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I am not a person who likes confrontations—not at all. As a matter of fact, I go out of my way to completely avoid them whenever possible. But sometimes you just can’t.
Case in point: Today, on my early morning walk, I saw some wiry, punk-ass, jerk abusing his dog, and I calmly confronted him about it. Unfortunately, the conversation quickly became heated. He told me it was his dog, he could do what the hell he wanted, and for me to mind my own f*cking business or he would beat me like he does his dog.
To be honest, I was a little taken aback by his volatile response. So as I was mentally preparing myself to kick his butt, he threw some lame-ass sucker-punch, almost catching me off guard. But I was a little quicker than he thought. I grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm around, forcing him to the ground as my knee came up and connected with his nose. I swear I heard an audible crack. Either his wrist or his nose—I really didn’t care. But that had to hurt.
Wow, I was very proud of that self-defense move—that one free lesson of taekwondo training had really paid off.
As the little wuss lay crying on the ground and threatening to kill me, his dog ran off with its tail between its legs. I kind of feel bad, because even as I write this, I still don’t know what happened to the dog. But I’m sure it’s much better off without this low-life human kicking it around.
Anyway, still twisting the idiot’s arm, I asked him if he was done with his stupidity, or if he wanted more. He knew he was beat, and like a brat that doesn’t get his way he screamed at me to let him up. Of course, to add insult to his injury I made him ask nicely, and to say please. I gave his arm another twist to show him I meant business and after a moment of pain he begrudgingly gave in and said please. But just for good measure I gave his arm one more quick twist before letting him up with a warning.
Wiping the blood from his nose and rubbing his sore wrist, he defiantly mumbled some profanities under his breath then turned and stomped off with hatred in his teary eyes. I watched him go for a moment before turning and heading in the opposite direction away from him. With my head held high and a victorious smile on my face I felt like such a bad-ass. A bad-ass that just helped a defenseless animal, no less.
But that good feeling was short lived as I suddenly felt a searing pain and heard a loud bang. The little f*cker had pulled a handgun out of the waistband of his too-low pants and shot me in the back. I spun around just in time to see the coward run down an alley before things went black and I crumpled to the ground.
I woke up in a doctor’s examining room with her telling me that I was fine, and to come back in a week to see how my wound was healing. Wait. What? That thing called reality suddenly kicked in and brought me back to the present moment. No, I didn’t get shot. I just had an abnormal mole removed from the center of my back. None of the preceding was true. But it sure is fun having an active imagination to pass away the time while a doctor cuts your moles off.
© Lon Casler Bixby
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