It's been said that you should really worry about the silent types because they're the ones that are most likely to go postal on you. Maybe it's global warming or the universe lately seeming completely off track, but I think that saying is little more than a bunch of crap. If you ask me, I'm worried about the obnoxious, in your face, non-silent types as well.

On the rare occasion that I found myself on a bus or a train in undergrad or in law school, I never kept my distance or feared any one of the quiet, unassuming characters next to me. Nope, they didn't give me pause. The ones that scared the living daylights out of me, making me break out in my Hail Mary's were the ones that yelled at themselves for no reason, starting screaming that Satan would have me for lunch, or the ones that would whip out their junk and start urinating all over the floor. Yep, those non-silent types freaked me out.

Now, what happens when these freaks go on television? I don't think any of us start praying or even turn away, pretending not to notice, and hoping that they don't cause harm to themselves or others. No, of course not. Instead, we get these glazed over deer in the headlights looks in our eyes and we fixate on these crazies in their downward spiral. The easiest target as of late is Mr. "Winning" himself, Charlie Sheen. For whatever my five cents is worth, if you ask me, I'd be afraid to be in a room with that clown. He's really, certifiably, nuts. I'm not talking a few peanuts worth, I mean like an entire Jiffy Peanut Butter Plant's worth. I'm just waiting for the latest news bulletin that says he attacked one of his lady lovers or started wielding a machete on the roof of some building. Oh, wait--yeah, he's already got that covered.

The same is true for the likes of Naomi Campbell. In fact, I don't think the old twig is very stable at all. Notwithstanding the fact that charges have been levied upon her on numerous occasions for her temper-management issues, I'm sure we'll be hearing soon about some latest attack on one of her minions. It'll probably be triggered by her gaining two pounds or losing a fake eyelash. She's no wall flower--everyone knows she's got heightened levels of crazy in her jeans (and genes!) and it's just a matter of time before she unleashes that crazy at full speed.  

Today, we can see psycho snapping in real time. In fact, Chris Brown, of female-battering fame--unleashed a whole lot of cuckoo on Good Morning America ("GMA") because Robin Roberts asked him questions about the Rihanna incident. Despite the fact that he apparently approved the questions before the interview, he just exploded, even breaking a window in his changing room and running out of the studio, shirtless. He too, is no shrinking violet, and all his outbursts and behavior should at least put us on warning that he might blow.

As a final not, Chris Brown's fiery emergence from the GMA studio this morning, sans shirt, opens up an interesting tangential issue about men, excitement and the need to disrobe. I don't think I'll ever understand why some men feel the need to be in a state of undress the minute they get angry or excited. In a heated bar battle, it's typical that the male flesh goes on display once the first punch is thrown. In heaven's name, why? The same is true for the testosterone pumped spectators at sporting events, where the beer bellies abound with some obnoxious paint color to highlight not any excitement over the game, but their own physical shortcomings. Seriously, if anyone can shed some light on this bizarre male practice, I'd love to learn more.