#fights!

Maybe something’s wrong with me but this is so funny. Arthur’s unhorsed, these grown ass men have him on the ground and are trying their best to beat this child to death (to be fair, he’s chopping people in half at this point, maybe not so baby anymore).

Then Big Bro Kay™️ flies in absolutely rocking King after King until he literally knocks the sense out of Lot. All I can think of are the family dinners later.

two summers ago, i was banned from a bar following an altercation with two of jonah hill’s v weird friends (they were together; i don’t have a face book of celebrities’ friends) that involved me lazily pouring a glass of chlorophyll on one of the friend’s khaki pants, while assertively proposing to “show [him] what fun is,” after he purported that i wasn’t “fun”! 

needless to say, I AM EXTREMELY FUN i saw myself out before i had the opportunity to be reprimanded, but a waitress of sorts did yell at me as i was halfway down the street not to come back there (as if i would!) “ever again” like we were in an old timey western and i was trotting off on a pony into the night after a brawl. 

two nights ago, marquia and i entered this bar, me with absolutely no regard for the fact that my presence was entirely unwelcome, and marquia, with her attitude on “demure,” poised for an elegant evening, deaf to the erratic tick tock of the time bomb inside me.

we were immediately swarmed by a group of australian men who, with proportional immediacy, did something that caused me to roll my eyes, partially as a histrionic display of annoyance and partially for the sport of it.

"do you hate me?" one of them asked, after seeing my eyeballs disappear. "i don’t care for you," i said. "you hate australians," he said in upspeak, with a tinge of displaced sarcasm. "yep," i said. 

he then tried to admonish me for my comment, throwing around the word “xenophobe” (like it was a shrimp) in what i’m sure he had intended to be a garish display of his “vocabulary.” i quickly let him know i was aware of the definition of “xenophobe” by explaining to him that my distaste for australians was *australians* specific and did not speak to a larger hatred, fear or prejudice of any other foreigners. 

(listen, i’m sure in their own context (well, continent) they are fine, (i am not totally without self awareness, i imagine LEGIONS of people find me horribly annoying (i’ve been in bed with many of them) especially when i’m in their country) but i happen to find australians v loud and annoying.)

naturally, unable to comprehend the sincerity of this, he was wildly offended, which allowed us to escape.

a friend of the australians, a man we had earlier overheard claim to be a porn producer, walked past us to wait for the bathroom. marquia tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if, indeed, he was a producer of pornography, despite having the disposition, personality and wardrobe of a tax lawyer.

he responded, i got bored, and, as is my wont, i rolled my eyes to suggest he take his leave. being accustomed to the behavior of men, and other humans, i was in no way surprised to find that grant or frederic or walter thought this was offensive, but as i was also in no way interested in indulging his emotions, i responded to his incredulity by laughing in his face and gesticulating for him to move away.

he did not take kindly to this because i assume - in some world that exists outside of my brain and in a 10-15 block radius of madison square garden or syosset - he is revered and rather unaccustomed to what i imagine he would consider (had he any context for it) “sass”. 

he called me a bitch, uttered some lewd epithets and when marquia and i laughed at him because we could tell these mumblings were meaningful to him and we wanted to make him feel small, he scoffed, told us to “shave [our vaginas!]” and backed himself into a wall (literally).

one of us told him we hoped his daughter and wife wouldn’t hear him speak like that, to which he retorted, pleased with himself, “let me guess, you’re both twenty two.”

something followed this hypothesis, but things went dark for me momentarily as this insult-cum-compliment shrouded all of my senses. there could have been no greater blessing hurled at me under the guise of slander unless he had said “twenty one.”

anyway, i took this opportunity to do my most convincing impression of a twenty two year old, by continuing to laugh in this man’s face.

sensing having less than zero chance of silencing my impertinent laughter at this point, but up for the challenge, he sidled back over to us. claiming that marquia had wanted to talk to him, following my decry that neither of us were interested in his company, he insisted on talking at my friend as she stood there, clapping her hands and yelling into his face that she was not at all trying to talk to him.

after i’d had enough of this, i started yelling at him to go away and he wouldn’t and he was still insisting upon this paltry sliver of a made up reason for his presence and incidentally, still calling us out of our names, slinging a variety of derogatory terms our way.

at this point, i realized that while neither of our brains worked properly (mine due to rampant mental illness and a touch of aspergers and his due to simply being a dossier of LIRR timetables and nypost headlines), his was capable of far scarier behavior. 

naturally, this prompted me to display my crazy to him.

i put my hand in his face and told him - ostensibly for the final time - to “go away.” he told me to get my hand out of his face (lol!!!) and that he knew the owner of the bar we were in. i told him, with accompanying harmony from my hands clapping, to go get the owner.

he didn’t respond but precariously remained in our company.

i then put my hand on his chest/neck area, pressed some of my weight into it and said, “if you do not get out of our faces, i’m going to go wild on you like you’ve never seen.”

he reacted to this almost immediately with a textbook fight or flight response… by putting his enormous, male hand on my chest and shoving me halfway across the room like a rag doll!

in tandem, marquia and i questioned if he was “fucking kidding.” i didn’t get a response because i was busy propelling the liquid from my glass directly onto his face and then throwing the glass onto his feet, shattering.

i went to grab our coats but then decided i had not properly avenged myself, so i walked right back over to that fuck boy and - throwing all caution to the wind, including my constant mantra “do not get ghetto” - i said “did you want to hit me again?” as i stared at the remnants of my tequila literally dripping off his face. 

he responded, in character, with some vulgarities, so I did what i had gone over there to do, i slapped his drink out of his hand and watched another glass smash over his loafers.

then i straightened my wig and we walked out in exactly the same fashion i had two years ago.