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lima
FIREBOMB THE ORPHANAGE!

Member Rated:

Seeing as this is the 'Fights Go Here' forum, I thought i'd post this here. Thats disclaimer number one over and one with. Disclaimer number two: I'm prolific when confused.

I just got started on. Not half an hour ago. For those of you that don't know about English colloquialisms, 'I got started on' means 'someone just tried to pick a fight with me'. It was the weirdest thing.

I left the pub at about quarter to two this morning. Yes, I know its Easter Sunday and yes, I know pubs usually close at half past ten on Sundays in this country, but since these new bloody licensing laws have come in we're legally allowed to stay open til half past two and, seeing as our manager knows almost everybody in York, we usually do, to accomodate staff from other pubs coming in after their pub closes and etcetera. I can't complain, as I usually get bought lots of drinks during my shift, and I'm allowed to drink while I work (today I made myself the strongest White Russian in history after being bought copious amounts of vodka and kahula during the night).

There is one drawback though, in that the time the staff leave the pub is usually the same time the clubs kick out, and so my walk home is shared by the odd straggler from one of York's few nightclubs. Usually they hang around in groups of two or more, and so have better things to do than, for example, try and beat me up (I have long hair and I live in the north of England. Enough said). So basically, as comfortable as I am with passing the odd drunk arsehole on my way home from work on a night, I'm not too used to having them try and start fights with me.

Until tonight.

I was the last person to leave the pub tonight. We'd got rid of the last of the customers at about twenty-past one, my boss finished his drink at roughly half-past, and my other colleague's taxi arrived at about quarter-to, leaving me to lock up, which I duly did. As I left, I noticed one slightly drunk man in a white shirt staggering on the other sid of the road. This is a normal occurance, and so I had no problem with crossing to his side of the road myself. In any case, if I hadn't have crossed the road, I'd have been walking in the opposite direction to where I live, which would have been even sillier. So I cross the road and find myself walking behind him, but not for too long as, though we were walking at roughly the same speed, he was covering more ground, staggering as he was from side to side over the pavement, allowing just enough room for my comparitively sober legs to move past him as I made my merry and oblivious way home.

With that feat accomplished, I started thinking about other things, like the plight of the six-a-side football team I play for (we played dreadfully in our first match and lost 1-0, and I'm not sure whether the low scoreline reflects the strength of our defence or the ineptitude of their attack) and whether the baked-potato van that parks on the corner of the road sells chips. These meanderings faded away however, as I noticed that, against the laws of physics, the person who was moving slower down the street than I was catching up.

I turned the corner, smartly avoiding the baked-potato van by virtue of the fact that it was a good twenty feet away (i'm dextrous like that) and made a conscious decision to pretend to look at the menu, whilst actually glimpsing behind me to see where the drunk guy was. I can't tell you whether they sell chips or not, but I can tell you that this guy had definiately worked his way a little closer than he had been five minutes ago. With every step I could see his shadow, elongated by the dull lights of the city-centre behind me and sporadically foreshortened by the street-lights above, gradually ebbing closer to mine, and so I did what any normal person would. I crossed the road. I needed to anyway (this paticular road accomodated my route on the other side), and believed that I could quell my paranoia at least a little with the knowledge that whatever potential predator my presence had aroused was at least two widths of tarmac away.

The 'cross the road' tactic has a 100% success rate in the defeat of paranoia, but ONLY when the other person does NOT cross the road almost immediately after you. This was one of those occasions. Time for tactic two.

Tactic two, when you feel that someone is following you, is to slow down. That way, you can feel completely relaxed when said person walks straight past you. I've had it done to me a couple of times, watching a frightened old lady stop and move to their left whilst walking in front of me down the narrow passage that leads to my road (I shouldn't really use the term 'narrow passage' as it sounds rather ominous. In truth, you could fit a substatially sized lorry down it and it hugs the side of a large, well-lit and expensive looking hospital). Slowing down, in my experience, is a perfectly good way to make sure the person behind you isn't following you for the sole purpose of kicking the shit out of you.

It does not, however, work if said person slows down to walk at the same speed as you, and walks next to you for a good few yards.

What to do now? I honestly had no idea, so I just walked a bit quicker. I pondered whether that paticular tactic would work until the realisation that I wasn't being paranoid at all introduced itself via an angry kick in the leg.

I moved aside quickly and watched the guy stagger a few paces forward, obviously confused by the fact that, with one leg thrown at me, he couldn't move forward in quite the same way as he had been before (i.e. diagonally). He turned round. I stopped, and did pretty much nothing, as he'd started talking about how I'd picked on his brother and I was, having spent the last six hours behind the bar of my pub, confused as to how this had happened. The conversation we had lasted for about five minutes of 'scared Liam' time, but in earth seconds probably lasted thirty of them. During this time, I tried to reason with him.

"Who's your brother?"

'Does he come into our pub?"

"...The pub I work in, i've been there for the past six hours and..."

"No I don't think I did start on him"

"Me and who?"

"No I haven't been on the street with anyone tonight"

and

"I don't even know who your brother is, mate..."

...are just a small selection of phrases which don't disuade drunkards with wanting to punch you, as I found out after uttering the last phrase to the accompaniment of him grabbing a tighter grip of my jacket and raising the fist of his other hand up to the side of his head. From here on, thought processes about anti-paranoia tactics and methods of disuasion were put on hold, and fenian instinct took over.

The first punch clipped the top of my rapidly ducking head. The second two hit the hands that had moved to cover it, the third one thumped rather hard into my temple.

The fourth one jarred his jaw.

What can I say? I'm an overly eloquent writer from the seed of a big angry ginger ex-boxer. I love genetics. I hate, however, the fact that I have next to no strength in my arms. If my half-cocked impression of a Roberto Duran uppercut had stunned the drunkard, it was for a yoctosecond at most. The impact of my fist on his chin was dwarfed by the impact of the audaciousness of my retaliation on his anger, and it looked like I was about to be on the recieving end of 'a fucking kicking', as they say in Paris.

Needless to say, common sense took over. Realising my jacket was momentarily free from his grip (presumably he needed that hand to further club me with), I turned and ran. Three paces and about fifty feet later (I know, I was suprised at the sheer velocity of my yellowness too) I hear a cry from behind me. It was the first fathomable thing the guy had said since we first met, five Liam-time hours ago.

"Oh... SHIT! Fuck! I'm such an IDIOT!" he wailed. Common sense left me. Inexplainable empathy replaced it. I slowed, turned, and carefully walked back towards him. He looked at me with a kind of sorrowful scowl, and walked on towards me. We met beside a lampost, and he apologised, and sat down, and we chatted.

His name is Darren, he's unemployed but doesn't want to be, he smokes (I gave him a cigarette), he doesn't really like hitting people unless he's actually met them before (which I suppose is commendable), has a bit of a problem with drugs and alcohol (no shit...), is very apologetic when drunk and he has a brother whom, supposedly, had put him up to the task of following me and fighting me as they saw me leave work. He's really quite an amiable chap, when you get beyond his somewhat aggressive interpretation of a hand-shake.

It was around then, upon his mentioning of a brother, that I'd realised that his face looked familiar. He looked an awful lot like (i.e. like he could be a brother of) a lad of about my age who occasionally comes to our pub on an afternoon and drinks (get ready to knowingly raise those eyebrows) Stella Artois. This brother, if my deductions are correct, is the same person as the first guy I barred from this paticular pub, nine months and about three different owners later.

I'd barred him for picking a fight.

Now, this guy knew my old boss (the second one) and so he got himself un-barred late last year, but I've always treated him with a bit of caution since although not, I'd thought, with any degree of obviousness. It would appear that I'm wrong.

With tommorow being a week-day, as well as the day after I was due to get a kicking off of 'Big Darren', he may well be coming in for a drink or two. Possibly with some friends.

Any ideas what I should do to his guy? I've thought about straight-barring him, but I'm sure I can do something even eviller...

4-08-07 8:06pm (new)
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attitudechicka
is never bored.

Member Rated:

Hire Darren to beat up his brother.

---
Mediocrity at its most average.

4-08-07 8:44pm (new)
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gabe_billings
President and CEO of Wirthlingsux Inc.

Member Rated:

Have Brad ban him. I think it works in England, too.

 

Also, I'd start carrying around a tire iron.

---
100 pounds of shit in a 25 pound sack.

4-08-07 9:20pm (new)
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boloboffin
putting the whee in ennui

Member Rated:

Visine in the Stella. Tobor in the loo. Innocent expression afterwards.

 

[edited by boloboffin on 04-08-07 at 9:04:59pm]

---
You can take the heart out of the hooker but you can't take the hooker out of the heart. -- Frankenhooker

4-08-07 9:56pm (new)
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lima
FIREBOMB THE ORPHANAGE!

Member Rated:

gabe_billings

"I've heard of a nine-iron but thats ridiculous!" [/club comic] [/pun]

4-09-07 2:07am (new)
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jes_lawson
I don't know what I'm doing either

Member Rated:

Bar him for a month. Tell him (when sober) that it's not good to have a drug and alcohol problem, but if he calms down and doesn't cause trouble or pick fights (especially with you), he can come back as long as he behaves. That's what I'd do, for what it's worth, but then again I'd have put him in an arm lock the second he made to grab for my jacket, which in this situation would have been a mistake, so goes to show you what I know...

---
Please replace the handset, and try again.

4-09-07 8:43am (new)
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Rabid_Weasle
Professional style cramper

Member Rated:

That was really long. Someone tell me what he said so I don't have to read it.

---
Poop.

4-09-07 4:03pm (new)
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not_Scyess
not laughing with you

Member Rated:

He said:

lima

---
peddling the funny around since 09/24/2002

4-09-07 6:38pm (new)
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AngryAmerican
Here at least 3 times a year

Member Rated:

ummmm, i always go for the 'kick the living fuck outta him' option and have had much success at it the few times i've actually had to throw down.But if this is not within the realm of possibilities for you, a blackjack is always a good investment....

good luck. drunken combative guys are always a pain in the ass, but not as bad as sober combative guys...

---
Kill Whitey.

4-10-07 12:45am (new)
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attitudechicka
is never bored.

Member Rated:

You could always download the movie here if you're worried Darren might come at you again after you kick his brother out yet again. I still don't understand how a guy could hold a grudge that long and decide to have his brother settle it instead of himself... what a wuss.

 

By the way, I hear that movie includes such tactics as the "groin slap" and the "ear pull".

---
Mediocrity at its most average.

4-10-07 7:15am (new)
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mandingo
weak stream

Member Rated:

limai'd steal the baked potato van and run over him with it. (but only if it sells chips)

and if you're seriously worried about your arm strength for punching, try dropping your arm to your side and sneaking in an uppercut. you're using different muscles so you may be bad at one and good at the other. that's the only way i make sense of the fact that i can knock someone on their ass but still throw like a 6 year old girl

Rabid_Weasleit was mostly about you and that thing you hope no one knows about you

---
what if nigger meant kite

4-10-07 9:51am (new)
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Rabid_Weasle
Professional style cramper

Member Rated:

It's true, I'm really am a potato!

---
Poop.

4-10-07 10:44am (new)
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Rabid_Weasle
Professional style cramper

Member Rated:

With excellent grammar skills!

---
Poop.

4-10-07 10:44am (new)
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TheGovernor
Talentless Hack

Member Rated:

attitudechicka

 

Sounds more like typical "Wrong place at wrong time" scenario with a couple of drunken charva* shits, were it not lima they'd probably have twatted some bloke in the taxi rank or any other random that came along, the grudge just gave them the excuse to single him out.

Trouble you have now is what to make of Darren, is he going to be cool next time, or will it all be forgotten in some drunken haze and next time they get a chance will they try again? Like you said he only fights people he knows, and well if he remembers he knows you now. From what I gather from your story you're more of the chilled out peaceful sort of guy, but you're also in a position of power, isn't there some sort of community pub watch thing in York where if you get barred from one pub you're barred from them all? If you have the power to deny them the drink then perhaps this threat is all you need to hang over their heads. Perhaps you've already done enough in talking to darren, but you never know.

Id be careful, but I wouldn't push the issue unless you absolutely felt you needed to, but then at the same time perhaps a little vindictiveness should be the way forward, couple of laxatives in their stella should do the trick.

And failing all this you could always move to Doncaster...

 

 

*Charva / Chav - Product of an underachieving failing school system , a 'cynical get what you can for as little effort' society and poor social standards. Known by many names accross the country (for instance in Glasgow they are known as NEDs (Needs Education Desperately) which is an fairly accurate portrayal. Charva's think tracksuits are the height of fashion, not to mention burberry (the hooligans colour of the season), and no music is worth playing unless the vocal track has been pitch shifted to make the singer sound like a chipmunk. You may initially feel sorry for them until they smash your car window, break into your home, swipe your record collection to flog at cash convertors which they put towards some very cheap drugs, a few 2 litre bottles of very poor inexpensive cider. After which all compassion takes a holiday and you realise you no longer care if the human race is doomed to failure as long as it takes these vile morons with it, however sadly due to their state financed breeding programs (Female charvas equate having an illigitimate sprog to some guy on the street corner as akin to winning the lottery thanks to all the cash they recieve to bring up the young bastard) and lack of welfare reform, they're likely to out live us all.

 

 

4-10-07 11:10am (new)
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gabe_billings
President and CEO of Wirthlingsux Inc.

Member Rated:

This all sounds really complicated. I'd just move to America where we don't have baked potato vans.

---
100 pounds of shit in a 25 pound sack.

4-10-07 11:26am (new)
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HCRoyall
100mg Thorazine, Please

Member Rated:

Don't british bartenders have shotguns under the bar like American ones?

---
It was such a waste of everyone’s time and money that even the Tokyo stadium’s rape robots apologized– something they were programmed specifically never to do.

4-10-07 11:36am (new)
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El_Phen
Does not play well with others.

Member Rated:

HCRoyall

No, unfortunately in this country bar folk must make do with angry door-people pumped up on whatever their steroid of choice is. Speaking of which, could you not persuade one or two to give Darren and/or his brother?

4-10-07 12:03pm (new)
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ivytheplant
Obsessive Comic Disorder

Member Rated:

HCRoyall

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

4-10-07 12:07pm (new)
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lima
FIREBOMB THE ORPHANAGE!

Member Rated:

This has been my chosen action. I had a laugh and a joke about it with my flatmates when I got home that night, and did the same with the barstaff at my pub the day after. Haven't seen either of the brothers since.

Although I can't remember what Darren's brother's name is, I know that, since he started coming back to the pub, he's been pretty well behaved. He's a bit of a scally alright (scally = chav = ned etc) but he isn't too bad. I'm gonna leave it for now. I doubt it'll happen again, and if it does, i'll probably act the same way. I don't scare easily. Running away was more a pacifist act than one of being scared.

Its not as if i've never been in a fight before. Its only five years ago that I was fourteen stone, shaved of hair, angry of nature and having the sort of look that had me followed round shops my suspicious security staff every so often. I never really acted like that sort of person, but I was born and bred in Grimsby, so it just came naturally.

York is the polar opposite of Grimsby in many ways. Its clean, smells of chocolate sometimes (from the Nestle factory) and its roughest areas are places you wouldn't think twice about walking through, even at two in the morning on a saturday night. Grimsby is Grimsby, stinks of fish (seriously) and is home to a council estate that was officially 'worst in Europe' for two years in the late nineties. It also had the highest teen pregnancy rate in Europe a few years back. Guilty.

I was chatting with a mate in the pub about a week ago. He's from Hull, which used to be worse than Grimsby but has since had a bit of money pumped into it and, in parts and in small doses, is alright now. He told me one of the funniest stories I've ever heard about York's interpretation of the dreaded 'chav'.

He was walking down the street one night, at about midnight, and passed a Spar shop, which for those who don't know is the brand name for a large group of loosely connected newsagents throughout the country. Its also main meeting place for local ne'er-do-wells. Anyway, walking past this shop, he overheard a conversation between two teenagers.

Chav 1: "Aw man, get on that"

Chav 2: "I can't man, I can't"

Chav 1: "Aw c'mon bud this is good shit man"

Chav 2: "Its too harsh man, its too strong, nah man"

Chav 1: "This is the good shit, know what I mean like? Get on it my son"

Chav 2: "Its too strong, I can't take it, I can't handle that shit man"

Chav 1: "Aw man this shit is good. Fuckin' 'ell man this is good stuff"

What were they talking about?

Sherbet Dip.

I swear, York makes people soft. What kind of self-respecting chav would stoop so low as to talk about sherbet in the same way the chavs of Leeds talk about crack? Is it any wonder people get sick of it and start find excuses to beat up random people on the street?

Anyway, thats my story over and done with, hopefully. What fights has everyone else been in (or ran away from, in my case)?

4-10-07 6:11pm (new)
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HCRoyall
100mg Thorazine, Please

Member Rated:

ivytheplant

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!


I'm guessing that must mean I was naive enough to think people west of Texas and north of Virginia were smart enough to allow bartenders to do so.

---
It was such a waste of everyone’s time and money that even the Tokyo stadium’s rape robots apologized– something they were programmed specifically never to do.

4-10-07 7:47pm (new)
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gabe_billings
President and CEO of Wirthlingsux Inc.

Member Rated:

I've never been in a fight. Not even a single punch. I attribute this to the fact that I'm a pretty easygoing person and in the few somewhat tense situations I remember being in, I was usually able to calm things down through a combination of level headedness and comedy.

Nowadays I'm guessing it's a mix of two facts. One, I'm just not in the kind of places where people mix it up. You don't throw down during story hour at the library or at the playground. Two, I'm 6' 2", 260 pounds, bald with a goatee. Unless I were shitfaced, I probably wouldn't pick me if I was looking for someone to start a fight.

And if I ever did get in a fight, I could always use my kid as a shield.

 

---
100 pounds of shit in a 25 pound sack.

4-10-07 8:09pm (new)
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mandingo
weak stream

Member Rated:

gabe_billingsi hear this from guys sometimes and it always blows my mind. that seems like a pretty blessed life. i grew up in a barrio and i didn't really have a choice. i remember in second grade i was dopily skateboarding around when i was jumped by a 5th grader who pummelled me and gave me a bloody nose while i just stood there with my arms down, not sure what i was supposed to do. i looked at my nephew when he was in 2nd grade once and he was so tiny. that's just too damn early to have to learn to fight. later that year (still 2nd grade :\), i broke a guy's arm when he started a fight with me. he was a big heavyset guy and when he went to kick at me, i grabbed his leg and pulled up. his weight fell on his arm and snap. i've probably been in 20 fights in my life, including one where a guy shoved a gun in my mouth and i ended up running over him with my car. another time, i got into a fight at a 7-11. i closed the guy's eye (which i'm proud of cause that's hard to do in a 3-minute fight) then he and his friend fucked off and i went back to pumping gas. lool. i drove off just as the cops were pulling up. i quickly turned off into a neighborhood and took my gun out of my backseat (you only get a gun stuck in your mouth once before deciding to get your own, believe me) and threw it in my trunk because i knew the cops couldn't search there. i took backstreets and got home without incident. that was the last fight i was in and only one i've been in over the age of 18. it's been 14 years. hopefully it stays that way :\

---
what if nigger meant kite

4-11-07 1:06am (new)
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AngryAmerican
Here at least 3 times a year

Member Rated:

mandingoi hear this from guys sometimes and it always blows my mind. that seems like a pretty blessed life. i grew up in a barrio and i didn't really have a choice. i remember in second grade i was dopily skateboarding around when i was jumped by a 5th grader who pummelled me and gave me a bloody nose while i just stood there with my arms down, not sure what i was supposed to do. i looked at my nephew when he was in 2nd grade once and he was so tiny. that's just too damn early to have to learn to fight. later that year (still 2nd grade :\), i broke a guy's arm when he started a fight with me. he was a big heavyset guy and when he went to kick at me, i grabbed his leg and pulled up. his weight fell on his arm and snap. i've probably been in 20 fights in my life, including one where a guy shoved a gun in my mouth and i ended up running over him with my car. another time, i got into a fight at a 7-11. i closed the guy's eye (which i'm proud of cause that's hard to do in a 3-minute fight) then he and his friend fucked off and i went back to pumping gas. lool. i drove off just as the cops were pulling up. i quickly turned off into a neighborhood and took my gun out of my backseat (you only get a gun stuck in your mouth once before deciding to get your own, believe me) and threw it in my trunk because i knew the cops couldn't search there. i took backstreets and got home without incident. that was the last fight i was in and only one i've been in over the age of 18. it's been 14 years. hopefully it stays that way :\


 

i'm at about the same level, not counting scrapes, fracases and slight altercations. i guess that since i've been a bouncer off and on for the last 10 years, that aint too bad. luckily i've always managed to come out on top except the time when i was 18 when 5 dudes kicked the living shit out of me.

once you've had that happen you vow to yourself you'll never let it happen again. so i started working out and got into hapkido and muay thai where i learned the awesome destructive power of the elbow which i had to employ last weekend against a guy who just wouldn't let things go.

i bought a gun too. just in case...

---
Kill Whitey.

4-11-07 1:23am (new)
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Rabid_Weasle
Professional style cramper

Member Rated:

Fuck, if I wanted to read a novel I wouldn't be on the internet.

---
Poop.

4-11-07 1:54am (new)
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UnknownEric
and the Goblet of Mountain Dew.

Member Rated:

I've only been in two fights in my life, both in 6th grade.  In the first, I got extremely lucky and knocked the jerk down in one lucky-ass punch.  In the second, we scuffled for a moment until the jerk grabbed my hat, threw it on the ground and ran away like a sissy.

Thankfully, that's it.

---
I has a flavor!

4-11-07 9:34am (new)
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