Patrick recognized who it was driving the other car, and he knew it wasn’t to just anyone Jack was flipping the bird and lobbing bottle grenades. In fact, not only was the other car driven by Tiger, but it was also filled with three of Tiger’s teammates, all wearing football letter jackets. Pat and Jack however were only wearing a couple of grody t-shirts and the smell of smoke and liquor. Pat and Tiger briefly locked eyes and recognized each other. They had met once before and had both heard stories though they had never fought. So when the break lights of Tiger’s Mustang lit up and began to follow Jack to the curb, Patrick knew that status might soon change.
“I mean it Jack,” Pat said. “I ain’t fighting this one.”
Jack ignored him.
The car slowed and pulled off to the side of the road. Every discouragement from Patrick just seemed to make Jack want to prove himself more.
“I’ll show him how tough…” Jack thought to his drunken self.
The gravel and dust started to stir up from both cars and they came to a stop.
“You’re such an asshole, Jack.” Pat said, voice slurred a bit, as he tried to shake off the drunkenness and clear his head.
Jack pulled out his comb and slicked back his hair, pulled his cigarettes out of his rolled up t-shirt sleeve and said,
“Fine, you just sit here and watch my comb and cigarettes. I’ll be back before you can get scared and piss yourself.”
As Jack spouted off his trash-talk Patrick began to assess the situation and formulate a plan (as any seasoned fighter would do). Jack had now put them both in danger. They were outnumbered, and they were drunk. It was a small relief when Patrick noticed that only Tiger was getting out and the rest were just sitting in the car, laughing. The only one not laughing, was Tiger.
Tiger slowly stepped out of the car with his cigarette still hanging from his mouth and began his slow and carefree walk to the car where Jack was still slicking his hair. Pat started to yell at Jack.
“Jack, lets go man.” Pat said getting more irritated. “This isn’t good. Either get out of the car right now and fight or lets go.”
Jack glanced in the rear view mirror and started to reach under the seat and feel around for something.
By the time Tiger had reached the back of the car Jack gave up on whatever he was hunting for to even the odds.
Not wanting to show any sign of fear, Jack gave up the hunt and boldly opened the door, set one foot out of the car, and began to scream a cursing taunt. Before he could get the first f-word out of his mouth Tiger thrust his fist into Jacks face and blood exploded from his nose. Tiger grabbed Jack mercilessly by the hair and jerked him out of the car. Jack began to crawl away from Tiger and cover his face, mumbling and unintentionally yodeling. “Paaat. Help me… Haaaayeeelp.” Tiger, still smoking his dangling cigarette, calmly walked up to Jack and began to angrily and relentlessly kick the drunk idiot in the stomach, ribs, legs, face.
Patrick, knowing the severity of the situation and being a loyal friend, checked for others around the car, and opened door and walked around the car. The scene was grim. Jack had been beaten before he even stepped foot on the dirt.
“Quit kickn’ him” Pat said.
Tiger didn’t flinch an eye. He acted as thought Patrick wasn’t there.
“That’s enough I said. Quit it.”
Patrick didn’t ask a third time. He plunged his fist into the side of Tiger’s face, and the fight was on.
8 comments:
Dadgummit, finish the story, jerk! You're killing me here.
Isn't that always the way it goes? The dumbass friend starts the fight and the one with the brain ends up having to finish it.
MWUUHAHAHAH.
I thought about posting the whole thing but it would be just too darn long. Only two left! hehe
Yes Lexie, that is how it is. Always.
I also find that women have this restraint problem sometimes. When they are with their husband they feel like they can just cut off and honk at any mean-looking, low riding, carload of LARGE golden-toothed Black Men that they want.
You've spent time with my friend, Queen Rebecca the Ornery, haven't you? Because that sounds exactly like something she would do...
It might be possible that the restraint problem you mentioned, Seth, occurs when these women are without their husbands in the car as well. I mean, just a thought, a teency tiny possibility. OK, I CONFESS! I'm a horn addict! My hand permantly rests on the middle of the steering wheel so I can honk at the nearest jerk, male or female.
I'm sorry. I just can't help it.
That's what horns are for right? I mean what other purpose could they possibly have?
I play Jingle Bells with my car horn...my kids love it. Or I honk to the beat of the drum of the song playing on the car radio...my kids roll with laughter at that. Hehe. Life is just too much fun sometimes. Another thing we do in the car is wave at people we don't know to watch the expressions on their faces. It's usually a glance and you can almost see them thinking, "Who was that?" or they wave back puzzled. Too funny!!!
Post a Comment