Straaight Fighting..I mean Street Fightin

Whenever I get punched in the face, I hope I'll look this cute.

There was this one night, my second semester of senior year in college that two of my best friends, Titus and Alex, as well as myself decided to get amazingly drunk. So much so, that when walking from my house to Titus' house, Alex thought it'd be funny to try and jump on my back in order to get a “piggy back ride” on the walk over, and when he attempted this I simply fell face forward into the concrete and proceeded to bleed from the fresh gash over my left eyebrow. Before making it all the way to Titus' house, naturally the three of us got distracted and changed our game plan to sitting outside Alex's house (which was between the two) to drink some beers and pee on some walls. Out of the clear blue fucking nowhere comes a man, even more drunk than the three of us put together (which is sad that in my bloody, bruised state I could conclude this), who starts making his way towards us asking for a cell phone. I'm going to name him Chet. Now Chet was certainly a stocky individual, especially in the upper body department. By this, I mean he was pretty tall and fat. Chet seemed like the kind of guy that had a hard time stringing sentences together on a sober day, which just made his communication with us all the more indecipherable, leaving him only with ape like hand signals and chest beatings, besides a few choice, classy words. Like “Fucking” and “faggot.” Needless to say, Chet was a charmer.

Now, I like to describe myself as a primarily non-confrontational person. When I get intoxicated, however, I assume I am equipped with super human strength and rage that can only be tapped into when a friend of mine is being attacked. No, not even when I'm being attacked. I'm fiercely loyal...like a Schnauzer on crack. Whereas, when my friend Titus is drunk, he believes all of the world's inhabitants, including Al Qaeda I'd assume, are his best friends, to which he must offer alcohol or cigarettes to ASAP. Chet was no different. Though he be mumbly, smelly, stumbly, and bigger than any of the three of us, Titus invited him over to our stoop to begin a dialogue with this man, despite Alex's and my own very loud verbal protests. So, the conversation started with Titus asking, in a charming southern accent I might add,

“Uh, hey man..what's going on tonight”

“Ineedafone,” Chet chirped back, swaying from side to side.

“Oh, sure, well you can use my phone. Hey, whatchu been up to tonight?” Titus asked.

“I'm agunna kick your ass. Ima gun kick all of your asses!@#Wxd” was Chet's precious response.

And so begins my straight fighting tactics.

I jump up and yell, “Who's ass did you fucking say you're going to kick?”

You see, because I believe that when dealing with King Kong Karl over here, clarifying the situation may 1. give him time to reconsider his gracious proposal or 2. confuse the remaining brain cells he has operating at this point.

“I'm gunna kick allz ur ass$es” says Chet.

Shit.

Next, I don't say a word, but rather stare Chet in the face, lift up my beer bottle and throw it on the asphalt by his feet. This is a tactic I would assume works out in the nature as well, when trying to scare bears or sharks away by being loud and spectacular. Like...banging sticks together, or shooting off fireworks on a mountain top.

Chet seemed rather dazed and confuddled by this shocking exchange, which Titus saw and brilliantly used to our advantage.

“You see that guy over there who just broke the beer bottle? You don't want to fuck with him man...he's an ultimate fighter.” Titus said.

“What thuhhh fuxx you tuckin bout” Chet managed to deliver back.

“Im serious dude, look at him...he's bleeding from the face. He's fucking nuts” Titus continued.

“Wut? oh...oh shit. Hey man I wuz jes kiddin round. I dun wanna fight. We coool.” Chet said as his tone and attitude “subtly” shifted. And while he imagined me in a cage match putting the sleeper hold on an opponent with my two baby toes, Chet realized that my antlers were stronger, my roar was louder, and most importantly...mah dick was bigger.

So there you have it. Gimme some smoke, mirrors, blood, spectacle and pizazz and I'll rumble with you any day of the week Hetero Harry.