One of the stories I decided to tell at my storytime/improv show last weekend was why I don’t fight anymore. You can always tell when a guy has never been in a fight before, because he is dumb enough to think he can throw one punch and it’s all over. What actually happens is the adrenaline makes both idiots miss each other and wheeze for air while still trying to talk shit. Or someone gets suckerpunched and a melee ensues. The latter is why I don’t fight anymore, the someone being me.
This story starts with my buddy, the Wop. The Wop called himself the Wop the same way the Rock called himself the Rock. He also did pro wrestling moves to strangers (against their will) and ran around in his tighty whiteys or a mounted deer head over his groin as clothing. My favorite story with the Wop was when I got up at 7 for class and he stopped me in the hallway. “Dude, can you take me to get more beer?” Not get beer…MORE beer. The logic of that means he was still up from the night before. This is all info so you understand where this is going…
His brother was graduating college, so we rode up to the party. They rented the whole house, so one half was Heaven and the other was Hell. The heaven room had blue lights, beer and champagne with Enya playing in the background. There were about six people there. The hell room had red lights, Rammstein, and $600 of booze, thus the almost 300 party people. Of course the cops showed up.
The cop said he was busting everyone and issuing misdemeanors, to which I told him, “I don’t care, I don’t know anyone in there.” Do you know what the penalty for a misdemeanor in the state of Ohio is? “Yes, I have three.” He started laughing and decided to let the party off with a warning if I could get everyone out of there. Great, now I’m the Barney Fife of the evening with no reward. I got almost everyone out. Except the wrestling team. (To be continued)