Timmy Burns

Tacos and Toughguys

With my girlfriend out of town I often find myself in trouble. She keeps me in line and that's part of the reason why I love her.

My good friend Erik had called me to let me know that he was heading down to the local watering hole for a few beers on the cheap. His girlfriend works there who is also a good friend of mine and since I had just woken up from a glorious slumber I decided there would be no better way to spend my evening.

After a few stiff drinks and several games of darts (all of which I lost) we found ourselves at the end of the bar with the owner, Jess, and one of the owners friends who thought he was the end all be all of the music industry.

I listened to him talk about his band for just about 15 minutes when I had decided that he knew little to nothing about what he was talking about. He tried to sound like he had been in the music making industry for his whole life, but when he tried to compare Staind to Michael Jackson's Thriller I knew he was a complete douche canoe.

We left shortly after I told him that I couldn't stand to talk to him anymore. Things became slightly heated and I tried to contain myself but after nearly 2 pints of whiskey it was difficult to stiffle my words. They poured out of my mouth just as freely as the bullshit he was spouting out of his.

Taco Bell was the destination for Erik, Jess, and I as I rambled on in the car about how ignorant that cunt-pickle actually was. Erik had heard enough of him early on in the conversation and turned a deaf ear, but I was so infuriated by his words that I could not let his proclamations go without rebuttle.

The Taco Bell drive through line was the most interesting of our interactions for that night. We had been laughing the whole way to the chain-food restaurant while making fun of the low-rent neanderthal and his closed-mindedness when I decided (for no good sober reason) to get out of the car.

A group of 16-18 year old kids who had just asked their mom if they could take her Buick out for a spin ended up behind us in line for greasy chalupas. They thought it would be a funny idea to hang out of the car and shout at me while I climbed on the hood of Jess's SUV ini an attempt, I think, to be at the highest vantage point in the parking lot. From there, I assumed, I could have a vast perspective of all goings-on and be the first to perceive events before they even took place.

While at my God-like pedestal (where I rightly belong) I had over heard one of the pre-pubecent teens yell at me to get back in the car. I thought nothing of it, and the frosty dew beneath my feet began to give way. I slid off of the hood of the vehicle and landed safely on my feet. Once I no longer had to concentrate on standing upright, I heard more yelling. I'm not sure what they had said, even at this point, and I'm only writing this 1 hour later. I'm sure it was nearly unintelligable since these pimply cum-guzzlers were up so late. There is no way any responsible parent would let their child out at this time of night.

As I walked back towards the back door to get in the car I heard the front passenger say, 'Get in the car bitch!' Typically, I don't like being called names unless you're a good friend of mine. So I thought I'd head back one car length to see what these scroteskins were talking about.

Papa Scrote thought it would be a wise idea for him to stand up, outside of the car and call me more names. 'Yea you're coming over here all tough.' he said. Really I was just going to see what all the fuss was about, but if you're going to make a scene, who am I to tell you no? I knocked on the back of the car to let Erik know what was going on. He casually observed from the rear view mirror.

It wasn't until I kicked the door of the Buick into the pimply boys chest that Erik got out. King Dickhead thought that if he said, 'If you're not going to hit me, just get back in the car!' that I would actually comply and perform the latter. I left a size 12 foot print in the Buicks side door, and I'm certian that there was a much lager print on Captain Douche's torso.

While he lay on the ground writhing in pain Erik gave me a 'Awww c'mon.' look. We both hopped back in the car and Jess stomped on the gas. I remember very little other than feeling the car travel up and over the grassy medium that seperated the drive through from the main road. We didn't wait for the light, assault on a minor probably isn't something a court justice would smile upon.

As we drove by, we saw Sergeant Sack being picked up by his three friends. They poured him into the car as he held his midsection. From what I could tell from my increasing distance, he was throwing up on himself. I could only smile as we joked about it on the way home. That poor kid is probably never going to say another word to anyone else in his entire life.

This is Bizz - teaching respect and tact to young children one swift kick at a time.