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Mantastic Bromance Turns Violent at the Russian River : That Time I Got Punched in the Face

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I should preface this  post with some insight as to where it was that we went for a half a weekend.  Guernville, California, a place where urinal spacing etiquette is ignored, men may freely compliment one another on their choice of pants, and threesomes always imply the presence of six testicles.  Party on.

It was with cheery morale and ample carbonated cargo that our 3-car convoy traversed the Northern California landscape with Guernville our grand destination.  Rolling six men deep and not a damn female in sight our only road stops were to speedily ingest beef and cheese a la in-n-out burger and swordfight in the bathroom, always being careful not to cross streams and consequently rupture space and time.  We also talked about football.  We love sports and suchlike.  Mostly swordplay though.

The bromance intensified once we unpacked at the loveshack / cabin and busted out the brewskis and the guitars.  Adequately swooned and sweaty the six of us tightened our chastity belts and made for the Rainbow Cattle a longstanding town landmark.  Denim was in short supply and was stretched thin over the undoubtedly shaven and very athletic thighs of the Cattle’s fine patrons.  Feeling staunch drinking long island iced teas out of mason jars through pink straws, we swooped on the pool table so all six of us could get to furiously chalking the tips of our cues.  What I will consciously omit from this post is the vast medley of drinks we ordered.  I shall let my reporting of the subsequent follys convey our collective mindstate.  Simply put, gay bar #1 was fucking lovey dovey, aside from denim Dan sexual assaulting Barry with hard stares all night.

Bad Decision # 1 : Leaving Rainbow Cattle

Two bars later we were at the bull pen, the neutral orientation destination.  Round after round of drinks had left our 6 man wolfpack divided and I found myself wolfless and free from social inhibitions as well as critical thought.

Bad Decision #2 : Striking up a conversation with the most hoodrat looking motherfucker in the room.

This is the part of my story that gets a little hazy and is therefore composed mainly from secondhand sources.  It may have been my persistence, maybe the fact that my ability to enunciate was quickly diminishing but it was probably because he thought I was shittalking his bumfuck city of origin.  I had asked my newfound acquaintance where it is he now resides and what brings him to the foreskin of California.  He assured me of his roots in the SF Bay Area and that he was  from Pittsburgh.  For some reason this little bit of geography had me baffled.

Bad Deciscion #3 – “Fuckkkk Pittsburgh man, thats in Pennsylvania”

Sonofabitch clocks me right in the mug.  Totally unannounced.  No haduken, no nothing.  Now despite having a nose seemingly modeled after a ski slope, I assure you it’s pretty much glass.  Pinky could blast a thunder fart in the next room over and it would probably get my nose bleedin.  And this asshole punched me  twice as hard as Pinky’s fart hits.  I don’t hit people in the face.  It’s jus not my thing.  Call it forbearance.  I totally had my booze shield paired with my retard strength anyway so thats like +10 strength + 9 defence.  My initial responce kinda went like this :

My 2nd responce was:

Bad Decision #4 – Leaving the bar to look for the guy, alone.  Finding him…not alone.

I like to think that I drew inspiration for this act from our commander in chief and I was, like Obama, engaging in direct diplomacy with leaders / douschebags from god fucking awful parts of the world.

My first contact / peace offering with this misguided manbrute was an outstretched hand and a “hey man whats youre name?” compressed into an indiscriminate single syllable noise.  Again, I must have offended this guy with my incoherent mumbling cause he started throwin hammers again.  I was then forced to immediately prepare myself for battle, whilst he immediately prepared himself for butthole.

I can’t properly get into the details of the scuffle cause I feel like I was hardly there for it but I will liken it to a cartoon fight wherein the fighters are entangled in a vortex-like cloud riddled with jagged lines and exclamation points.  I can thank Pinky and this Frankenstein looking motherfucker for coming to help clean up my mess.

Two arrests, one cold cab ride, and eleven hours of sleep later I woke up lookin like Don Corleone on one side of my face.  The hurt was all over, I was thankful to Joe for chewing up banana and giving it to me to re-eat.  Good guy.  Mantastic.

Acknowledgements :

Thanks Barry for driving us and doing the dishes.  Thank you Cahill for giving me a joy filled ride and taking me out in the Miata.  Thanks Joe for being my nighttime lap dog.  Ian, for being one passionate and angsty manbear.  Thank you Pinky for having a strong right-hand.  And thank you Pittsburgh, CA for being the putrid armpit of the East Bay, breeding ground for classless pieces of shit, limpdick tall-tee wearing shit smears.

Hard Rock Livin

Got my first night of real sleep last night, all the rest didn’t count, this morning was a different morning because I counted it. One down. Hard rock music is how I’m feelin today, give me the tones, feed me H.I.M. and Finch is a good band. I got up pretty early and ate some shitty cheerios for breakfast in one of those dwarf boxes. Washed it down with some Chrys. Ruffles himself came over this mornin sportin his third car inna month. This onesa popo mobile complete with eight cylinders and a cool blue coord thingy and hard beat. Too bad he crashes all his cars, and almost ran me over when I tried to take a pic of em. Pretty sweet ride though, luxury interior, illegal tinted windows jus like Randy’s.

So yesterday, my pops picked me up to go to Hitwall so I could rock the guitar lika mutha fuckin killer. He slapped the bass around while I made my six string cry out loud. Got a nice lil session in before another band came in and gave us dirty looks for using their amps :P. Anyway I wasn’t about to get in a fight with a guy who speaks fluent klingon and probably carrys a phaser so we got outta there. Oh wanna hear somethin funny? My dad went through a carwashatta gas station, and halfway through it a chunk of bumper fell off. Pretty funny huh? Oh and his antanne snapped off too, hah frickin hah. Well if that dint make your serious ass laugh, maybe this pic of my cousin will.

Oh and also, ya know how I’ve been goin to the gym almost nightly with Eebs? Well the only reason I get it is because he flashes his card real quick and tells em I’m his brother Grant. So I try to kinda keep my head low and not make eye contact with the guys at the desk and get into the lockerroom ay-sap. Wull that worked for almost 2 weeks till last night, one of the new fucks musta looked Grants pic up on the computer and asked “Whens your birthday Grant.” Busted as fuck, had to pay the TWENTY DOLLAR guest fee, which I still owe him. Aint…thatta..bitch. Jus thought I’d share.

Now if you’ll notice on the right side of the site where it says how many people are online, its been over 100 almost all day peaking at almost 200. If your wondering what thats from, its the fact that our shoebox system section was featured on the legendary CollegeHumor. That also put NBHQ over the 1,000,000 hits mark. Ahhta way! Until next time bitches. Merry Christmas ya filthy animals

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