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Getting beat down
06/09/06
by DJ
The other night I was in a bar, doing what I usually do there, my taxes, and I bumped into this dude. It was completely my fault. But before I could apologize, he said, "My fault dude!" and scurried away. I guess when you are as big as I am you can get away with stuff like that. But before my ego inflated to the size of a cancerous prostate, I quickly humbled like Bush at a MENSA test and reminisced about the times when I wasn't always this "intimidating". I harkened days of my formative years, when I was roundly pummeled. Then, after finishing my last... ummm... tax form, I got to thinking abut the worst ass-kickings I have ever endured, sometimes wincing at the blow-by-blow mental pictures it brought back. So once again HippoNation, just like when I rode the Slate Dogg Express, my pain is your pleasure. So I bring to you, the three biggest ass-kickings I've ever taken, give or take a few drop kicks. Please forgive me if some of the details are hazy; when you are battling consciousness you tend to miss a few things.
Beating Number 1
When I was in 7th grade, I was quite possibly the biggest smartass my region
had seen up until that point, and quite possibly ever since. The problem was
I had a tare weight of a bottle cap accompanied by an extremely short fuse.
I was in French class, and being the aspiring Rhodes Scholar material I was,
I answered a question that one of my classmates missed. After doing so I happened
to look at him and he mouthed the word "bitch" to me. Needless to
say, this didn't sit too well so I mouthed back the words "Fuck You"
right back. Not smart. The dude was an absolute thug in every sense of the word.
I don't want to even mention his name, for fear he might track me down and end
my existence with a Tommy Gun or something (and I also don't want to shit my
pants… again). After the bell rang I went to my locker, which was a bottom locker
since I was an underclassman. While I was bent over, he came from behind and
kicked me in the ass, sending me careening head-first into the locker. As he
bared his yellow fangs in laughter, my blood boiled. I wheeled around and smacked
my assailant full bore with my book bag in a region commonly referred to as
"upside his head". Shock waves undulated through the packed hallway,
as the crowd steadied itself for a bloodbath. They would not be disappointed.
In the four minutes between periods, he devoured me whole. He was on top of
me, fists swinging in light speed, leaving a comet trail of rapture and malevolence,
and landing on my face. I saw Captain Crunch, the Grim Reaper, and God. As he
finished and walked away, all I could muster was "You're still a fucker".
He turned around and looked through me, down to my very last platelet, and said,
"And you're still a bitch". Crumpled and disheveled, I made my way
to class, and vowed never to get my ass kicked again. I was sadly mistaken.
Beating Number 2
In 1997, I was in community college in Nashville. The night took us to a strip
club, as they usually do when you are 18 and you have downed about 15 Southpaws.
I don't even know if they make that beer anymore. Anyway, we got to the door
and it just so happened that there was a Playboy chick there so it was sold
out. As we turned to walk away, this other group of guys wearing North Carolina
waterfalls, aka mullets, asked us why we were leaving. After telling him one
of them said, "Not because you’re all fags?" and laughed. This one
dude I was with, a roided out baseball player that was absolutely huge, without
missing a beat, grabbed him by the neck and told him to apologize. This is where
things went into the shitter for yours truly. There were five of them and three
of us. Actually, there were two of us after out of nowhere this dude hit me
with a forty ounce bottle on my left sideburn so hard that it cracked. Then
I was counting stars and playing tag with Bugs Bunny, Tyler Durden, and Tony
Gwynn. I came to later and joined the fray. I remember my buddy putting his
watch over his knuckles and smashing this dudes face in to what seemed like
the beat of a techno song. I think he was even making sound effects. We went
home and my face was swollen like a beanbag. I then proceeded to pass out...
for 28 hours. I do remember my brother walking into my apartment and saying
"Jesus Christ!". But that's about it. I also think this is about the
time the Baron started frequenting. Right then and there, I swore to never get
my ass kicked again.
Beating Number 3
Fast forward to 1999. In college at CU Boulder, I was in a legendary bar called
The Sink. The walls there are painted with art etc., and in particular the bathroom
doors were painted right next to the real ones. This was so drunken idiots would
run into the painting instead of the real door, leaving them with an aching
shoulder and drunken woe. That night, I was the victim. I was smashed, my friends,
on a legendary bender of illicit materials of all sorts that started three days
prior. When I ran into the wall, I was pissed, so lacking turpentine and not
wanting to waste whatever drink I had in my hand, I used the only readily available
liquid... my own piss. As I began my redecoration, it began to get dark behind
me. I turned to face the biggest bouncer in the history of history. He inquired
as to what the fuck I was doing. Without missing a beat I said, "What does
it look like I'm doing? Pissing on your shitty bar, man." A quick forearm
shiver dislodged my body from soul and I was dragged outside. During the struggle,
I remember connecting with a staunch left. Massive, massive, mistake. He picked
me up off the ground where he threw me and slapped the shit out of me. I may
have been this drunk, but I think he picked me up over his head before he threw
me into a newspaper stand... head first. My shoulder hit the glass and metal
box and I screamed, but no sound came out. I think I called him a butt-raper
before my friends (the very same ones who neglected to tell me he was behind
me in the first place) dragged me into a cab. The next day I had a hard time
explaining to the trainer how exactly I "fell down the steps" and
how that somehow resulted in a shard of glass being embedded into my shoulder
and why I had a crushing hangover. I vowed this would be the last time I ever
got my ass kicked.
Those are the three biggest beat downs I have ever endured. And as painful as they seemed, now I look back and laugh, then I cry, but I mostly laugh. Now people don't mess with me because I have perfected the silent killer look. In any situation of duress, I can now give a look that spews forth wrath and contempt, with a little psychopath mixed in. Thank God it works, or there would be number four up there somewhere. To all the people who have kicked my ass, I am sorry if I left you off, I am sure you beat me well. To those of you who still want to kick my ass, bring it on. You have NO IDEA how many punches I can take or how fast I can run. Post your own drubbings on our message board or hit us up through gmail.
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