"Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?" said the big beefy man who at one point was probably the star athlete in his high school and is now relegated to slightly above minimum wage work.

"No, should I?" My response was half serious and half righteous indignation because the truth was, it didn't matter who this fucking jerkoff was. The irony is that if he knew who I was he would have kept sitting in his seat with his other coulda woulda shoulda been somebodies but clearly aren't.

"My name's Arthur Jones. And this is my bar." His breath is a combination of asshole and gum. I think winter fresh though it's honestly hard to tell as the the smell of shit could overpower just about any other scene there is.

"It is? I didn't see your name on the door. In fact, I didn't see your name anywhere."

"That's funny. You think you are a funny man do you?"

"Not particularly but some people seem to think so, like that pretty little blonde you were awkwardly making eyes at a few minutes ago. Spoiler alert, she finds you repulsive." As I say it I know there is no way this fat fuck is going to react well to what just came out of my mouth.

"What did you just say?" There it is again, that smell. I honestly think it might make me vomit all over this guy.

At this point I've backed myself into a corner. There is no way this ends without some sort of physical confrontation. Being a stranger in this town means things are most definitely not in my favor but since when have I ever done the safe thing?

"I said that the little blonde over there, you know the one I'm talking about. Every time you tried in vain to get her attention she instead opted to lean over to her friend and try desperately to avoid making eye contact with you. And do you know why that is Arthur? It's because she, and probably every other woman you've ever come in contact with finds you to be absolutely disgusting." If that doesn't get the fists flying I will genuinely be surprised.

"Who the fuck are you to come into my bar and disrespect me and my friends like this?”

“My name’s Tommy Gunn. And I didn’t disrespect your friends. You maybe, but not your friends. As for this being your bar, you still haven’t explained to me exactly how this is your bar. Do you mean this is a place you come on a daily basis to waste what little money you make so that you can try and forget the fact that you are in your 30’s and have accomplished absolutely nothing in life? Is that what you are saying?”

His left fist slams into the table causing my half filled glass of beer to topple over and spill onto the floor. I looked around to gauge the reaction of the other patrons and as expected, being the stranger, they all look at me like the giant elephant in the room.
Seeing as how this is most assuredly going to end one way it’s probably best if we take this somewhere else. Given the size of both myself and Brutus the Beefcake Bitchtits the toll for damages to the bar would get pretty high pretty fast.

“Tell you what Arthur, how about you and I finish this outside?” As I stand up to start towards the door I can see two of Arthur’s friends get up from their table, one walks towards the door and the other towards us.

This isn’t going to go down exactly as planned. Oh well, if three fuckheads want to get embarrassed in their own town who am I to stop them?

“Where you going tough guy?” He says, clearly ignoring the suggestion I just made, which, for the record, I made in a mildly polite tone. At the very least it was much nicer than anything else I had said to this oaf.

“You said this was your bar right?”

Let’s see if he understands me the second time around.

“Do you really want you and your friend’s blood getting all over it?”

“Do you have a death wish friend?”

“Suppose I do, you gonna fulfill it for me?” I say, at this point clearly trying to force Arthur into making the first move.

“Yeah I think I will.”

The fatty is literally licking his chops he’s so excited. This may be completely fucked but I am going to enjoy this.

Arthur rears back and swings wildly at my head, the attempted blow doesn’t even come close to connecting. I assume that’s because of the alcohol, but who really knows. Either way it’s become very clear that it’s game on.
I pick up my glass, now devoid of beer and smash it against the side of Arthur’s head, immediately busting him open just above the ear.

With that Arthur’s equally fat friend but slightly more agile friend moves in, much quicker than I anticipated. He grabs a pool stick and swings it at me, the first swing misses the second one connects, hitting me in the side but the full impact of the swing was diminished as I was able to partially block it with my forearm.

As this is going on Arthur’s friend that was previously moving towards the door is now charging like a rhino in a stamped. I pull friend number two in closer and with a quick strike to the throat remove him from the equation just in time to side step the rhino.

Still bleeding from right above the ear Arthur looks at me, then at his friends and then back at me.

“Last chance pal, you and the other two stooges walk away now and maybe, just maybe you won’t need crutches or a wheelchair to get around town for the next 6 months.”

“Fuck you asshole. You’ve stepped in it this time.”


BANG!!


All at once, every person in the bar looks up to see the actual owner, a woman in her mid 60’s standing behind the bar, a shotgun in hand.

“That’s enough.” The woman’s voice is a bit deep and rugged, clearly the effects of years of habitual smoking.

“Arthur it’s time for you and your friends to leave.” The woman then looks in my direction but this time she lowers her shotgun which had previously been pointed up to the ceiling and points it directly at me.

“And as for you, I don’t know who the fuck you are but you are no longer welcomed here. Get the hell out before I call the cops.”

“Seriously? I was sitting at my table all peaceful like, enjoying my beer and onion rings and this fat fuck comes over and gets in my face, and I’m no longer welcomed?” Truthfully I don’t care about getting kicked out, I have no plans to ever return to this backwards incest loving town anyway. But it’s the principal of the matter.

“I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass who did what. Get the fuck out of my bar or the next shot will be at your face.”

“So much for the customer is always right.” Before vacating the premises I reach down onto the table, grab one last onion ring out of the plastic red basket and put it in my mouth, savoring all the fried goodness.

And this is why I prefer to drink at home, alone.