Around 1984 a guy who was playing pool against me got pissy and challenged me to step outside, I do and immediately take my coat off and he's all whoa whoa I just wanted to talk, so I laugh, grab my coat and go back in. Ten minutes later he comes back and wants to go outside again, I do and proceed to put my redwing boot into his lower faw, dropping him to his knees where I grab his hoodie and pull it over his head and start pounding his face, he starts yelling to stop so I do. Here is where it really gets fun.
Turns out he goes insane a week later, goes to his ex-fiances parents house where they are keeping his/her kid while she's at work, kills the father by stabbing him like 50 times in the tub and pisses all over him, stabs up the mother, takes the baby, goes to where she works and forces her to leave with him, mother crawls barely alive to the porch and gets someone to save her but dude is gone to who knows where.
They bring in psychics, all sorts of crap to try and find this guy and his captives, me, I'm looking over my MF shoulders 'cause I'm thinking I did this to him and he is coming for me right. I forget now if it was one or two weeks before they caught up with him down in Alabama. She somehow made it to a phone and called in the law. Dudes name was Danny Pickeral or something like that, golden gloves boxer so I'm one lucky SOB because I was at least 5" and 50 pounds lighter than him and the last and first fight I'd ever had was in sixth grade and I broke my damn little finger doing it.
Oh oh, forgot a major part, after our fight he's telling me how he's going to go get a gun and come back and shoot my ass, and I'm all "go get your MF gun dude, I'll be here". He left, I stayed and got drunk, in hindsight should have been more
and got the frack out of there me thinks.
