Them's fightin' words

So, last night, me, Momma Pug, Tree and P. Daddy went into a bar. Shocking, huh?

Ok, maybe not.

But we went into said bar to see the Hawaiian Tropic Bikini Contest, and the competitors were...eligible. Highly eligible.

Unfortunately, several of the very large crowd were eligible only in the shithead category. And we got a firsthand experience with one of them.

So we're sitting there waiting for this thing to kick off a little after 10 and our waiter, true to his orders, keeps on bringing me Ziegenbocks, when I notice this little prick wearing a University of Houston hat backwards is talking to Momma Pug and Tree. Not the smartest of things, to strike up a conversation with two married women when their husbands are right there and one of them is really, REALLY looking to punch someone after his good for nothing fucking college football team looses to some JV High School team 18-14 (wonder who that could be)?

It's an even less good idea to insult the wife of said guy, and that's what Cougar High Prick proceeds to do. With a smirk on his face, he asks Momma Pug if she's competing in the bikini contest.

While my wife has a rack that would put these chicks to shame, she does not have self-esteem problems or a desire to commence a career in porn. She also is not a size -1. But this guy, claiming himself to be "interested," tries to ask her repeatedly if she's competing.

I look over and see the other guys at his table are laughing. This really pisses me off.

It's a putup job to insult my wife, for reasons that are beyond me.

Momma Pug has handled Cougar High Prick with great grace to this point, asking him if he's a fucking retard or simply has had too much dumbass juice for one night. But he keeps on. So I stand up and say, "That's my wife. Is there something I can help you with?"

My look says, "Fuck off, kid, or I'll rip your torso from your waist and use your legs as hockey sticks." He's too wasted (or intent on being "funny" to notice the look).

He realizes he'd better back off when Tree calls him a "pencildick" and threatens to spit in his face.

By this point, he thinks he's the shit, or something. And I'm ready to kill.

You don't insult my wife. Ever. And you don't do it on a gag in a full bar. I can't believe that I let the little fucker walk away!

As I'm sitting there debating whether or not to walk over to his table, grab him, crush his larnyx and kill each one of his friends with varying common bar instruments, P. Daddy has gotten our waiter and explained the situation. Our waiter, big, black and very, very cool, is livid. He goes and gets his boss, who is big, white and knows we're pretty regular customers.

"The gentleman at the table over there wearing the University of Houston hat has decided it is amusing to insult my wife. We decided to give you the opportunity to do something about it before I did something about it myself," I said.

Oh, he did. He walked over, grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and dragged him outside. The kid comes in a few minutes later, ashen-faced, and sits back down. The manager comes over, says Cougar High Prick denies doing ANYTHING untoward, says he NEVER talked to my wife, much less inulted her. He says he didn't buy that and told Cougar High Prick that if he so much as looks at our table, he'll throw him out over the fence, not through the front door.

Cougar High Prick makes the mistake of looking over at us. I make eye contact and motion for him to put his head down. He does so.

A few minutes later, I have to answer the call of nature. I walk in to the john and, at one of the stalls, is Cougar High Prick. He gets done, and imagine his displeasure when he finds the very pissed off husband of the lady he insulted standing over him.

His consternation grew when I shoved him into the wall and put my hand flat onto his chest.

"You're not a very intelligent young man," I said to him in a conversational tone. "Insulting women in bars is a good way to stay a virgin, because ladies hate it and husbands get the desire to rip your balls off and shove them down your fucking throat."

(Admission time: After 8 Ziegenbocks, it would be difficult to be this pithy off the cuff. I planned out what I was going to say in case I ran into the little fuck in advance and was still sober enough to pull off the trick.)

"But..." the kid said.

"You don't follow instructions very well, do you, shithead?" I said. "The manager told you not to talk. If I tell him you spoke, you're gone. Shut up and get out."

Cougar High Prick scurries out the door just in time, because I really had to piss and P. Daddy walks in right as he leaves, as everyone else had noticed that the little bastard was in the can and were pretty sure I had gone in there to kill him, not pee.

Anyway, Cougar High Prick looked very scared for the rest of the evening. It was quite amusing.

Serves the little bastard right. If A&M loses next weekend, and he shows up, I'll kill him on general principle.