Tuesday, March 18, 2008

It Had Been A Long Time Since I Beat A Redneck Senseless

St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorite holidays.

Saturday night I went out with The Master Baiter and Spear Chucker to get a head start and didn't roll back in until this morning.

Spear Chucker had my copy of Kingdom of Fear, that I mentioned recently I was going to "borrow" now that I'm finished with Fear And Loathing In America.

He's another friend that I've had since college (at UPM). He picked up the name Spear Chucker partially because the African American surgeon in M*A*S*H had that name, but moreso because he went to school on a track and field scholarship and threw the javelin.

It's always an adventure visiting Spear Chucker because he's an urban farmer and stays on top of the latest and greatest methods to maximize both yield and quality in a confined space.

We were at his place sampling the latest crop for a few hours then headed out to a bar.

We'd been drinking Irish Car Bombs for a few hours, in the back room, when, at one point, I pulled out a fat, tight one. Spear Chucker had come up with a hybrid that was the most beautiful shades of green and gold with burgandy hairs running through it.

I'm puffing on it when this redneck walks over to the table. He says to me, We don't like your kind here, hippy. Take your mar-a-jew-juan-a and your nigger friend and get out.

Speak Chucker looks at me and says, Did he call you a hippy? I took a long draw on the joint, then flicked ashes on the floor. I said to The Master Baiter, did he call you a nigger? He, in turn, says to the redneck, Did you call me a nigger?

Don't make me tell you again, the red neck says to me.

No need for that, I told him, you've said enough. I motioned to his six friends standing in the doorway. Are they with you?, I asked him as I was getting up.

Damn straight, he said.

It was at that point I kneed him in the nuts and dropped him with a good right hand to the chin.

Two County Sheriff's deputies came right about the time we finished beating the living shit out of the seven of them. It felt good, especially, to give the loudmouth a good stomping.

The only person better than your attorney to have by your side in a bar fight is a black belt. Spear Chucker's specialty is TaeKwon-Do.

The Master Baiter talked for awhile off in a corner with the deputies. I told the pigfuckers, knowing the deputies were in earshot, that if they had anything else to say to me or my nigger friend the next beating we gave them wouldn't be so mild.

All seven of them were a bloody mess; none of them had much to say to the deputies. It doesn't look like there's anything we can do, the lead deputy said, and advised us to take a cab home.

They had a good laugh when I said we'd taken a cab there to avoid having any problems.

The other thing they advised us was to take care of the bar owner so there wasn't any trouble. The Mater Baiter is friends with the owner; he wrote him a good check and all was well when we headed out.


Lisa Steptoe said...

Sometimes I'm slow, and don't get it fast enough, but you're funny as hell when it finally crosses my blood-brain barrier what in God's name your talking about.

Anonymous said...

When Spear Chucker says "Did he call you a hippy?" I laughed out loud!

isabella mori said...

this was like reading my favourite whodunnit author, robert b. parker of spenser fame ... :)

and, hm, do you think there could have been a nonviolient solution?