First thing is Fucking Last - The second fight

A few months after calling it quits with Marianne, ripper extraordinaire, I decided to start dating again. This was not an easy decision to make but I knew I had to do something to thwart my rapidly onsetting case of blueballs. I was in imminent danger of experiencing full scale blueball dementia . It had been so long since I enjoyed any meaningful female company that I, unknowingly, had began drastically lowering my standards of beauty. No longer was I dreaming about Sylvia Saint or Shyla Stylez. Now a scantily clad Condaleeza Rice was invading my dreams with her desert dry repulican cootch. Something had to be done.

A few weeks ago I had a wedding to go to so I asked Newcootch to come along. She said yes and we went together. The wedding was a little unusual as the groom had this inner ear thing that caused him great pain whenever he heard any loud or sharp noises. The Best Man had previously informed the guests, out of respect for the Groom, the volume of music would be kept to a minimum, there would be no clinging and clanging of the cutlery on dishes and applause would be kept to respectable levels. Everybody seemed to understand and was sympathetic towards the Groom's condition. Everybody except one fucktard.

This one fucktard, seated two tables over from us, was applauding, hooting and hollering, and clanging the dishes at every opportunity. During the bride's speech though is when the shit really hit the fan.

Bride: I know its a little unusual, so I'd like to thank everyone for respecting our wishes and not applauding too loudly or hitting their dishes with their forks...

Fucktard: (screaming as loud as he can) Yeeeaaahhh! Lets hear it for keeping volumes at a minimum!! Woooooo!!

Two guys approached the fucktard and discretely told him to keep his voice down.

Bride: So with that I hope everyone has a great time and enjoys the party.

Fucktard: WOOOOOOOO!!! PARTY HEARTY EVERYBODY!!!!

A third guy approaches the fucktard. Before he even has a chance to tell him to keep it quiet the fucktard stands up and pushes the third guy as hard as he can. The third guy goes flying and stumbles over a food tray. Six or Seven dishes of salad that were previously on the tray are now all over the floor. Three or four other guys immediately stand up and rush the fucktard. The fucktard's friends stand up and confront the oncomers.

Now, just as an aside, in 99% of confrontations a full out fist fight will never ensue. What happens is normally a few guys push and swear at each other before they realize "hey wait a second!! I cant fight to save my life... I barely even know how to throw a punch...what made me think all of a sudden that I'm Tito fuckin Ortiz... Elton John could probalby kick my punk ass. I'm gonna get my ass kicked in front of all my friends!!!" Its at this point that all the idle threats are made:

"I'll fuckin kill you, guy!!!

What'd you say motherfucker?! I'll fucking kill you, guy!!"

This type of exchange is pretty common as the two parties walk away and try to create as much separation from each other as possible while still keeping up the tough guy routine.

However on this occaision, just as the two parties were facing off against each other in an apparent stale mate (the oncomers and fucktard's friends), a wave of 15 or 20 other guys came in and jumped in the ruckus. It was the spark that set off the explosion. It was absolute chaos. No one knew who was on who's side. It was essentially every man for himself.

The group of 30 or so guys started spinning more and more out of control. Punches where being thrown, hair was being pulled, tables were being knocked over, old ladies where being sucked into this vortex of testosterone and being spit out the other side all disheveled and retarded looking and with their dentures broken.

More guys jumped into the fray. The fight resembling a hurricane was spinning closer and closer to my table. "Quick Hootch", I thought, "what are you going to do. Go with your natural instinct and look for the most injured participant and beat down on him like you're Ivan Drago in and he's Apollo Creed in Rocky or do the reasonable thing and take NewCootch and walk away". Just as I was finishing this thought I caught a punch on the side of the head. I had no choice. I had to go in. I had to make sure no harm came to NewCootch's magnificent, gravity defying breasts. In my efforts to steer the swirling mass of guys away from my table I was on the receiving end of numberous punches and kicks to my body and head. Then the unexpected. Within a couple of seconds I found myself in the heart of the stom face to face with fucktard. He grabbed my face with his fingers and nails and was squeezing them over my eye. I bent my arm with my fist at my chest and swung my elbow with all the might I could muster aiming for the fucktard's head. >CLACK< I heard as I caught him square on his chin and his jaw slammed shut against the rest of his mouth.

Afterward, when I told Newcootch about the fucktard trying to blind me she said:

NewCootch: Ha! Just like Jean-Claude.

Hootch: What?

NewCootch: In bloodsport. When Bolo Yeung blinded Jean-claude in the kumitee, but Jean-Claude still knocked him the fuck out, remember?

As pretty good looking as Newcootch is, the above conversation had just increased her fuckability factor by about a million.