Bullied, Bully, Bull
(originally posted 1/21/2013)
The problem I have with most movies is the story involves too many coincidences to move the plot along. It’s interesting and all but it takes too many twists of fate to bring it all together in the end to be believable. You’ll forgive me if this story does the same but as I’ve said so often before it really did happen.
Except this time I mean it.
I’m walking through this semi-crowded mall with a girl and we’re discussing elements of manhood. You know, the hot-button issues surrounding what our culture defines and interprets as manly. I realize that by putting the words manhood and manly in back-to-back sentences I risk sounded a bit repetitive but I want to encapsulate our conversation and the word man took front and center. Eventually the traits that lead to female attraction poked their head up, as opposed to just the usual hunting and gathering parameters that are typically bandied about, and it was agreed that a woman wants a man who can protect her. There were many other points that we did not agree upon but she was willing to admit that every woman wants to feel safe when her man is around.
That’s when her ass was slapped. This is the part where my timing may get called into question but I assure you, the words of accord between the two of us had barely escaped our lips when a resounding whacking noise emanated from the area of her backside and her reaction left little doubt that a good smack on the tush lay behind the sound. Behind the sound and behind my female friend and her aforementioned and obviously violated and probably throbbing tush lurked a hulking figure. Grinning and covered from bow to stern in tattoos he stood admiring his handiwork.
“Nice ass” he offered up.
My fried looked at me. I looked at her. I looked at him. I looked at her again. She looked at him and then back at me. I was more than willing to keep this up all day when he spoke again.
“This your gay friend?”
“Listen dickhole, apologize to the lady or we’re going to have a problem here.”
The words came out before I could stop them, some primal regurgitation of every action movies I’d ever seen. My eyes got squinty and I slowly rolled my neck around to get it loose as I’d seen done so many fighters do before entering cage. I felt like a bird displaying my plumage for all the females to see.
You could hear a pin drop and suddenly all the color drained from his face. Even his skulls tattoos seemed to fade a bit. My hands began to clench and unclench.
“Look, I’m sorry man. I was just trying to have a little fun.” He backpedaled slowly and then turned a corner and was gone.
When a writer tells you that words fail him your first thought is naturally going to be that the writer is a pretty bad writer but I’m afraid that’s where I sit. Cast aspersions if you must. The glorious cocktail of adrenaline and testosterone coursing through my veins had me dizzy. You would think that my first reaction would be to turn to my female friend and bask in her approval or gloat or even play it off as nothing but I was too occupied with not having my penis stepped on as it snaked its way through Bed, Bath & Beyond and into the food court.
“Sorry about that” I said as I eventually turned to her. Mock apologizing for such a display was exhilarating. She was flush and still gazing at my plumage. She said she had to pee so I told her I was going to finish gathering up my dick at the food court and get a Coke. Truth was I was a bit relieved to have a few moments alone to collect my thoughts and after we agreed to meet outside Little Caesars I let out a long breath and finally was able to wipe my brow.
The brow-wiping was short-lived. Any time you have two hyphenated words in such a short sentence you know things aren’t going to go well and such was the case here. As soon as I had turned the corner who did I see but my uncouth antagonist munching on a pretzel. As we made eye contact he seemed completely nonplussed which after our confrontation made me a little plussed. Obviously additional action was required.
I walked right up to him. “Listen pussy, why don’t you get the fuck out of here?” I inquired, once again wearing the mask I had selected in our first encounter.
He slowly smiled and suggested that I’d had my win and I should just let it go.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me Sunshine, time for you to go.”
I reached out to grab his collar and he yanked my arm towards him ever so slightly as his front foot slipped behind mine and then in a quick twist he spun me around as I fell and I ended up on my knees in front of him with his other arm around my neck.
He continued to eat his pretzel with the arm that was currently choking me.
“Let it go” he suggested again.
I was in the mood to let it go just this once.
He spun me back up to my feet with the same ease that he had deposited me there in the first place. The look on my face must have been priceless because he couldn’t help but laugh a little when he saw it.
“I… don’t…. understand” I was finally able to stammer out.
He explained that it’s just something he likes to do. He drives to places nobody would ever recognize him and pretends to pick on guys so they can have the empowering feeling of sticking up for themselves. His large and fearsome appearance just adds to the show.
“What happens if they don’t defend themselves?” I asked.
He explained that he just keep tormenting them until they finally find their backbone. Then he sheepishly backs off and lets them enjoy a moment of pure unfiltered masculinity.
This guy was a hero of sorts.
It was then that my female friend turned the corner and saw me engaged with her ass-accoster. Filled with a newfound sense of security she walked right up and slapped him. Hard.
He glowered ever so slightly.
She was going in for another when I grabbed her hand and told her that he’d had enough and I truly felt he’d learned an important lesson. Just to be sure I sent him on his way with short lecture about respect for women.
The funny thing is on the way back to her place we had almost the exact same conversation as we’d had before except we’d switched sides.
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