One Man Asylum

"He's a legend in the bar with every scar fights a thousand bigger men, But now he fights and looses got all the bruises will someone please step in? Cause this Irish fools got a great big heart he keeps climbing back in to the ring, In the low down circles where he holds his court this man he once was king." Dropkick Murphy's from "Barroom Hero"

the nurse looked like she had gone 12 rounds for the heavy weight title when she entered to give me my dose of happy pills. If there was another man besides me in her life I would have sworn a statement to the law about spousal abuse, but as there was no one like that, I just assumed that my little kitten just clawed at the wrong pussy's man and got the hair balls beat out of her. I never really saw the nurse as Mike Tyson with a stethoscope, more like Meredith Grey with a penchant for tattoos and piercings. She's a dirty little nurse, but she's no brawler.

When it comes to blood for pleasure, it isn't fighting that will slake my thirst. As a matter of fact, blood and I don't get along like Heckle And Jeckyl. It may have something to do with that dreaded relationship that I was never a big fighter in my youth. Actually, I can only remember two fist fights in my entire high school career. Now, in my 20's, well, there was a lot more booze in a lot more biker bars which lead to my baptism into the realm of self defense.

At 21 I was working as a bartender in a seedy bar in Covina, California. The place could hold no more than 20 people without it feeling like a sardine can. Any more and the little fishies stopped trying to spawn and started trying to establish themselves as King of the Sea. One drop of blood and it turned into a feeding frenzy.

One of my pals at the time, was a Cherokee, Crow, and Blackfoot mixed Indian named Kenny. He taught me two things that I will never forget. The first of the life altering things that my Indian taught me was that I should drink Captain and Coke as it was the sweet elixir of life. The second important moral of the story was he instructed me on how to survive and succeed in a bar fight. Seeing is that my sperm donor wasn't the tudor of Mr. Miyagi proportions, more like a Henry VIII kind of Tudor, married a lot and never good with break-ups, it was Kenny that taught me which end of a pool cue to hit a guy with, why you should never break a beer bottle on the bar and threaten to shank a drunk dude, and how to simply understand the dynamics of getting hit. It hurts, it bruises, it heals, it doesn't last forever.

The first time I plied this trade, I was shocked by my confidence and excitement during the melee. How it stated I have no idea, but I remember coming over the bar like John Wayne hopping a corral fence in order to save some dame from being trampled by a bull gone mad. From that moment I was, what the Vietnam veterans refer to as, in the shit. I punched the guy nearest me square in the snout causing a flow of crimson that would rival a kitchen faucet. He must have had a buddy with him because no sooner did I end one fight on a doctors stoppage, I got hit in the ear with an ashtray. The ringing would wait to be dealt with, but my retribution was served quickly and effectively with a two finger thrust to the ashtray wielders Adam's Apple. After he hits the ground choking, I swing to look at the Indian as he actually broke a pool cue over some guys back. It was wicked surreal, a TV bar brawl in real life. However there was no commercial break and it was over before I really got into it. I was so disappointed, until Kenny handed me a towel and pointed at my ear. The ashtray wielder drew blood, that bastard. I wanted to hit him again, but when a fight it over, it's over.

What's the worst fight you've ever been in?

Dixie Cup of Love: The Indian.