing, this is what I would do.

Kick. ass.

Only people who deserve it, of course, including but not restricted to: bratty Beverly Hill girls, narcissistic chauvinistic guys, 99% of all teens, and everyone who's ever cut me off on the road.

I don't know where this itch comes from. I don't come from a violent family and I've never been in a physical fight. Yet every time I see an injustice, every time I watch Jerry Springer, my skin tingles and I want to feel my fist hitting flesh, my foot hitting bone. (Springer, by the way, is incredibly unsatisfying. What is the deal with all the pansy-ass hair pulling and slapping? Just punch them, already! Damn.)

Normally if I really want something that has not yet happened, I'll dream about it. But in this case, that's no good. In my dreams, my legs move as if I'm walking in water. My arms are equally weighed down. Because of that, I've always wondered if I'm capable of packing the perfect punch. And I'm still wondering.

All I need is some random person to call me something awful and then say, "Ya wanna hit me?" I won't even bother to say, "Hell yes."