Sometimes I like to walk into a room, climb on top of a table or chair and shout: “And so it begins!”
Please note that if you do this in a coffee shop you might receive the sort of response you don’t want to get…unless you are carrying a bat, mop or sword.
Not that I know anything about this from personal experience, but if I did I might have one heck of a story to tell you.
Where Are the Cameras?
He looked like he was about 25 or so. He was a skinny kid with a baseball cap, some tattoos and multiple piercings around his body. Thirty years ago he would have made people nervous, but not anymore.
That is because half the people you pass on Melrose look just like him. Kind of funny to look at someone who put so much effort into trying to be different and realize they are just another clone.
He was the first to offer a significant response to my challenge. No one cared when I climbed on to the table. There were no looks from customers nor warnings from baristas to get down.
Blame it on Hollywood. No one notices the weird and unusual. It is just another day in the city.
“And so it begins” was the difference.
My voice is deeper than most. I don’t have to work hard to be hard and when I raise it slightly people notice. Maybe there was some sort of chemical in the air that went with it.
Maybe it was some sort of primal instinct responding to the challenge issued by the pack leader. I don’t really know. What I can tell you is that he asked me where the cameras were and rushed the table.
That was a mistake. If he had thought about it he might have recognized that I held the higher ground or noticed that my hands are made for hauling iron and his are for more delicate things.
But he didn’t and well I didn’t care. Why should I. I was the one who issued the initial challenge and I was prepared.
I knew that he would swing at my legs and try to take them out from under me. I watched it all unfold like it was in slow motion. When he swung his arm I stepped aside and then slapped him on the back of his neck.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt him. That was a love tap. It was a wake up call and it did all that I asked it too.
He went flying by the table and crashed into the couple who were sitting across from us. I watched him go face first into her ice coffee and giggled when he stood up with a nose covered in whipped cream.
“You mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries!”
I know, it is not the most original insult but if it worked for the geniuses of Monty Python that is good enough for me.
Young, dumb and covered in cream roared something in return and came running towards me. It was a mistake. Not only have I watched lots of movies I have seen the videos of the guys who run with the bulls.
The reality is they are running away from the bull and not towards them. That is because when you mess with the bull you get the horns and that works just fine for me.
After all I am a Taurus.
When he charged me I stepped to the side again and placed a well aimed kick into his behind and sent him crashing again into a different table. When he didn’t get up I mulled over walking out of the joint with my head held high, but I just couldn’t help myself.
I climbed back up on my table and yelled, “Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!”
Moments later I was armed with a nearby mop and was doing my best to fight off two more young bucks, one of whom held a broom and the other a rather sad looking croissant.
Anyone with a lick of sense would have ignored me, but not these lads.They had to follow in the sad footsteps of the pierced poseur and that mean they had to go down.
Let’s face it we men have egos and no one wants to gets their butt handed to them in front of some beautiful babes. I know that I don’t and there was no way I was going to lose to a guy who armed himself with a croissant.
Hell, I told Frenchie to just get it over with and surrender but he wasn’t smart enough to listen to common sense, nor was the guy with the broom.
Well it took about five more minutes for me to hand those fellas their just rewards for messing with me, but I did it. And then when it was done I made a point to check them for six fingers.
I figured if the police came I could show them the six fingered man and I would be ok, exonerated of all charges. Sadly neither one of them had six fingers on their hands.
What Makes A Cop Nervous
You know what makes a cop nervous?
Really, I do. You see they don’t like it when their Tasers don’t work on you, but what they hate even more is when you take their billy clubs away from them.
Unless you are prepared to face the consequences, try not to do it. They act like spoiled children when you take their toys from them. And the whining is simply awful.
So do yourself a favor and don’t try this in public.