Okay, heres tonights bar story.
They had this schlub band in tonight, zero talent, and the place was empty. Band packs up and leaves. They ask for payment. Guy that runs the place says "Fuck You, you worked for the door, you brought no people, you get no money."
They start arguing. I put my shoes on, my man Roger stands up and goes to see whats the fuss. Me and Roger are hanging out, he weighs about a thousand pounds, I shit you not. My buddy Dave is sitting in a chair, pointing up into the face of this asshole in the band, and when I say "chair" I mean permanently, it has wheels on it.
I can say with a supreme amount of confidance you would not want this fucker to bolt up out of his chair and start fistpumping your face. The dude uses his arms for legs, people just don't always grasp the concept of a motivated human until it's too late.
After it was all over, we all went back to the drinking bar and continued what we were doing, and Dave says "I didn't want to go back to jail anyway."
So I questioned him on that part of his life, because I never knew, and said "What'd you do to get yourself landed in jail?" Because he's typically a mellow guy.
He says "I hit a guy and he needed a hundred and thirty-seven stitches in his head."
Understand, I am not making this up, that number stuck.
The Free Talk Live BBS
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Topic: J.C. Keyser's House of Booze (Read 296986 times)