The closest I came to ever getting in a bar fight was in high school at a house party when I poured a diet coke on the head of this girl who hooked up with my boyfriend. It was the most alive I've ever felt in my life. But then my mom apologized for me to this girl behind my back since this girl worked at our dry cleaners and my mother feared the loss of her clothing over my pride.
In addition to this classic botched romance scenario, bar fights typically start on account of the following action verbs: spilling, aggressive dancing, inappropriate peeing/touching, not paying....
Tell me your best bar fight story, the winner gets a free year long membership to the BYT VIPERs and all the free tickets, show upgrades, new music, and privileged information that comes with the territory
Previously in Misc/Awesome:
- 12/28: Terrible Boyfriend/ Girlfriend Generator.
- 12/1: The John Waters Advent Calendar-it starts today
- 11/28: It Chooses You: All I Want for Christmas is Everything from Miranda July's Pop-Up Shop
- 11/3: Things I'd Move to Minnesota For
- 9/6: PHOTOS: Maloof $$ Money Cup
- 9/2: PHOTOS: Chantilly Model Train Show
- 9/1: Libby's List: 5 Things I Want Right Now...
- 8/22: PHOTOS: Best Friends Day
- 8/10: PHOTOS: Lawn Mover Racing, Eastern Seaboard Regionals @ Bowles Farm
- 7/26: Special List: Things the BYGays Want Now That We Can Marry In DC (and NY!)
God loves a cheerful giver.
once i got beat up by a bunch of guys dressed as Bret Micheals scene-change fluffer.
i think theyre in some kind of shtick band that does theme parties like "hey remember the 80s"
im proud to say ive never won a bar fight
Too fucking easy to win. I've had more bar fights than some of you have actually been in bars.
Still if I get bored and lazy I'll write some of them up just so I can keep on top of my grammar.
How to win at bar fights:
but even i could beat up a bunch of sissy glam rockers c'mon bucket
dude, had no balance. i think these guys were drinking stunt beer. i was 6 gin fizzes deep, not mentioning some vile mixture ryan MCC made me 3 or 4 times.
they also had this homely guy wearing a "right near da beach" style dread lock wig. dunno. the whole thing reeked of repressed frat boy, quarter life crisis.
Fratboys are delicious to fight.
1: they usually ^can't fight.
2: they're usually as drunk as you are
3: they don't really want to fight, they just want to appear to be tough, just like they want to appear to have friends (hence joining a frat). In fact their entire lives are appearances full of shallowness.
4:^ given that they're much more prone to want to stand around pushing and shoving and yelling.
That's when you have to get all "Hit 'im Bri, cause it's a comin'"
However fratdouches are also prone to travel in packs because they feed off each other's assery.
Ain't no shame in gettin' whooped by a group.
I got in a fight on a dance party island on second life. And I was drunk. Does this count?
Technically this happened on the sidewalk of a neighborhood in Clarendon...but I was walking home from a bar so I count it. This happened when I was 21:
A street fight started when a group of four guys in England rubgy shirts walked by my group of friends (two guys and two girls), who were standing on the sidewalk outside of our house. One of my friends was an 80 pound chinese dude who is very friendly but on this occasion was beligerently drunk. As the rugby hooligans walked by, the chinese dude said "Hey, buuuuuuuuudy." The largest rugby hooligan (with a shaved head, obvi) immediately headbutts the chinese kid which catches us all by surprise. Luckily the other guy with us was not 80 pounds and proceeds to single-handedly fight the four rugby guys.
The other girl with me freaked out and ran inside while I attended to the chinese dude. Of course, he comes too and decides that he needs to fight the rugby guys. I realize that he will get broken in half if he does that, so I hold him back, which was not very hard given the fact that he weighs 80 pounds. But he keeps running his mouth at the rugby guys and I can tell this is all going to end very poorly. I attempted to assuage the situation by telling the English folk that I had just spent my junior year of college in England and that while I preferred football, I watched several English rugby games while I was over there. Lord knows why I thought this would help the situation, but it made sense at the time.
Eventually they have enough of my friend's smack talk and the same guy who headbutted him comes over and pushes the chinese dude into me and we both fall to the ground. Then the fight abruptly ended. Why? A neighbor emerged on his porch with a shotgun. Only in VA.
After the dust settled, I realized that my foot really hurt. When I took off my right shoe, my sock was all bloody. When I took off my sock, I saw that I no longer had a toe nail on my pinky toe.
So there you have it, I lost a toe nail in a street fight with English rugby hooligans. It's easily the most ridiculous situation I've been in.
Ian Palmeiro
'nuff said.
This random time in high school the summer before my senior year I ate some mushrooms and rolled up to a house party a girl I was seeing had.
Apparently, her ex-boyfriend didn't get the memo, because once I parked and the mushrooms kicked in - yes, driving on shrooms is not a good idea - and walked up to the front door, he came raging out and immediately got in my face.
I thought he looked like a dragon.
Since I couldn't really comprehend what he was saying, I pushed him away, and that's when he hit me in the face.
At that point, everyone broke us up, but I was really out of it and borderline heading into a bad trip. Luckily, a beer, a dark room and some Allmans pulled me out of it.
Moral? Don't stare at dragons.
was at a lower east side bar club (think Pianos) when a cute hipster chick (think Ingrid Michaelson) starts talking to me (think gross old guy)--i buy her a drink and she tells me to meet her outside in 5 min so we can go somewhere--i then go to the bathroom and while i'm taking a piss--this guy (think douchey ryan adams) comes over and cold cocks me on the side of the head--since i had been drinking all night--i'm carry out my business while he´s just standin there waitin--so as i zip up and square up to this dood and as i'm about to return the favor--by now this guy is frozen stiff--suddenly this other guy comes rushing in and steps in between us--offers me a guitar in a case if i leave immediately. to make a long story longer, i end up losing the girl of my hipster dreams but going home with a lousy guitar (think Guild 6 string acoustic) which i can´t play--now sitting in my closet. am willing to sell to anyone if interested. laugh at my pathetic life.
one time in bloomington the MJ coverband "Who's Bad" was performing at the bluebird on $2 - 38oz beer night. (winning combination) I had just moved to bloomington and didn't even know the guy i came to the bar with very well, so i was pretty drunk and bored and during the set break i noticed the guy standing next to me had one of those "Homeland Security Fighting Terrorism since 1492" t-shirts on (http://www.zazzle.com/native_american_indian_homeland_security_tshirt-235399055791719733) I had seen the shirt before at a Grateful Dead show and always thought it was pretty clever and figured hippies were always a talkative lot so i said something along the lines of "nice shirt, man."
needless to say, the guy wearing the t-shirt found this outrageously offensive. He let into me with the "why you talking to me bro?" "do i know you bro?" "are you a fag bro?" line of questioning. I was so shocked by his reaction i kept talking to the guy trying to explain myself ("i just thought it was a funny shirt") which made him even more angry and he started shoving me.
then the guys buddy steps between us and kinda pulls me away (i'm still in disbelief, not in potential fight mode). so he starts talking to me in this strong australian accent (probably wasn't) so i immediately think "oh he's austrailian, he must be a good guy" (definitely wasn't). This guy's as much of an ass as the first guy, only less drunk. Starts telling me how he's doing how "i'm lucky he stopped me from getting my ass kicked" "he should kick my ass too" "why the fuck do i care so much about t-shirts" "mind my own business" and whatever.
by this point i'm no longer amazed, i'm just bored. so go to give crocodile dundee the "sorry man, we're cool" handshake so i can go wander the bar, at which point guy #1 grabs my 38oz beer and starts trying to chug it. so i punch him in the face and knock him on his ass.
obviously he just kinda lays on the floor. and captain fosters obviously doesn't do anything. and the bartenders run over the throw me out and obviously were disappointed that i volunteered to leave instead of getting to throw me out.
as i'm walking out, the guy i came with (diminutive gay guy) was outraged that i was being thrown out when the other two guys were being the assholes. when the bartenders decline to throw the other two guys out, he tosses his beer on the guys Homeland Security T and gets thrown to the sidewalk by his belt and shirt collar.
a lot of these posts are TL;DR.
Andrew,
Who is TL, DR?
Ryan: Too long; didn't read
Tom Landry, Dangerous Listener
long time ago in Brazil I went to see my favorite band ever playing in a small place, the name is MCA, I'm sure it's unknown here tho.
By the end of the concert they threw the drumstick.. and a whole f bunch of punks went to get it. I was just watching it as they kept fighting for the stick for a lot of time.. when suddenly it came my way with people losing balance, so I grabbed it and started dragging people against the walls but more people came to join the fight and it seemed to never end until somebody fell down and everybody but me went down too. when I had it by myself a huge skinhead-like guy came my way.. and when I thought that shit would all start over he gave me a shoulder pat and said.. fuckin good fight bro (boa briga.. pooorrrraaa!!). I forgot that I had cut my hand palm a few days before, so when I looked at it.. it was covered by blood, but I had the f drumstick. A few years ago I moved to the us, and guess what.. my parents discreetly threw away the drumstick cause they've found out that rock is a devil's invention
I didn't get my tix to BYT's NYE party so I went to the Sonar in Baltimore. There was a toilet overflowing in the girl's room and girls were slipping and busting themselves. I told a bouncer and he did nothing. I went and shut off the valve and on the way out a bouncer choked me. I couldn't speak or breath, and he kept like Rock Bottoming' me into the floor. Then threw me outside and I hit my head on the concrete and went unconscious. I woke up without a phone and without money, then walked 5 miles home through hood ass Baltimore. Before leaving I explain myself and the manager made the guy, "apologize to me". I guess that is more of an ass kicking story though.
Bar fight did you say? Ok, to start off this peachtree of a stoy there are two things you you need to know....1) never allow your grilfriend to pop xanax like pez while shooting back jim beam like she had a mustash, 2) if she does it behind your back, she not grilfriend materail in the frist place. Remember kids that with great mustash come even greater responsability! In this story you will find a blatant disregard for responabilty and soberness. I wouldnt know about responability cuase my exgrilfiend didn't have a mustash... atleast not on her face. HUMMM where to start... The room was dimmly lit with the faint aroma of stale cigerette smoke and there was a dash of loss inhabitions wafting in the air. Overly hot, big brested bartenders were genesrtly over flowing our cups/shots to generate a generous tip. Enjoy the warm smiles and laughter of close friends returing home for Christmas break I hear a muffeled grunt reverberating from the bar behind me on the right. The sound has an uncannie simularity to a dying giraff giving birth or a gorillia in heat... compleatly primortal. So I swing around to see the Zoo break and I cant get a clear view of whats going on. I hear" dude that gril is puking all over her shoe" hey man is she wearing british knights?". I push past douch bag#1 to get a better vantage point. Low and behold my lovey GF at the time has her head down on the bar regurgating tonight spagetti and corn all over the floor, bar and her open toe flats. HOT MESS! Not only was my embaressement rising faster than president clintion pulse in a whore house but my wallet was wide open laying on the bar with $200 dollars missing from it. She passed trying to pay the bar tab in mid stride. Graceful no? Naturally, my embarassent quickly turned to anger from the lost loot and I demanded answers from my incohearrent grilfriend, which I quickly learned would be impossible cuase the only words I could disect form her drunken babble was "took, Chris and xanax". I dont even know a Chris, but as fate would have it I soon will. From countless dirty and disaproving look from the bartender and the greif sticken face of the poor barback son of a bitch that had to clean up this god awful mess up, I felt like it was time for our departure. While fuckin swearing and shaking my grilfiend to try and breath new live in her limber body I hear "LOOK-! CRACK and then two more loud CRACKS... then every thing went fuzzy. So now your thinking this is a classic case of being "knocked out" or the ever elusive "black out." But , my friends, let it be clear life is far too crule to grant me such a plush and heavenly fate. I come to on one knee, head hanging low with a puddle of blood surounding my grouded knee. The warm blood traversing my jaw line, slowing dripping off my chin. My eyes dart to the left to reviel the thick end of a broke pool stick. I give a "Christian slater run the hand though the hair to meet the white meat of my scalp. Fire explodes in my chest and my nipple perk up ready for murder! Everything go's red! My Ike Turner like rage is uncontrolable, soembody is getting beat tonight and Tina is on the menu! I jump up with the quickness of a sprie gandma. My hands, the merchants of death, go for the frist weapons of mass distruction they can find. Life ending pool balls now sit in the bloody palms of my satanic grasp ready to unleash hell on all and everyone. Fingers fly up all pointing in same direction. A battle cry erups form the belly of my soul and go charging like a raged bull in a china shop, uncertain of who the perpatrator is. Flying blind I break free from 3 of my friends, intent on revenge. FIRE 1!!! The first pool ball narrowly misses heads as it smahes into a bystaning trophy case. the next hand rearing back ready unleash pain...Slam!!!! Blind sided by a mack truck of a bouncer, chaos insude. I clawed and ripped at who ever was in front of me trying to get to the asshole with the over zellis baseball arm. After the fifth bouncer held me back, calmed me down and promissed incarseration of the assalent I subsided and got a ride to the hospital. I found out from the overly tan paramedic that the statement he gave the police was that I was harassing the girl and hitting her. He conviently left out the part of giving her xanax. Then from nurse I found out that when guy came up behind and broke the pool stick over my head, the stick riccoctted of my colar bone and hit my passed out grilfriend in the face. Leaving her with a black eye and a brused conscience. Me? A bald spot where the stiches were and a kick ass story. It's 2 days before Christmas the court date was finaly upon us. I push though the double doors of the court room with my "exgrilfriend" and the new girlfriend "sympathetic hot batender" in tow. I scan the room trying to remember what he looks like and I can't. I guess that what happens when you take three good licks to the back of the dome. The hearings commence and the judge calls my case. This old man the age of 65 stands up. Grey hair , rosey cheeks, stockingly white beard. when he walks his stomac shakes like a bowl full of jelly... could it be? Did i just get beat down by santa clause? His name is chris by the way. I geuss he is handling his naughty list in a new and extreme maner. One would think to deseve this kind of lavish treatment one would have to kill his reindeer, defile an elf, knock up Mrs. Clause or something along those lines? Fuck me I got my ass wooped By santa. Who every said Cris kringle is a jolly ol' fella. I would tell them to kiss my white ass and I beg to differ cuase I have the scars to prove it
@ andrew they are stories. Sorry for all this miss spellings, that is one of the lasting effects from getting you head smashed in.
if you were halfway literate, that would have been an awesome story.
This is a short and true story.
New Year's Eve 2007-2008 in Tokyo. Went to a club with some friends, I was too drunk, the bouncer wouldn't let me in. Told my friends to go inside, I would be join them in a bit, got back in line. Bouncer refused me entry again, I got back in line. Don't remember how many times I went through that goddamn line (which is where I celebrated the new year) but eventually the bouncer decided to grab me by the BALLS - the FUCKING BALLS - and drag me out of line. So of course I grabbed him by the balls like any sane person would do, and he hit me in the face, and another friend convinced me to leave. The End, I lose.
@ empath Good thing that story is not awesome and Im illiterate! You have anything better? Or do you have a lame life sitting around in you underwear watching reruns of Dr. Phil till the tissues are dry and you hear the echo of the spoon hitting the bottom of an Bryer's ice cream container? My advice? Come to a bar and get hit in the head with a pool stick. I be happy to help you out! Then you will have your own story to write about
This isn't my story but my younger brother, a Marine, got a full bottle of beer smashed over the back of his head last year. He had to have 5-6 staples in his head, as well as somewhere around 15 internal and external stitches in his neck. So, while it may look rad in movies, don't be the guy that who smashes a bottle over someone else's head.
I don't know whether it would really count as a bar fight either. Some drunk guy started smack talking my brother and pushed him when he couldn't get a response. So my brother pulled some kind of Marine move to put the guy on the ground. While holding him down and telling him to chill the fuck out, the guy's even more drunk and stupid friend smashed a bottle over the kid's head.
@empath
way to keep it real with christian. also, i vaguely remember coming across that video you posted on one of libby's rise n' shines. i definitely could be wrong but i have seen that a few times - it's hand down a clip to live by.
Bar fight did you say? OK, to start off this peach tree of a story there are two things you you need to know. 1) never allow your girlfriend to pop xanax like pez while shooting back Jim beam like she has a mustache. 2) if she does it behind your back, she not girlfriend material in the first place. Remember kids that with great mustache come even greater responsibility! In this story you will find a blatant disregard for responsibility and sobriety. I wouldn't know about responsibility cause my ex-girlfriend didn’t have a mustache… at least not on her face. HUMMM where to start… The bar was dimly lit with the faint aroma of stale cigarette smoke and there was a dash of lost inhibitions wafting in the air. Overly hot, big breasted bartenders were over flowing our cups/shots to generate a generous tip. While enjoying the warm smiles and laughter of close friends returning home for Christmas I hear a muffled grunting sound reverberating from the bar behind me on the right. The sound has an uncanny similarity to a dying giraffe giving birth to a gorilla in heat… completely primordial. So I swing around to see the Zoo break and I cant get a clear view of whats going on. I hear” dude that girl is puking all over her shoe and hey man is she wearing British knights?”. I push past douche bag #1 to get a better vantage point. Low and behold my lovey GF has her head down on the bar regurgitating tonights spaghetti and corn all over the floor, the bar and her open toe flats. HOT MESS! Not only was my embarrassment rising faster than president Clinton pulse in a whore house but my wallet was wide open laying on the bar with $200 dollars missing from it. She passed out trying to pay the bar tab in mid stride. Graceful no? Naturally, my embarrassment quickly turned to anger do to the lost loot and I demanded answers from my incoherent girlfriend, which I quickly learned would be impossible because the only words I could dissect form her drunken babble was “took, Chris and xanax”. I don't even know a Chris, but as fate would have it I soon will. From countless dirty and disapproving look from the bartender and the grief stricken face of the poor barback son of a bitch that had to clean this god awful mess up, I felt like it was time for our departure. While fucking swearing and shaking my girlfriend trying to breath new life in her limber body I hear “LOOKOU----! CRACK seeing stars and then two more loud CRACKS and stars… then every thing went fuzzy. So now your thinking this is a classic case of being “knocked out” or the ever elusive “black out.” But, my friends, let it be clear that life is far too cruel to grant me such a plush and heavenly fate. I come too on one knee, head hanging low with a puddle of blood surrounding my grounded knee. The warm blood traversing my jaw line, slowly dripping off my chin. My eyes dart to the left to revile the thick end of a broken pool stick. I give a “Christian Slater" run of the hand though the hair untill it meets the white meat of my scalp. Fire explodes in my chest and my nipple perk up ready for murder! Everything go’s red! My Ike Turner like rage is uncontrollable, somebody is getting beat tonight and Tina is on the menu! I jump up with the quickness of a spire grandmother. My hands, the merchants of death, go for the first weapons of mass destruction they can find. Life ending pool balls now sit in the bloody palms of my satanic grasp ready to unleash hell on all and everyone. Fingers fly up all pointing in same direction. A battle cry erupts form the belly of my soul and I go charging like a raged bull in a china shop uncertain of who the perpetrator is. Flying blind I break free from 3 of my friends, blood thursty and bent on revenge. FIRE 1!!! The first pool ball narrowly misses heads as it smashes into a bystanding trophy case. The next hand rearing back ready unleash pain…Slam!!!! Blind sided by a mack truck of a bouncer and chaos ensued. I clawed and ripped at who ever was in front of me trying to get to the asshole with the over zealous baseball arm. After the fifth bouncer held me back and calmed me down, he promised incarceration of the assailant. So I subsided and got a ride to the hospital. I found out from the overly tan paramedic that the statement he gave the police was I was harassing the girl and hitting her. He conveniently left out the part of giving her Xanax. I found out when the pool stick broke over my head, the stick ricocheted of my collar bone and hit my passed out girlfriend in the face. Leaving her with a black eye, a bruised ego and picking corn from in between her toes the following morning. Me? A bald spot where the 18 stitches were and a kick ass story. It’s 2 days before Christmas and the court date was finally upon us. I push though the double doors of the court room with my “ex” and the new girlfriend “sympathetic hot bartender” in tow. I scan the room trying to remember what he looks like and I can’t. I guess that what happens when you take three good licks to the back of the dome. The hearings commence and the judge calls my case. This old man about the age of 65 stands up. Grey hair? Check. Rosey cheeks? Check. Strikingly white beard? Check. His stomach shakes like a bowl full of jelly? Check. Could it be? Did i just get beat down by Santa? I guess he is handling his naughty list in a new and extreme manner. No more lumps of coal in the stocking. You would think to deserve this kind of lavish treatment one would have to kill his reindeer, defile an elf, knock up Mrs. Clause or something along those lines? Fuck me I got my ass whooped by Santa Clause. His name is Chris by the way. Who every said Cris Kringle is a jolly ol’ fella? I would tell them to kiss my white ass and I beg to differ cause I have the scars to prove it
I hit the submit by mistake here is the revised verson- stop hating
The Girls' Perspective: a fight with neonazis at the Disco Rustikal in Bavaria.
A few years ago, back when i was in college, my sister and I found ourselves sent to a small (three streets, one of them paved) town in southern Germany, sent their by our family for reasons to complicated to include here. After exhausting everything to do in the town (buying beer and crepes at the Gasthaus, bonfires, drawing on buildings with chalk and repeatedly visiting the one store to look at the clerk who looked like Elivs), we accepted an invitation to a "Disco Rustikal," aka a nightclub in a barn.
The evening started out fine, surprisingly fun even. We danced mostly with the group we came with, and, being the only new faces, were asked to dance by many of the other people there too. Some of them we accepted, some we did not. There was one guy who was not dancing however, just watching. This attracted my attention, as did his serious expression and his cool jacket, a green bomber with the German eagle on it. He seemed so serious, and it was a fun night, so I asked if he wanted to dance with us. He was polite, but declined with an "unfortunately not."
Around the same time, some of my friends were outside smoking. A really drunk guy came up to them and asked for a cigarette. They offered him one, but he cursed them out and walked off. He somehow ended up with the idea that my friends denied him and called him names.
As we were leaving (my sister and I were already in the back seat of the awesome minicar we all forced ourselves into to reach teh Disko Rustikal), when all of a sudden the car shook and there was a slam right against the window night to my head. It was Iz, one of the guys we came with, flying into the car with the force of one angry eagle jacket-wearing neonazi, who, told by his very drunk friend that my friends were being rude, decided to get some more sober friends and extract revenge.
It turns out that the jacket I liked so much was a symbol of his socio-political leanings, and he wouldn't dance because he was there to "look out for trouble." At that point the fight began in earnest, with the little sister and me still stuck in the minicar, which, being mini rocked noticably when someone knocked it, prompting the little sister to shriek. I sat there, debating on whether getting out and helping was actually helping; it was impossible to see what was going on int eh dark and all I could here was a lot of scuffling and unintelligable sounds.
Finally I did get out and started yelling, mostly along the lines of "WTF is everyone doing? Idiots! Everyone ignored me, but I kept yelling.
Finally, some other people heard us (me?) and came over, and the attackers, seeing other locals, stopped. I kept yelling though, generally pissed off, which is when the other locals explained the neonazi angle, and then I yelled at them again first for fighting, second for being neo nazis, and third for being stupid neonazis starting fights on the word of a very drunk idiot against other locals and two guests in a mountain Disko Rustikal. It wasn't enough they were so ideologically objectionable, they had to be stupid about it too!?!?! How are poeple from one town not the group you idiots think you are protecting?!?!? They answered back that it was my error for hanging around such trash and uncultured people (!) and that I should know better. I answered back again about who was what. That's when Iz took my by the shoulders and told me to stop making things worse and we all retreated. The neonazis left, the local "security" apologized and then we went to the hospital because Jeurgen's leg hurt (and turned out to be broken. He told everyone he broke it 'fighting Nazis," which was technically true, although not as heroic as it sounded).
I spend a lot of time in that area, and never saw neonazis before or since, and I guess its good they are so generally stupid and isolated (as opposed to organizing well and beating up immigrants in Berlin like hooligans like to do in Moscow). It was also the only time I was in a barfight.
Years later I ran into some drama working in Russia, but that was a different type of fight and, while it took place in a bar, had nothing to do with the locale. It was helpful to have at least a little experience then though, so I guess i owe those nazi f*cks a favor, even if they didn't mean to do me one.
I meet my husband in a bar fight.
Long story short: It was my fist night working as a server at a bar on H ST (this was about 2+ years ago). My shift ended so i stayed to have a few drinks. The other servers and I laughed at a drunk guy who fell and took out 2 barstools on his way down (this was all just before last call). His equally drunk friend got mad....started a fight with us. His drunker girlfriend threatened us all with gun violence. The bartender came over the bar broke it up....kicked out drunk guys and girl.....walked me home. The next day he calls and asks me out on a date...2 years later we get married.
Not necessarily a bar but a fight story nonetheless.
During one of the HFStivals (sp?), like many callow teenagers I dabbled in excessive amounts of beer, liquor, and herbs- in that exact order.
Sometime after getting kicked out of 2 to 3 hacky-sack circles I get that overwhelming urge to urinate somewhere, anywhere..
Somehow i get escorted (duped) by one of my friends up the bleachers in order to, not even kidding, attempt to pee off RFK's apex.
Halfway up I knock some nascar fan's beer clear off his hand, he flips out and shoves me pretty hard towards the steep incline awaiting behind me. My only instinct, and surprisingly intrinsic to most, was to grab his wrists and try to maintain my balance and most importantly, unbroken...
Luckily for me it worked up until the split second that he lost his own balance and both of us barrel-rolled down a solid flight of stairs. Picture Homer Simpson tumbling down a rocky canyon prior to a botched attempt to clear it on a skateboard, times two.
Miraculously I only suffered a sprained ankle that took about a year to heal and a pair of urine-drenched JNCO jeans that were stolen from TJ Maxx anyways. Nascar man experienced a period of brief memory loss due to a minor concussion or quite possibly Limp Bizkit's "mind-blowing" performance. After the appropriate medical attention we were both kindly escorted off the premises and I enjoyed a stankass metro ride home. That's my story and i still gots me the jeans to prove it
I was at Rock and Roll Hotel one summer evening. I was wearing a gray Red Sox hat. At the bar, a guy complimented my hat and said I should value the compliment because he was a Yankees fan. I said something jokingly to him about his taste clearly not being as refined as mine. I got my drink and he went his own way.
Fast forward to the end of the night. I see him again but now he is more drunk. He says something about my hat, nothing negative really, and I respond again with some smart-ass comment about me having better taste in hats/sports teams than him. Pretty good natured all round.
HOWEVER his friend was not having any of it. He gets in my face and says, "I'm not going to lie, man. You're a fucking douche bag!"
His candor was appreciated but I tried to explain that me and his friend were just having a friendly, bullshit Red Sox-Yankees thing. He was not having it. With anger in his eyes and heart, he looked straight at me, finger extended into my sternum and said, "What's with the hospitality?"
At this point I burst out laughing because he so obviously meant to say hostility. You could see the gears turning as he realized what an ass he just made himself out to be. I responded, "Hospitality means friendliness!" and moved past him and down the stairs.
It never got very physical, but someone asking "What's with the hospitality?" in a pissed-off, angry tone was one of the highlights of my summer. Wherever you are, friend of Yankees fan, thank you.
I was sitting at the end of the bar downing Iron City medicine bottles/ frantically playing erotic photo hunt when the Smiling Moose decided to drop a little gift in my lap. I was about a hundred thousand points away from breaking the high score and staring intensely at the two sets of tits trying to figure out what flawed final piece was missing when a slender hand with a set of vintage looking red Lee Press on nails and a sleeve portrait of pink flamingos proceded to lend a finger pad to the right side of the screen where more hair lay over the shoulder than in the other photo. I couldn't believe I missed that shit.
We continued on in this teamly fashion until we ended in second place. We played a few more rounds and did a few more shots of Jameson before she challanged me to the game of Mortal Kombat II that was glowing sweetly on the wall to our right. She chose Liu Kang and I cleverly chose Scorpian. The machine was archaic and the play control was almost non existant. Between the Jamie's the Iron city and the busted heffer like action on the joystick neither of us were able to pull off any special moves and the matches ended each time with one of us cheesing the other one out almost entirely, but in the end I proved dominant with a 2 to 1 victory. She smiled sucker punched me in the shoulder and said something about winning at video games validating my penis size and I took a step back before imitating scorpians famous move where he yells get over here throws a chain around his enemy and pulls them towards him to knock them silly. In this case of course I used my arm to wrap around her waist and draw her in towards me to lay a smooch on her ruby red lip gloss. She kissed intensely for a sec before pulling away quickly and saying not here. She jabbed something in my pocket and then darted off. Next thing i knew some shitfaced brutish thug that obviously didn't know how to keep his tats outta the sun let alone deliver a proper sucker punch laid one hard to my left shoulder blade then pushed me into the arcade machine as I turned to face him.
It was obvious this idiot didn't know what the fuck he was doing but his buddies were on the way so I had to get out fast. I jammed two fingers deep into the right side of his neck wrapping them ever so gently around the back of his windpipe. As the guys brain began recieving alarm signals (the likes of which he'd never felt before and couldn't possibly understand) his already pathetic grasp loosened just enough for me to duck out to the right side and slam his left temple onto the joystick. Buddy number one came at me with some sort of arm thing and I just grabbed it stepped to the side again kicked his knee out and rammed his face into the coin slot. It was at this time when I felt two different right hands on me but luckily i had momentum on my side the final guy tripped his feet up on his buddy and found himself a little to close to my elbow so I popped him one in the ribs before I palmed him in the face grabbed his ear and steered him into the first guy who though in pain was still thinking he had a chance. I used the moment of collision to free my shirt from shitarms hand jump over the guy on the floor run past the bar and out the door. As I ran out the door the bouncer actually stepped aside and gave me a wink and a nod as if to say that was the best fight hed seen in a while. Someone yelled fuck yeah Chuck Norris as my ghost trailed behind me.
i c what u did