Duking it out with Joe Bongs


I got in a fight with Joe a couple of days ago, Joe Bongs. Don’t even know what his problem was, I never harbored any ill will towards him, but he still felt like he had to try something with me somehow. Don’t know if you remember, but he really was the big man of the neighborhood when we were in our teens, no doubt about it. Before this whole thing, I genuinely had quite some respect for the guy. But out of nowhere, he came at me. Maybe he tried to impress the girl he had with him? Not really a girl worth impressing though. She was a fugly little bird. And he used to date the crème de la crème, as far as looks go, back in the day. Time’s a cruel mistress, God damn.
Anyway, when I passed him, he threw a couple of slick remarks at me, and when I chose to ignore them, he started to cuss at me. And I was with little bro, you know? If I just take that kind of abuse, even from someone who used to have and still has somewhat of a reputation in the city, what will that teach the youngster, about manhood and all that? And there is something uncouth about inviting another man to your manhood, as well. We men got to set these kind of things straight, or we cease to be men. And I’m really not even a person of aristocratic values or nothing, my upbringing was pretty mundane. I mostly staid out of trouble, I mean, sometimes shit goes down and you got to roll with it, but I was never out looking for fights. But I won’t turn down an invitation to a duel just like that. Guess that’s the one thing I do have in common with the noblemen of old, I will defend my pride when it comes down to it.
And so I turned back to face him, and asked him if he would repeat what he just told me, calmly, but in a steadfast manner, and he immediately came at me. This guy used to have goons ready to take down anyone that so much as looked at him the wrong way, and here he was, just jumping at me in some kind of crazy fit like a disgruntled alcoholic or something. To be fair, he threw some good punches, but I was on top of my game. During the fight, I took some damage, I mean the guy’s a bear, but he paid dearly for most of the hits he landed. Some think good fighting ability is about being able to tank a bunch of hits, and being fierce like a beast, but let me tell you this: it’s more about taking proper defensive measures first and foremost, whatever you do, and using your aggression as a tool, not a guide. He just rushed in head first, which might have helped him land a lucky hit if he would’ve still been eighteen and in his prime, catching an unexperienced enemy off guard through sheer youthful speed and power, but now, that shit doesn’t fly anymore. Not at all. I think he’s on drugs or something.
Me, from the outset, I was using distance- as well as position-deception, all the time changing the position of my body as well as changing my head-slot, using pseudo-randomized patterns for all these movements, meanwhile keeping him occupied with my own attacks, using feints as well as counters to great effect. Most of his blows therefore either rolled of my shoulders, grazed my body, or they were traded for much more effective blows from blind corners or on neglectfully unguarded body parts. Contrariwise, whenever I got a good hit in, I kept minding my defensive discipline, meaning that he never got to really punish any of them. Not sure he was even trying to. It seemed more like blind rage, the shit this guy was doing, but whatever. What many don’t realize, and this is is a fact that you can learn if you carefully study the great fighters, is that the biggest winners don’t take many return hits. They make the moves that are hard to punish, they outplay or overpower through their natural talents combined with the fruits of their training as well as the use of excellent, time-proven but also often innovative and cutting-edge strategy, and then after each lopsided exchange they move back to defensive positions unless it is clear that the finishing blow can be administered. There is something psychologically unsettling about an unfair exchange, about getting something taken from you and then having both parties move back to a neutral position. Slowly, as this keeps happening, desperation, fear, rage, and a tendency to purely rely on animalistic instinct creep in. And then the trap springs, as they say.

This was the case here as well. He was huffing and wheezing, getting more and more agitated as the fight went on. Looking visibly tired, he went for the low road and threw something at me he had probably picked off the street, think it was a soda can or something, and I easily evaded it. He took that opportunity to get in closer and he went for my head with another jab, which I masterfully rolled off my shoulder again, hitting him on his side in retaliation. He was already pretty worn down at that moment and I know this counterpunch must have hurt, because he slightly dropped his arm towards the spot I hit him and I caught the grimace on his face during the split second it was in my sights while I was scanning for a good opening. He quickly raised his arm back into a defensive position, but I had seen that he was neglecting defensive discipline overall, as he conceded an opening right in between his arms. My uppercut all but cracked his chin, and I’m glad I didn’t kill him, you know druggies can just die randomly of heart attacks or brain failure or whatever from some random nudge. He was out for the count, however. I jumped on top of him and punched his right eye, just to leave a mark of victory. Between you and me, there’s a secret and mostly unspoken-of joy in cruelty, also I didn’t want there to be any doubt that I beat the shit out of him for posterity’s sake and social standing considerations. I had won fights before, and then let my enemy go after they yielded, only to find out that people believed my opponents had come out of a fight with me unscathed or even beat me. Shit like that is infuriating. These fuckers have no shame.
But forget about that, let me finish the story. I was still in victory mode and me and little bro started scolding the ugly bitch he was with, yelling at her to get the fuck out of here with her loser boyfriend. She seemed unfazed however, which appeared to me a bit strange in this situation. She’s ugly as fuck, but she’s definitely ice-cold and fearless, it appears. Guess that’s why Joe keeps her by his side. We were still yelling when she turned around and got on her knees, opening the bag she had with her. When she opened it, I saw there was a gun in it. Later Mo told me she did robberies, and Joe Bongs gets a cut out of everything. Seems he still has a little bit of that old gangster in him, but he doesn’t seem to have the drive to accomplish bigger things anymore. Such a waste. That’s what these hard drugs do to people.
But that’s not really that interesting, the important thing is that she was about to take the gun out and although I never run, I do run when someone has a gun and I don’t. Let’s call it the exception to the rule. Being a great fighter is about picking the right fights, too. We escaped into a nearby alley, and that was that. Such a crazy stupid situation. Ah well, my little bro got a couple of valuable life lessons out of it, I guess. I probably should start packing some heat the next couple of months as well. People who used to be something but fell from grace can be pretty resentful. Defensive discipline, never forget that.



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