:: Against the Sky ::

Can't say that I'm ahead of my time, I fear my time will never come.
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:: Saturday, February 26, 2005 ::

So I went down to Paddy'o's tonight with a couple of freinds. All went well until these fucking Hitler youth showed up. Turns out I know one of them from Parkside. An English class to be precise, his name is Chris. He is this huge, burly, Henry Rollins-is-my-hero type of guys. He has these friends that are fairly good at pool. Dave and I end up being the last people they play for the evening. Keep in mind they only played two games of pool. Last game of the night, Dave and I lose to these guys, and we shake hands and it's all good. Up until around last call, that is. The two guys come up to us saying that we owe them a drink. Now I know motherfucking well that we had never agreed on this, nor did the people that played them before us because we were talking to them while they were playing. They got all huffy and threatened to beat us up. We tried to reason, but it was all in vain. They said that the next time they saw us that we either had to buy them a drink or they would 'smash' us. Duh. About that time, Chris, who doesn't remember me obviously threw a not so empty can of Pabst (oh, sweet irony) at my head. I ducked, but it hit the wall behind me and sprayed all over Dave. Then, the fucking bartender kicked us out. And, as I was walking out, I looked out the window to see them all standing there like the bunch of drunken buffoons they were. One of the guys saw me, told me to have a good night, and he said he hoped I payed up. Thankfullly, I ended up in my car without a scratch.

Now.

There are a few things I should have done differently in this situation:
1. I should have told them that I knew they were fucking with us because of our size(s)
2. I should have jumped on the table in the beginning, as it was my table before they showed up.
3. I should have grabbed Chris and talked to him for a minute to see if he remembered me, as if that would have fucking chaged anything anyway.
4. I should have told them to fuck off from the start. Granted that would have almost definitely ended up with me and Dave getting our asses handed to us on three different plates by three different Mr. Universe contestants, but both Dave and I have cell phones and we could have identified at least one of them. Whether or not we would have been able to speak is a moot point.

It's times like these when I am truly grateful for being who I am. I am glad that I am not some fucking hooligan (the word actually applies in this case) that gets a kick out of fucking with other people. Not fucking with like making fun of sometimes, but fucking with like Brad Pitt-Fight Club style fucking with. People like the assholes that we had to deal with piss me off.

One time Mike and I drove down to Chicago for whatever reason, and we stopped at a gas station in Evanston (IL) at around 2 in the morning. Here we are, driving around having fun, drinking Dr. Pepper almost by the gallon, having a blast, and I take him to the city of my fucking birth, and the first thing that happens is we get asked for money by some homeless fuck sitting in front of the station with his friend. After we say we don't have any money to give, these motherfuckers at a gas pump ask Mike if he wants to buy crack or something, I really don't know, he didn't really tell me. That's how I feel about the guys we encountered tonight. People like that should be wiped from existence altogether. There's no point for that. They come in, probably drunk already, with their girlfriends (whole other story) and act all cool with you, until they are kind of bored and then they want to start shit. The saddest part is, I know that Chris isn't really like that. He's not the brightest bulb in the box by any means, but he has better things to do than walk around trying to get people to give him as reason to beat them up. Henry Rollins wouldn't do that, he's too smart.

I've lost my faith in man again.

:: Colin 3:06 AM [+] ::
...
Comments:
next time you chose a local establishment to partake in a few barley pops, make sure that there aren't a bunch of big trucks with oversized tires, mud caked on the fenders and confederate flags hanging in the back windows parked outside. Unless of course, you enjoy looking at the denizens of Sturtevant through beer goggles.
Forget about faith in man, what WERE you thinking???
 
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