Thursday, March 16, 2006
The Greatest Saint Patrick's Day Story Ever!
The Greatest Saint Patrick's Day Story Ever!
The greatest Saint Patrick's Day ever took place in time long, long ago. It was the year 2000. The future was here and Savannah was calling. It might be a little played out, but everyone has to go there to celebrate the holiday at least once; including Dirty Dave, Byron, and myself. So that's what we set out to do: Saint Patrick's Day in that beautiful Georgia town.
The three of us arrived in the town at 10 p.m. by way of my magical Toyota Celica. The plan was to get drunk, make out with strange women, and meet up with my pilot friend Nathan, who came up from Jacksonville, Florida, at the hotel room that he reserved for all of us. That was the plan. Plans suck. More to come on that.
It was a great evening of bad behavior. We were drinking on the streets and saying dumb stuff to girls. I'm pretty sure Byron did some fire spitting, and Dave did some "Famous Dave Girl Manipulation" (Damn, he was good. Greasy, but good.)
We were in a boring bar, Dave looked around, picked out two girls, walked up to them, creeped them out, then made them laugh, then told them that we were leaving. At this point, predictably, they asked us if they could come along. Dave could always make girls think it was their idea to hang out with us, when it was actually his. It's like some magical Yankee Jedi mind trick. He could violate girls with the way he looked up and down their bodies.....and they would thank him! You’ve got to witness it some time. We are now almost to the point where this shit gets good and hits a fan. It's so good that it deserves it's own paragraph.
Thank you for coming to the next paragraph. Let's proceed: So Dirty Dave, Firin' Byron, Weird-Ass Me, and two strange girls that Dave hypnotized were all walking down the streets of Savannah to another bar. Byron started lagging behind, and before you know it, some dude was yelling at him. Not just any dude, a dude that looked almost identical to former Atlanta Braves relief pitcher John Rocker, except he had an Australian accent. We were all confused, why was a stranger yelling at Byron? That's Cory Territory! (OK, so my real name appears sometimes.) Strangers are supposed to fuck with me. The balance of the universe was slightly off.
"Oi’m gonna kick ya' ass, mate," the Australian John Rocker yelled at Byron.
"Oh shit," I said. I remember looking at Dave and ordering him to put his beer down on the sidewalk so we could present a united front in defense of our friend. Dave always seemed to suspiciously disappear during previous conflicts, and I was not letting him slip away because Byron needed us.
Me: Why are you fucking with my friend?
Australian John Rocker: He tried to steal me beads out of me hand that I was trying to give to these girls. I'm gonna beat the fuck out of him, mate!
Me: A) Byron didn't try to steal your beads. And B) You're not gonna beat anyone's ass.
John Rocker: Yes I am.
Me: You try to beat his ass and we're gonna kick your ass and any of your friend's asses that try to jump in and kick our asses. Got it?
This stupid boy-posturing went on for another minute or two with repetitive declarations of who exactly was going to get their ass kicked, and by whom. It was like a wrestling match, with all sorts of pre-match threats. Guys are so dumb. I'm one of them, I know.
Finally, I decided to regulate and rectify the situation by barking orders. I told Dave and Byron to take the two girls (yep, they were still with us) and walk down the street. I told John Rocker that he was going to stay right where he was until my people got a safe distance away, and I was going to stand in the middle to make sure he didn't run after them. I told him if he tried any shit, I was gonna take him down. Did I mention that I'm 5 foot 10 and not that big; and that he was about 6 foot 4 and a whole lot of pounds, and very mad, and very drunk, and very Australian. Well, he was. It figures into the story in a moment.
I saw my friends take a right at an intersection and felt they were far enough away from our new enemy that I could take my eye off of him and catch up to them and get on our way. I was walking down the street and just as I took the right turn at the corner, who do I see? Yep, Crocodile Dundee was running full speed down the street towards me. He was trying to sneak up on me to attack from behind! The rat bastard! Not only was he large and crazy, he was running down a hill towards me, which made him even bigger. He was getting closer and closer to me and I didn't know what to do. In case you hadn't figured it out yet, I had absolutely no chance of beating this dude's ass. I was totally lying when I told him that I could. What was I gonna do? (You'll find out in the next paragraph.)
My body went faster than my mind and I suddenly found myself in some sort of martial arts stance; which would be great...if I had any training in oh, say, martial arts! The dude didn't know this, and to my surprise, he stopped in his tracks and started staring at me out of confusion. I started shifting my feet back and forth in some sort of alternating pivot, like I was a left-handed fighter, then I would jump into the stance of a right handed fighter, and back and forth repeatedly. I also had both hands held out with each one pointing five fingers at him like I was Bruce Lee. Each time I switched my lead foot, I also switched my lead hand. While I was doing this, I started screaming at the guy, who was still frozen, in some sort of fake Asian language.
It went something like this, "Gow Kaki Daiii-eeeYa Ya OOh!"
Then I would alternate my language back to that of an insanely angry English speaking white boy, and I said stuff like, "Oh you want some of me, motherfucker! It's on bitch! Gow Kaki Daiiii-eeeeYa Ya Oh Gow Mo Kokiko."
Here's the weird part: the dude was buying my act. Then I realized, "Oh shit, I've got to follow through with this bullshit routine I've just created. If he realizes that I don't know Kung Fu, and that I don't speak - what the fuck kinda language am I speaking anyway? Anyway, if he figures it out he'll just beat the shit out of me".
Currently we were at a standoff. The guy was trying to figure out my “advanced” moves so he could break in with a punch, but he was afraid to punch me because he had a fear that I would take his arm flip him over and stand on his throat, or something like that. I could see it in his eyes, he was freaked.
He finally tried to come at me with a punch but I stuck my foot out. I didn't exactly kick him, but I did have my foot wedged into his groin area of his pants. With my foot stuck, I just sort of shoved him backwards. It looked like a masterful mercy kick - like I was giving him one last chance to walk away. I went back to pivoting and rambling Fake-Asian and he went back to trying to break the code of my masterful martial arts stance.
"You want more, Buddy! Next time I kick you, you won't be getting up. How bad do you want it? Mao Za Kagaduchi Mi Mo Hirohito Tagachi Sushi Yo!"
I needed help. Damn I needed help! Where was my rescue? It wasn't coming from Dave and Byron, because I looked over to my left in the middle of this "fight" and I saw both of them laying on the ground slapping the concrete and laughing at my antics. They knew I didn't know Kung Fu. Yet, I guess they thought I'd be OK, anyway. They better have thought that, otherwise they were just leaving there buddy high and dry. Who was gonna save me? How about........................
.................John Rocker's friends! They ran up, grabbed HIM, pulled him away, and then circled me. I knew I was dead. Or was I?
They said to me, "Hey man, our friend's drunk. He doesn't mean it. Just let it go. Can you let it go?" I said "I'm cool man. I'm cool." But they didn't believe me. I couldn't believe that his friends were also buying my martial arts expert act; and now they thought that I was in an uncontrollable rage. But I wasn't, I was scared to death. Oh well, they didn't need to know that. So I continued the rage act.
I screamed, "I'll make you a deal. Get your damn friend out of here, right fucking now and I'll leave him alone. But if I see him tonight, he better not so much as say a fucking word to me. NO, he better not even LOOK at me."
They said, "That's cool, we'll get him out of here, just be cool, dude, calm down, he's just real drunk. We don't want any trouble, man"
As John Rocker and his buddies were walking away, a guy from the crowd (oh, I forgot to mention that there was a crowd of about 100 people watching), walked up to me. He put one arm around me, and addressed the crowd.
"Hey everybody, I don't know about you people, but I've gotta shake this guy's hand! Because he didn't know what the fuck he was doing! He had no chance of kicking that guy's ass; but he convinced that guy the he DID!" He was, of course, pointing at John Rocker, who was walking away.
He continued, "I know karate, and you, my friend, don't know the first fucking thing about karate! That was awesome!"
Some people in the crowd started applauding and cheering. I got nervous that John Rocker's crew might hear this, as they were possibly still within earshot. I whispered to my new admirer, "Hey dude, I appreciate the appreciation. But I don't want everyone knowing that I can't fight. You're blowing my cover, man."
"Oh sorry, dude. That totally rocked," he said. Then he walked away, the crowd disappeared, and Firin' Byron, Dirty Dave, Kung Pow, and 2 strange girls that barely figured into this story continued on their way down the street to the next bar. Byron said, “You know the funny thing? I totally tried to steal the bead's out of that asshole's hands. I guess I should've told you that part. Sorry, man.”
This concludes Part I of the Greatest St. Patrick's Day Ever! Part II is coming tomorrow.