Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Sick Burn, Bro.

The other day I was working my way through a local used book store when a couple of meat heads walked up behind me and started making snide comments about the gaming books I was perusing. Now normally these sort of fuckheads don't bother me and I don't bother them as our paths generally intersect in different venues; but on this occasion we met on grounds that they assumed would mean an easy win for them. They started with a mumble and muffled laughter but slowly made their way to louder and clearly discernible comments as they guffawed their way through my apparent short comings. That is till I turned around and then they started trying to bulk up. 

It's always stupid kids who think they're intimidating when they have numbers on their side. I remember someone once called it a "pack mentality," and it often works - that is until they run into someone who has been breaking up those packs for ten years. The strategy is always the same; single out the leader, scare the shit out of him, and watch them run; and if you're lucky, you get to hit them until your knuckles bleed. 

The leader was a Blondie kid who was of a slight build and kept flipping his hair out of his eyes. What's your fucking problem?

"We ain't got no problem dude," mumbled the heavy kid who flanked Blondie. 

If I wanted your fucking answer I wouldn't have asked your girlfriend the question. 

"What'd you call me?" Blondie tried to shout with the base up in his voice.

I believe I called you a little fucking girl who's about to get her god damned head kicked in by a grown ass man in front of everyone in this damned store - including those little split tails you've been trying to impress by talking shit about me for the last ten minutes.

He cut his eyes back at the girls and his buddy pulled at his arm. "Come on Jody, he isn't worth it."

Yeah, come on Jo-dee, I mocked, he isn't worth it.

Indecision played across his face as we stood there looking at each other and I positioned myself in such a way as to where I could slam his head into the side of the bookcase if discretion lost to testosterone. Finally he attempted to shove me away as he said, "Whatever psycho," and made his way back towards the girls who'd been watching.

Sick burn, bro. I catcalled after them as the made their way out the store, never taking my eyes off their retreat. One thing about breaking up packs is you never take your eyes off of them, because once you do they turn on you. Taking your eyes away is how you get stabbed 42 times and get left for dead - a friend of mine learned that lesson the hard way.


  1. Just over ten years ago I was involved in a similar situation. I took a different tactic and started proselytizing the hobby and remained calm and polite. This might not work in all situations but it did there; it completely baffled them. They got bored and left.

    But you're right, never take your eyes off them, not even when you open up a Player's Handbook to show them some artwork.

    1. Sadly, I have no tolerance left for ignorant jerks in me.

  2. Ha! You are the angry voice in my head, Charles ...

    And totally right about it, too.

    1. I'm hoping to become angry and loud enough that I become someone's spirit animal. One day, one day soon . . .

    2. Yeah, and afterwards you could stay for a beer and a game. It's a win-win situation ;-)

  3. I do the "angry calm" routine.

    Then again, if I play psycho while carrying there isn't much good that can happen ;)

    1. See that's where you have an unfair advantage. All I have is a pair of brass balls and a never ending supply of rage - but then dealing with the public does that for a fellow . . .

  4. I don't know, looking for a bathroom?


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