Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Fighting with Tongans
My buddy (we sing the song from the commercial when we see eachother) is a conservative 6 foot 2. And an easy three hundred pounds. I go around five ten when I am lying flagrantly, and five nine when I lie marginally. I am an indeterminate weight that hovers anywhere between two thirty and two fifty, depending on the accessibility of McDonalds.
We squared off. I slapped his face with what I thought was the requisite speed and ferocity to tame his insatiable blood-lust. He laughed. Uh-Oh. I dodged left. I weaved right. I feinted with my left. He pounded me with his right hand. I flinched not an iota, for I saw not his punch until his hand was coming back to guard. It seemed, then, that he was as quick as advertized. I was quick too, but before I get too excited, let me explain something. While talking to June's brother the other day, His brother told me that June was feared. I don't fear June. And that's because were are friends. Friendship mattered not in this fun little altercation.
Fear would have been a proper emotion at this point in time. A street fight would have been a better venue as well, for then I could use any of the myriad objects to render this giant unconscious. There was a pipe or ten on the trawl deck. There were a few electrical cords I could have choked him with in the galley. And given the proper motivation, I could have certainly bludgeoned him with the television. As it was, we traded blows until I was in danger of losing a contact lens and we were both spent.
No one was hurt, but when I looked in the mirror I noticed more than one abrasions on my face and neck. My hands were chewed up and my notions of status as an honorary Tongan warrior were squashed. No chance. So, short of having a pipe handy I suggest leaving the fighting with gigantic Tongans to the giants and minding your P's and Q's.
And did I mention that there is no hot water? Ya, there is no hot water on the boat. Guess the hot water heater needed a little maintenance. I'm living like a savage. And, not surprisingly, I kind of like it. I think I'm gonna buy a piano to play. Just so everyone knows I'm an artistic savage. Don't let your children major in Philosophy. That's how this happens. Just a friendly PSA. \\m//