Saturday Night Fight

I got into a fight on Saturday. I took a few body shots and my left arm is pretty bruised. The fucker also tried to choke me out; it feels like my hyoid bone is gonna rip through my neck flesh. I hope I didn’t crack it; it’s very delicate but difficult to break due to its position in the throat… Still, this fucker was out to get me.

Long story short, I was out in Mount Vernon getting piss drunk on someone else’s dime. I had a margarita, several shots of Maker’s Mark, and half a bottle of wine. The wine did me in… It’s always the fucking wine. I was good and greased by this point, talking to the red-headed bartender Jake and making up the words to whatever song was playing. I was at some bar called Mick O’Shea’s, a band called “The Speakers of the House” was performing, and I swear I was minding my own business. And then someone talked to me.

I told the guy what he was saying was stupid and that the smartest thing to come out of his mouth was a greater man’s penis.

He didn’t like that. He got up in my face. I left the bar. He followed me out and started to puff his chest out at me. I told him “It’s a joke not a dick; don’t take it so hard.” He came closer. I told him the gay men in the neighborhood were better at handling harsher jokes than him. He grabbed my arm. I lashed out with an uppercut to his jaw. I thought he was going to leave me alone when he backpedaled… and then he lunged for my neck. I went animal on him, punching at his throat and gut. I could hear his labored breathing and slight gurgle of saliva and possibly blood in his throat.

His hand loosened around my throat to rest on my left shoulder. I thought he had given up… and then he proceeded to wail on my rib cage with his right hand while he pushed my left arm into the wall behind me. I went for body shots too but my momentum was all fucked up since the fucker was holding one of my arms down and I was pretty damned drunk. I somehow got off the wall (I think I slumped down and kinda ducked away or something; I don’t remember all the details) and we started to just drunk swing at each other. We were both yelling obscenities at this point and otherwise creating a ruckus. A group of people walked out of the bar and just watched us for a few seconds until a woman yelled, “HELP HER! HE’S HITTING HER!” I don’t know if she noticed, but I was getting in a few good shots too.

They broke us up and told the guy to leave or else they’d call the cops. My opponent reluctantly walked away, yelling how he was going to call the cops on me. Here’s a prime instance of a double-standard that works in a woman’s favor: the cops will most likely believe that a 6’0″ tall white male will start a fight with a 5’7″ Asian chick and not the other way around. I figured the odds of my ass going into the back of a paddy wagon.

All the adrenaline made me feel sober… so I walked back into the bar and finished the other half of the wine that was still at my spot at the bar. I called Sam and asked him to pick me up.

Sam: I thought you were on a date.

Me: Yeah. We kinda got into a fight.


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