Sunday, January 31, 2010

Bad Love Three

So what is the best way to get out of a bad position? A position where you have very little leverage? A position where you are gettin' yer ass kicked?

Well, let's begin by sayin' you shouldn't allow yerself to get into that type of position.
I was embarassed 'cause that's exactly what I facilitated due to not bein' focused, centered and alert.
Ladies n' gentlemen, distractions can literally kill you, or lead to a lot of unecessary pain.
Distractions are not yer friend.
I was acutely aware of this as biker punk pummeled my mug. I was also acutely aware that he DID have leverage, and he wasn't deterred by any distractions.

See, it don't matter that my distraction was noble or of good intent. Did I really have concern for this scumbag's wellbeing? Nice thoughts perhaps but very bad timing. And as we all know, there's a time and place for everything; balance, moderation, a season tosow n' a season to reap, yadda yadda.

The cold hard reality was that biker bully (like all bullies) didn't give a sh*t about MY wellbeing. In fact, he was intensely focused on makin' sure I was in a world of pain, and he was off to a good start.
If I ended up crippled or dead I'm quite certain that biker bully would have no remorse whatsoever. Not that remorse or empathy really matters at that point.
The point is I got the point the hard way, and I was gonna make it a point not to get distracted ever again...if I survived my current situation that is.

The blows punky was hittin' me with stung, but they didn't really hurt all that bad...yet. I noticed bully boy had huge rings on most his fingers (rings now covered with my blood) and that was doin' most the damage.

So this situation...a situation I should never have gotten into (unintended consequences were now clearly punchuated in my psyche)...required unconventional tactics born of desperation.
Bein' pissed off helped me make this choice without any remorse I might add.

I never once expected Luca to help me, although I knew if I asked he probably would, with a stern lecture to follow.
Hell no! This was my fight and I wasn't about to stoop to beggin' for help.
Was it pride? probably, to some extent. It's also about bein' a man. Standin' on yer own feet and standin' up to bullies. So yeah, pride is part of that, but is that a bad thing?
I don't believe it is. Not where honor is concerned, and by honor I'm talkin' about the literal meanin', not the corrupt meanin' idiots, terrorists n' psychopaths try to attach to it.

With all this streamin' through my mind I did what I hadta do...I grabbed bully boy's family jewels and commenced to apply pressure.
Needless to say this got his attention so much that he stopped pummelin' me and let out a a little girl.
He screamed like a little girl so much I almost felt embarassed for him. Almost.

Punky made a feeble attempt to hit me again and I squeezed harder. He froze in terror and begged me to let him go, tears gushin' from his eyes.

"C'mon man...ahhh! I'm sorry! Take it easy...ahh! Oh please!"

Pretty pathetic, really. I guided biker bully off of me and sat up on the table, keepin' my grip on his marbles.
Then I landed a haymaker square to his nose as I let go. I was mad but I wasn't gonna rip off his nuts. So I guess I still had a tiny bit of compassion in me even for this idiot.

Blood spurted from bully boy's nose as he fell to the deck. I got to my feet and got a few kicks in as bully boy tried to get up. He got the message and stayed down, assuming the fetal position.

Just like that it was over. I resisted the urge to keep kickin' girly bully. Adrenalyn was still coursin' through my veins, big time.
I walked slowly to my chair and took a long drink from my mug, then I lit a smoke.
My hands were shakin' and I tried to hide it.
Why the hell were they shaking? What was wrong with me?

Bully boy's friends went to help him and they threatened me with a few weak insults.
I was somewhat relieved they weren't lookin' for a fight but I just tried to look cool. Then I smiled, 'cause I realized I was tryin' to be someone else again instead of myself.

F*ck it, I thought. I reckon I'm stuck with me so I better get used to it.

"You got off to a shaky start but your still standin'," Luca said, smiling.

"Yeah. Fightin' is a bad time to think too much," I said, grinnin'.

"Are you okay? Your bleeding," one of the barmaids said.

Her name was Linda, I recalled, and I was smitten with her good looks. I tried to think of what to say and only managed to get out a feeble "yeah. Um...yeah."

Linda brought over a rag and wiped the blood off my face. My face tingled more than it hurt, and the touch of her hands caught my attention, imprisoned it and threw away the key.

"Hey I'll see ya later Ben. Bring him a pitcher of beer...on me," Luca said, placing a five dollar bill on the bar, pattin' me on the back and leavin'.

"Thanks Luca," I said. Luca gave me a thumbs up before he left without turnin' around.

"You might need a few stitches," Linda said, recapturin' my attention as she dabbed my face some more.

"Really?" I replied, wanting to hear her talk some more.

"You should get some peroxide or something to disinfect the wounds," she said.

"Good idea," I replied. "May I have a shot of whiskey?" I asked.

"Wait, you're going to use whiskey to disinfect?" She asked trepidly. "That's going to burn, you know."

"Not if you apply it," I repled. "If you don't mind bein' my nurse," I added, feeling my face turn red.

"Flattery wiill get you everywhere," Linda said coyly, batting her eyelashes at me.

Oh man, I thought. I'm in trouble now.

I forced myself not to wince as she dipped a clean cloth in the whiskey and disinfected my wounds.
She smiled and often looked into my eyes as she gently wiped my face.

"Oh no! You got glass in your arm!" She exclaimed grabbing my right arm and picking out glass shards.

I do? I thought, lookin' at my arm. Damn, I had not noticed. It looked worse than it was.

"I...uh...guess I'll need more um, your nursing," I said, stuttering again.

Damn! I hated when I did that. Some tough guy I am, I thought.

"Yes you do," Linda said, smiling. "I get off in an hour and I got some proper bandages at my apartment better come with me," she whispered.

"! Sure," I said, tryin' to speak coherently.

Linda kindly ignored my selected speech impediment and smiled again.

"Wow. It was so cool how you handled Dagger!" She said, her eyes lighting up. "He's bad news but took him out fast. I was so worried for you at first."

"Well...I can't stand bullies," I muttered, taking another drink.

"There's a new sheriff in town," Linda said, giggling.

I chuckled at that and shook my head.

"Flattery will get ya everywhere," I said.

She giggled again before reluctantly waiting on other customers.

Yep, I was in trouble alright. And I was drunk with happiness at the thought.

Little did I know how much trouble...

Friday, January 29, 2010

Bad Love Two

Whenever I have entered this attitude, or state of mind I felt liberated from fear, in a sense.
In another sense, I felt a different type of fear. The fear of crippling or killing my opponent, the bully.

Now, don't get me wrong, I wanted to open up a serious can O'whuppass on this punk, 'cause that's usually the only way to deal with them, other than running away, if that's possible.
Of course, in this case running away simply wasn't an option to me. If the bar was full of like minded bikers I probably would've considered running.

I never wanted to fight, but sometimes you just don't have a choice in the matter.
At the time I didn't see the connection that the dive and the clientel that frequented it made the likelyhood of a fight or fights much more probable.
Not as bad as a "pure" biker or redneck bar, but the elements were all there nonetheless.

And nonetheless, it occured to me that there was a possibility for serious injuries to happen or even death.
Problem is, there are times you can't hold back in a fight, or you might be the one seriously injured or killed.

I was thinking of all this at a bad time, and it was affecting my focus causing my reflexes to be a bit off.
My initial plan was to use biker dude's charge against him, executing a nice judo throw, but the guy was faster than I anticipated, and the distraction of thinking about not hurting this punk too bad came with very tangible consequences.

His tackle was successful and I was pushed back away from the bar and driven into a fixed table which had a pitcher of beer on it and a few mugs.
I could hear the two guys sittin' there cuss up a stprm as they jumped outta the way.

I landed on the table hard with bully boy landing on top of me. I heard glass breaking and felt cold beer all over my back. I also felt a flash of pain and bully boy added to that by landing a heavy right hook to my jaw.

Stuff like that has a way of cutting through all your doubts or concern for some punk's well being.

Terrific, I thought. Damnit! Such a rookie mistake. This jerk means to hurt me bad. I kept looking for a dagger or somethin'. This punk wasn't called "dagger" for nothin'. At least I didn't think so. Okay, time to stop thinkin' so much and get down n' gritty, I thought. Along with a bunch of cussin' and some additional anger at the embarassment of getting clobbered from the get go.

I grabbed biker boy by the collar and brought my knees up as hard as I could, pulling on his collar at the same time.
My intent was to throw him off of me and the table head first. The result left much to be desired.
Instead of throwing him head first onto the deck I had only shook him momentarily, 'cause he grabed the table to avoid flying off.

Damn it! Can't I get nothin' right? I thought, frustrated and embarassed.

Bully boy straighted himself up, still on top of me and an evil grin spread across his demented face like a bad case of VD from a hooker that just don't care no more(not that this has ever happened to yers truly).
He let out a hideous laugh and I knew he meant to hurt me as bad as he could and he was gonna enjoy it.
I could hear his pals cheering him on and giving him suggestions as to how he could hurt me real bad.

"Bust him up real good, Dagger!"

"Gouge out his g*ddamn eyes!"

"Rip his f*uckin' ears off!"

"Break all his fingers, too!"

"Make sure to break that f*cking big-ass nose baby!"

That last comment by his ho. Such a sweet lady, I thought.

However, my pathetic attempt to throw bully boy across the room did stop him from hittin' me for a few seconds which bought me some time to try something unconventional. Somethin' I wouldn't normally think of ever doin', but I didn't have time to get too creative. If this didn't work, I was in for a severe beating...or worse.
At least I was in the right frame of mind now. No doubts to fog up my mind. I was good and mad a hell! It was do or die time, and I was outta time to do.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Bad Love

Previously on 24-6...which would be 18...but 18 by itself would not convey the meaning of 24 (-6) that the author is tryin' to get across. Of course, if you never heard of "24" you won't get the refrence so I'm kinda banking that you have at least heard of it.
If you haven't, here's the alternate reference: Previously on Noirth By Noirthwest (but actually taking place in the southwest):

Young Ben decides to become a "bad" boy. Prompted by the observation that ladies prefer the "bad," mysterious, strong n' tough guys who also happen to break the rules.
Of course, young Ben hadn't seen all that many ladies, and the ones he had happened to be in the same dive's he was in, but overall, his Benservation was (and is) generally true among many (not all) young women. Even those who don't go to biker/sailor/cowboy/redneck/trucker/sh*tkicker/longshoremen/yardworker dive's.

Ben is off to a good start, having befriended Luca, the toughest guy he knew.
Luca proceeds to instruct Ben in the fine art of brawling, evading thrown beer bottles, chairs (and anything else not nailed down) tough talk (Bronxish), and all things tough, such as how not to dress.
That's right, badass 101 with the matching attitude. So without further adoo...

Just how bad do I wanna be? I pondered. Bad enough, without bein' an actual criminal should be alright. There's still some lines I won't cross, I mused, smiling grimly at the unintended pun.

Tough guys always smile grimly. Squint my eyes a bit...not too much. God, I look like a f*ckin' idiot! I thought, looking at my facial expressions in the mirror.

I don't even have any crinkles around my eyes, no weather-beaten face, and only a slight hint at five o'clock shadow, from two days ago. At least I got calluses on my hands. But my face is in direct opposition to anything resembling bad, bad Leroy Ben, I thought, disgusted with myself.

I worked more on my expressions. Anger came across pretty good, but I definitely didn't look scary. I could do joy okay. How about mysterious? Arrcchh! What is that? It's like my face wasn't built with "bad" in mind, I thought, feelin' more like one of the Three Stooges than a tough guy.

Damn it! How did John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Edward G. Robinson, Humphry Bogart, Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef, etc., do it? I wondered. Okay, try to feel pissed off, I coached myself. Silent but deadly look...c'mon!

"What the hell are ya doin'?" A deep gravelly voice asked behind me, before laughin' out loud.

Oh sh*t! I thought, whirling around to see Luca. He must've seen me.

"Ha ha," I said, barely audible. "Just messin' around."

"You sure looked funny! F*ck! You looked like Red Skelton!" Luca managed to say, doubled over laughin'.

I could feel my face turnin' red with embarassment. Stupid, I thought. There's no privacy in a ship's head. How long had he been standing there?

"So you don't look mean n' bad, hell yer still a kid," Luca said, slapping my back with his ham-sized hand. I nearly lost my balance.

"But look at it this way, you can use that. It's better for you if no one knows how tough you are. And if they're laughin' they'll be ripe fer the pickin'," he concluded, chuckling.

"I...see your point," I said hesitantly.

"Yeah, you'll get...whatchamacallit...underestimatated," Luca said.

I smiled, avoiding the urge to laugh. I wasn't gonna take the risk of embarassing Luca over his butcherin' of the word. I saw a poor sap do that...once. It wasn't pretty.
It was common for Luca to mispronounce big words, or add to them. It wasn't intentional as far as I could tell.
Sometimes he would also try to use a big word he thought he knew the meaning of when it meant somethin' else entirely.

"Ya hear what I'm sayin'? Hell, they'll be sittin' ducks 'cause theys won't takes ya seriously," Luca said.

"I hear ya," I replied.

I hadn't considered that. Luca was right, but I still wanted to look tough. Maybe in a few years, I hoped. Some scars would help. But gettin' scars would hurt, so I'll try to avoid that avenue.

"Ya ready to do some serious drinkin'?" Luca asked.

"Damn straight," I replied, smilin'.

Around eight beers later Luca fell silent and had that far away look. That look that said "shut the f*ck up." Unfortunately, I had too many beers to care so I kept talkin' bullsh*t. I was on a roll...I thought.

"Shut yer f*ckin' pie hole!" Luca boomed.

That caught my attention and I zipped it fast. Sh*t! I know better, I thought. Luca got that way sometimes when he was buzzed, and until now I had the good sense to shut up when this mood hit Luca.

I nervously lit a smoke and took a long gulp of brew. The minutes ticked slowly by.

"Just f*ckin' be yerself, man. I mean sh*t, you don' hafta impress me with that BS. We're pals ain't we? Well ain't we?" Luca asked.

"Yeah...we're pals," I replied, my voice cracking. I sound like a f*ckin' moron, I thought.

"Hey, that's all I'm sayin'. Just be yerself, Ben," Luca said, returnin' from that dark pplace that he would sometimes be drawn into.

Problem was I didn't like myself all that much.

"Hey ain't you too young to be pretending to be a man?" A biker dude said as he brushed me aside, lookin' straight at me.
"That's my f*ckin' stool, boy. Go home to your mama," he said, laughing.

I looked at Luca on the other side of me, but he said nothin'. I was on my own. Terrific, I thought. Well, I did wana be a tough guy. I felt anthing but tough at tha moment.

"Hey I'm talkin' to you...boy!" The biker dude said, poking a big finger in my chest.

Some of his buddies further down laughed. My blood began to direct conflict to the palpable fear I felt grippin' my rapidly beatin' heart.
He was a big guy. Notmuch taller than me but a lot wider and with at least 50 more pounds of muscle!

"Kick his ass, Dagger!" One of his friends yelled.

Dagger? DAGGER? Somehow that nickname wasn't comforting to me. It didn't take much imagination to figure out how he got it.

"Hell, I could kick his ass," a tatooed biker girl said. They all erupted in raucous laughter.

Damn! What do I do? I thought. I...I...can't back down. Memories of past bullies were suddenly vivid in my mind. I...hated...bullies!
Then I...transformed. An attitude I rarely had known rose within me carryin' many years of anger, rage and frustration. It overwhelmed the fear I had felt and blocked it out.

Ben the boy was gone, replaced by Ben the warrior!

"No," I said, my voice cracking. Stupid f*ckin' voice! I thought.

"What did you say to me you little punk?" Biker dude said, moving closer.

I could smell his rancid breath and it felt like it was chokin' me. I needed air!

"I said no, asshole!" I boomed, standin' up and shovin' biker dude harder than I intended.

Biker dude's foot got caught in the stool next to me and he fell to the deck, spillin' his beer. The guy sittin' there quickly got up and moved outta the way. He wanted no part of this.

For what seemed like a long time it got deadly quiet. Except for the song playin' on the jukebox. Double Trouble by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Apt song, I thought, my attention focused on biker dude.
Finally, the look of surprise left his face and was replaced by blind rage!

"You gonna pay for that, boy! I'm gonna bust you up!" He shouted, gettin' to his feet.

"F*ck you, bitch!" I replied.

I didn't think biker dude could get any madder but that seemed to do it. He was so mad I couldn't make out what he said, or rather spitted out, but whatever it was it sounded homicidal.

I waited, my fists clenched. Why didn't I kick him when he was down? I wondered. Oh well, I'll haftaknock him down again, I thought, grinning.

Biker dude let out a roar and charged me, his big fists ready to rearrange my face.

"No! Run!" I heard one of the bar maids scream.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

MS No Mas

Well now, lessee. After many hours talkin' to MSN techs, we discovered, Patti n' me, with the help of the Dell tech we talked to (a very nice Indian guy who speaks perfect Queen's english) that there ain't nothin' wrong with my modem.

Hence the problem of connecting and stayin' connected to the net was MSN's fault.
We coonfirmed this by switchin' to Netzero, where I have no problems whatsoever, I'm happy to report.

Which means I'm back in biznez! And man O man, do I have a lot of stories jest waitin' to be shared.

Thanks for stickin' around, my friends. I hope to make up fer lost time and write like the wind (preferrably not broken wind).
Or like a breeze anyways.

But first, I'm gonna make coontac with y'all and see what yer up to at yer blogs. Gosh, I sure miss you gals n' guys! :^)
It's great to be back!

Pee-es: My new e-mail is on the side bar. ben62 at

Monday, January 11, 2010

Modem Hoopla

Hi guys!

So. Here I am, borrowing my wench's 'puter, 'cause my modem is mangled, inoperandi, kaput, gone baby gone. In other words, it just don't work no more.

So. What the? Oh man! C'mon! I mean damn! Is that all? Anything else?

"Don't worry dear, I ordered a new one, and it should be here on the 29th," Patti said.

Oh I'm not worried, I thought. Pissed off maybe, but not worried.

"Thanks Babe," I replied, afraid to ask what it cost.

I know, let's spend our way outta debt! Works for the guvmint. At least temporarily. ain't gonna break us. Step away from the negative thoughts. Calm down...
Don't tell me to calm down! Aw, shaddup!

What about the dreams? Tell them about the dreams.

Dammit! I don't have time! But I will...I will, on the 29th. Or someone is gonna pay!

Yeah, I'm gonna pay, I thought, smiling.
Man, these are some freaky dreams. Pretty cool though. Slacktastic, you might say.

I will return.