"BRO, ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
These four words illicit a response like when I give my stereo a refreshing Poland Spring bath.
Nothing gives me a tough-guy boner more than a shouting altercation, especially when I have greater numbers, and larger humans to do my bidding if push comes to stabbing in the throat.
So here's what happened:
Me, Lou, Brandon and Friedman went to dinner at one of our favorite Italian joints, known for it's unabashed old-school flavor, down to Bensonhurst attitude, and great fuckin' meatballs. Also it's owned by a former heavyweight boxer, who could BEAT THE PISS OUT OF ANYONE IN MIAMI.
So we indulged in pastas and chicken parm cloaked in marinara.
As we walk out of the restaurant, Lou extracts a Marlboro Light, to top off the meal. He approaches 3 tools talking and laughing very loudly, all holding fruity( in flavor and sexuality)-looking drinks.
Lou: Excuse me, do any of you guys have a lighter?
Pony-Tailed Douche: Nahhh broskiii, you can get a light from mine if you fuckin want...
(He extends his grubby paw to offer Lou his lit Virgina Slim, so he can get some fire)
Lou: Nah..I'm alright, thanks
PTD: ALRIGHT BROTHER, SUIT YOURSELF...
*we walk away*
PTD: ............................*quietly* ............you fuckin faggots
It was if someone held down the Frank Sinatra record playing in the background
Lou: Excuse me?
PTD: YEAH YOU FUCKIN FAGGOT, COME HERE!!!
*As we approach, I notice these clowns are closer to age than I thought, and appear to the far more, "fuckin faggots", so naturally I inflate my chest, clench my fists, and prepare for battle*
PTD: DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM? I OWN THIS FUCKING RESTAURANT!!
(people love claiming they own thingss)
Me: Are you (the Boxer's name)? No, your not...so I think the only thing you own is a collection of steel dildos, fuckwad.
PTD: *Hesitates* .............YOU KNOW THERE IS A WORLD CHAMPION HEAVYWEIGHT BOXER IN THERE, YOU WANNA SEE WHATS GONNA HAPPEN???
Lou: *confident because the owner-boxer will apologize to us for this Cro-Magnum* Yeah, lets see..go get him
PTD: JUST WAIT HERE, YOUR FUCKED!!
I must admit it was pretty awkward standing there with his two bitch-boys, waiting for this showdown....as we waited we learned the Pony-Tailed Douche was the accountant of the restaurant's son, therefore:
A) not the owner
B) A fuckin' pussy
We actually knew the Boxer had left an hour ago, because we had spoke to him during our dinner, and we had told him we loved his place AAAAND , he had said thanks and offered us to come back anytime..
The PTD returns, more flustered than before:
PTD: YOU KNOW WHAT? JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!! JUST LEAVE!!!
I swear his eyes began to well up with water
We smiled, not before assuring this FUCKIN' PENIS BREATH that this incident was far from over.
SOOOOOO, Results Pending
But the moral of the story is:
God, do I hate douchebags. I mean..God. A pony tail? really?
DA END, BRO.