I'm walking by a group of bro's outside a bar, I'm wasted. I'm looking at them with this rediculous grin on my face, amused by their pre-distressed jeans and frosted-tip hairdo's and whatnot. One says to me, he says, Whut the fuck are you lookin at? I don't reply, I just stop and look even more confused, trying to focus. I'm really fucked up. Three of them square up on me, first one says, There's three of us, better get movin pal. I bitch slap him perfectly. By that I mean I had a powdered jelly donut in my hand. I figure these guys are soft. Wrong.
Now I'm on the ground, against a wall. I figure these guys aren't used to rat-packing and I got a second to get it together. Wrong again. I quickly discern from the rythmic riverdance on my skull these guys have done this before. Fuckin every bro is a UFC fighter these days. I get up and start eye-jabbing blindly for some reason, hoping I'll hit. I hear, AAAH MY EYE! and think, yes! I am still losing in this trade however. Cops rush us and the bros drift off, and I let myself fall. They ask me the usual, I spot an older cop with a big red bushy old-timey cop mustach standing back a bit and say, I'm justa drunk irish idiot and sometimes we fight. He looks at me for a second and says, let him go. I stumble downhill because I figure that's the only way I'm gonna get anywere anyhow.
I call my girl and tell her I got jumped. She says I deserve it because I was probably at a strip club and hangs up. I don't even like jelly donuts.