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.