When I come to, I've got five guys in front of me, all taller than me, talking about how their going to work on me with a set of golf clubs. I'm trying to figure out how I got here, but my mouth doesn't skip a beat.
"Golf clubs are pretty expensive, bro. You sure you wanna ruin a nice set o' golf clubs on little ole me?"
The last thing I remember, someone gave me their drink to finish. I was looking for my friends and... Oh yeah. I guess it was just a glass of whisky I drank. Whisky and a little ice.
Now they're talking about baseball bats. Guess they really considered my advice about the golf clubs.
"You know," I tell them. "It's not as easy as it sounds, beating on a person with a foreign object. I know; I tried. If you've done it before, than cool. But I'm just sayin' it's not as easy as it sounds."
They're conferring. What should they do? How should they go about this? One guy nuts up and says he's just going to beat my ass and get it over with. I assume the stance. I think about what I should do. How I should go about this.
"Don't do it," another one of them says. "He looks crazy." I feel flattered and my expression goes soft like someone just told me I'm pretty. "Nevermind," he reassesses. "Go for it." I assume the stance again. I get that calculating look on my face. "No wait." I wish these guys would make up their collective mind. Finally, they pile into a truck and threaten to run me over. I'm playing matador with a two ton piece of machinery. Where in the fuck are my friends?
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