Huh.
Joey took a small brick. He took it from that hot Messican bitch.
We cut it down. We cut it well. We enjoyed some of it.
My favorite thing was to purchase porn magazines and cut out the photos of spread-open vajayjays and use them to make our envelope folds for each gram, larger ones for eight-balls. Nice view, when you opened it up.
This became our trademark. Who indeed does not enjoy the rush, snorting from the almighty Vagina?
Everyone does. Vagina is Royalty. Amen Brutha.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Joey was our raison d'etre this time, for this fight.
Me? I mas mouthy. I was standing behind Joey, because he had to face this big, angry Messican. It was simply a Bravado fight, no one was supposed to die. Dude wanted his respect back. Dude wanted some cash, too. Face off. Don't kill the stealer. Make him pay. Got that?
But I mad-dogged him too much.
There is certain mental Bad-Assitude involved here. See below this next thing.
He talked smack to me over Joey's shoulder, "why you Mad-Doggin me?" and I reciprocated, "Fuck you bitch" and he jacked me with an amazingly fast fist that held the hilt of a knife up between his thumb and first finger, blade business end down. It sliced Joey's leather, on his shoulder, as it went past.
Fuck that fucker.
I got the first punch. In my jaw. I did not deliver it. I received it.
Shame. This started the madness.
I got knocked down. The knife did not even reach my face. Joey smashed his elbow so hard that the knife flew.
Bryan made everyone stop for a moment when he pulled the trigger of his Grandma's pearl-handled .22 that he had brought along, unbeknownst to us.
Swear to Gawd, it had only two shots in it, short cans, two barrels straight up, not side by side, a double clicker.
All because Sean had the audacity to mention this, "Joey been enjoying that fine Messican pussy you got doing all your work for you."
And that is when shit got ugly, like out of control, big time. ("Mega," back in the day).
All hell broke lose.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The course of behavior involved in a street fight does not involve handshakes, cards, flowers, and nice words.
It involves bodily fluids.
Now, about this "mental Bad-Assitude." Let me describe how you will know that you have it. Everyone thinks they do, or would like to think so, but you never know until it comes down to shit or get off the pot.
This quality involves a few things, which are these:
You must have the genetic predisposition to willingly enter a harmful situation, to recognize the fact that bodily fluids will be involved.
In encountering the likelihood that blood and spit and piss (and certain types of solid human material such as tissue, bone, teeth, and shit) may be spurting out, you must also recognize that these things may come out of you.
Bryan always had and will have my back, even if it means bringing a gun to a knife fight.
Sean was fucking huge, which is always nice to have at your back, but it is most important when strength is combined with fortitude, can you hear me?
Fortitude is another word for "mental bad-assitude." This thing is key. One may look sharp, be huge, and be able to talk serious shit, but when it comes down to the most important moment, one thing is most important. Will you run, or will you fight?
Let's say that you are driving late at night along a slippery road of black ice. Of course you are white-knuckled driving to begin with, but someone in the opposite lane starts to cross the line and come towards you, obviously losing traction and looking to smack you down.
Now, the simplest course of action is to freak out, turn hard to avoid, and thereby start sliding at them sideways, with your driver's side door in plain view as an easy target for them. Maybe they will do the same thing and you can meet them face to face.
If that is going to happen, you will probably die, either instantly, or maybe slowly. Hopefully not while on fire.
In such a situation, you might want to consider being prepared beforehand for it. The best thing is to do one of two things, but not at the same time.
At high speed, your vehicle's wheels can either swerve a little bit, or they can help you slow down somewhat by braking, but only if your wheels are all pointing forward.
But rubber cannot handle both at the same time. Best bet is to brake beforehand, and then, at the last moment, get off the brake pedal, and swerve just a little bit with the steering wheel. Maintain control, gently.
This takes practice. Practice is best learned before it is needed. Why do you think that everyone else takes Martial Art self-defense classes over and over again? It is so that when it is needed, no thought is involved. It's instinctual. It occurs without the time that the brain needs to consider your options, chemical messages traveling up and back down the spine.
Now this here is simply Defensive Driving Skill. You have taken this course, haven't you? Do not piss me off and tell me that you have not.
The "Bad-Assitude" Quality that you may carry in your genes may be revealed in what happens after you have taken the correct courses of action to avoid death, and after the moment of impact.
So you have been struck by a dumbass and are now spinning, or else you have successfully avoided said dumbass and are now heading for the meridian, ledges, bridge, and/or trees.
When your vehicle appears to be totally out of control, it actually isn't. You still have hope to survive.
In this moment, without this quality, you will most likely end up flipping, hitting rock, or waking up with a stump through your torso, unless you have this certain Quality. Never stop driving, never let go of the wheel. Continue to attempt to control your vehicle, but not in panic mode. Attempt to be like Scully, the Airline Pilot who landed in the Hudson River after the Gawd-damned flock of Canadian Geese went through the jet engine. How many folks did he save?
(Friggin Cannuck Geese).
But here's the idea.
Just don't throw your mittens up and scream into the direction of your skid.
You will be hurt, you will be bleeding, but you may survive. If you can steer while you are crashing.
This is the most important thing. You have to fight for your life. Always do this.
What else do you have to lose, baby?
And in a knife fight, when you are the first to get knocked down, you get the fuck back up.
And you fight for your life.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
I didn't think that Bryan had brought a gun to the Bravado fight. But now, looking back, it might have been the thing that saved me from ending up choking on my own blood. Bryan shot that Big Messican with the second .22 shorty tab, after he'd woken everyone up beforehand with the first shot.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ya know, I'm really not all that lucky. I'm what you might call fortunate.
My wife is lucky: she wins at whatever cards are laid on the green felt. She has won us trips and stereo equipment and shit.
Not me. I am simply fortunate.
This means that I will never win large. It simply means that I will always have a safety, a back way out, a way to escape, I will never go hungry, as long as there is good, solid, back-breaking work to be found that pays well enough, and I will have her as my bud.
Well, now I'm going to have to continue this thing next week.
God Help You if you have even bothered to read this far.
God Help us All.
---willies out.
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