Post: #101

(03-11-2018 02:04 PM)Teedub Wrote:  ...But I recommend everyone to learn something like Muay Thai, Boxing etc because in most situations where you're forced to fight, it helps. I was just in there with someone so much bigger that it would need me to be a pro or something for it to negate the size difference.

Also, not being drunk helps...

Post: #102

Man, I don't know if I've ever seen 2 sober people over 20 years old in a fistfight... I thought being drunk was a pre-requisite.

Therefore, you should go to your boxing and Muy Thai classes just a little bit more than tipsy cuz that's when people really start fucking with you--certainly not the point where you become an asshole.

Post: #103

Here's a story my friend told me about a recent fight and why it's a bad idea. I'll tell it in first person for a better read.

A long time frenemy called up with a job. I was like cool, did the job. Then he got entirely Jewish with my ends, paying me less then $10. (Less than 10% of what we agreed.)

I sureyed the room, saw an open knife near him, positioned myself near it and took it from him. "Yeah I'll accept this as payment. He went ballistic "you can't take that" I start backing out of the room.

He grabs a blunt object so I rush and slam him into the wall and start throwing elbows with the non knife hand at his ribs, head whatever. (I had about a 200% strength advantage.)

Then his girl rushes out panicking, I'm sitting there with a knife beating dude, she managed to calm the situation down threatened cops etc.

Things that could have gone wrong for my friend: murder charge, being murdered, goons in other room whatever. Never fight on purpose, my dude just went bananas over being shorted.

Post: #104

Did he get his money?

Post: #105

No he didn't, and he plans to lay the smack down every time he sees dude.

Post: #106

Yeah, age lessens the willingness to fight as the realisation of consequences kicks in. Apparently the risk taking part of the male brain doesn't fully form until mid-twenties, which would explain the near-suicidal rashness of young men. When I look back on the dumb shit I did in my teens and early 20s, I count myself lucky to be alive. I won't bother boring you with yet more fighting anecdotes (most of us have many), other than three takeaways:

1. Debeguilded's link to https://www.nononsenseselfdefense.com/ is an absolute goldmine. It forces you to look at yourself, to cool your head and examine your own motivations and actions.

2. Yes, learn to fight and do so in a controlled environment. It is good for the body and gives you confidence.

3. This poem, 'The Winner' by (((Shel Silverstein))):

The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, 'Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
Yeah, he's a winner.'

But I'd had myself about five too many, and I walked up tall and proud,
I faced his back and I faced the fact that he'd never stooped or bowed.
I said, 'Tiger Man, you're a pussycat,' and a hush fell on the crowd,
I said, 'Let's you and me go outside and see who's the winner'

Well, he gripped the bar with one big hairy hand and he braced against the wall,
He slowly looked up from his beer....my God, that man was tall.
He said, 'Boy, I see you're a scrapper, so just before you fall,
I'm gonna tell you just a little what a means to be a winner.'

He said, 'You see these bright white smilin' teeth, you know they ain't my own.
Mine rolled away like Chiclets down a street in San Antone.
But I left that person cursin', nursin' seven broken bones.
And he only broke three of mine, and that make me a winner.'

He said, 'Behind his grin, I got a steel pin that holds my jaw in place.
A trophy of my most successful motorcycle race.
And every mornin' when I wake and touch this scar across my face,
It reminds me of all I got by bein' a winner.

Now my broken back was the dyin' act of handsome Harry Clay
That sticky Cincinnatti night I stole his wife away.
But that woman, she gets uglier and meaner every day.
But I got her, boy, and that's what makes me a winner.

You gotta speak loud when you challenge me, son, 'cause it's hard for me to hear
With this twisted neck and these migraine pains and this cauliflower ear.
'N' if it weren't for this glass eye of mine, I'd shed a happy tear
To think of all you'll get by bein' a winner.

I got arthuritic elbows, boy, I got dislocated knees,
From pickin' fights with thunderstorms and chargin' into trees.
And my nose been broke so often I might lose it if I sneeze.
And, son, you say you still wanna be a winner?

My spine is short three vertebrae and my hip is screwed together.
My ankles warn me every time there'll be a change in weather.
Guess I kicked too many asses, and when the kicks all get together,
They sure can slow you down when you're a winner.

My knuckles are so swollen I can hardly make a fist.
Who would have thought old Charlie had a blade taped to his wrist?
And my blind eye's where he cut me, and my good eye's where he missed.
Yeah, you lose a couple of things when you're a winner.

My head is just a bunch of clumps and lumps and bumps and scars
From chargin' broken bottles and buttin' crowded bars.
And this hernia, well, it only proves a man can't lift a car.
But you're expected to do it all when you're a winner.

Got a steel plate inside my skull, underneath this store-bought hair.
My pelvis is aluminum from takin' ladies' dares.
And if you had a magnet, son, you could lift me off my chair.
I'm a man of steel, but I'm rustin', what a winner.

I got a perforated ulcer, I got strictures and incisions.
My prostate's barely holdin' up from those all-night collisions.
And I'll have to fight two of you because of my double vision.
You're lookin' sick, son, that ain't right for a winner.

Winnin' that last stock-car race cost me my favorite toes.
Winnin' that factory foreman's job, it browned and broke my nose.
And these hemorrhoids come from winnin' all them goddamn rodeos.
Sometimes it's a pain in the butt to be a winner.

In the war, I got the Purple Heart, that's why my nerves are gone.
And I ruined my liver in drinkin' contests, which I always won.
And I should be retired now, rockin' on my lawn,
But you losers keep comin' on, makin' me a winner.

When I walk, you can hear my pelvis rattle, creak and crack
From my great Olympic Hump-Off with that nymphomaniac,
After which I spent the next six weeks in traction on my back,
While whe walked off smilin', leavin' me the winner.

Now, as I kick in your family jewels, you'll notice my left leg drags,
And this jacket's kinda padded up where my right shoulder sags,
And there's a special part of me I keep in this paper bag,
And I'll show it to you, if you want to see all of the winner.

So I never play the violin and I seldom dance or ski.
They say there never was a hero brave and strong as me.
But when you're this year's hero, son, you're next year's used-to-be.
And that's the facts of life, when you're a winner.

Now, you remind me a lot of my younger days with your knuckles clenchin' white.
But, boy, I'm gonna sit right here and sip this beer all night.
And if there's somethin' you gotta prove by winnin' some silly fight,
Well, OK, I quit, I lose, son, you're the winner.'

So I stumbled from that barroom not so tall and not so proud,
And behind me I could hear the hoots of laughter from the crowd.
But my eyes still see and my nose still works and my teeth are still in my mouth.
And y'know...I guess that makes me...a winner.