Old school

I got to beat the crap out of a guy on the sidewalk on Saturday night. It was cool. When I was younger, I used to really enjoy that sort of thing. I was what you might call a loose cannon. I drank on the job, and this drinking gave me both beer muscles and beer goggles. Beer muscles can be a dangerous thing for guys who can't fight. They're an even more dangerous thing for those of us who can. When I was younger, I'd drink through the night, then tee off on you motherfuckers every chance I had.

Then I got older, and the job became a job, and I stopped drinking at work and started worrying about making more money. I stopped caring about the fights, and my ego, and the size of my penis, which isn't going to get any bigger no matter how much I shout. Still, I can get it up when the need arises. I can get it way up. Still.

On Saturday night, I ran inside to help with a fight. I pulled a pretty big guy out and walked him outside. His friend was reasonable, and told me they'd leave.

"What happened?" asked the drunk. "I don't even know what happened."

"You got in a fight," I replied. "That's what happened."

"Yo, this is fuckin..."

"Dude, go home."

"You gotta..."

"Dude, go home."

"Yo, but..."

"Dude, go home."

Which was all fine and dandy until someone forgot to throw out the guy with whom he'd been fighting. And that guy came to the door and started talking shit. C'mon you fuckin' pussy c'mon motherfucker you gonna talk all dat shit come on bitch n---a motherfucker what'chu gonna do motherfucker me and you out here c'mon you hidin' behind da bouncers I'm from the Bronx motherfucker what I'm from the Bronx n----a wut'chu got to say 'bout dat c'mon yo let's finish dis shit I'm from the Bronx n---a WHAT?

So the drunk turned around and tried to get back in, and I pushed him. He looked me in the eye, bent down and came head first. Wrapped his arms around my waist and tried to tackle me. I sprawled, wrapped my arms around his upper torso, and threw four solid "Clint"-style knees to his head and ribs. When he tried to pull away, I used his momentum and threw him -- this motherfucker was airborne -- into the passenger-side door of Mercedes SUV. He made a large dent. He didn't get up. Didn't even try. He said, "Don' hit me no more..."

Then I went back inside, washed my hands, and leaned on a wall for a few hours.