Ba-da Da-da-da-da Da Da DA DA - RUMBLE!
Just so you know, I’m no good in a fight.
People who stop by here leaving comments for brawl assistance: you’ve got the wrong guy.
I have been in a couple of fights, but I wasn’t much help. I tend to use my defense as a humour mechanism.
I have a purple belt in judo, but that doesn’t help you in a punch-up. Keith Elmer broke my nose with one punch when I was ten and that was the fight, all because he said he was going to ask Roxanne out.*
I once punched Evan Smith in the jaw over some trivial thing, but that was the summer of 1976 and Rocky had just come out, so it didn’t count, as there was nothing more normal for any self-respecting Philadelphian boy to do than to land one on their pal.
Even this makes me sound tougher than I was. I grew up in West Chester, Pennsylvania, and the leafy hills around Valley Forge, a world away and between the streets of Philly and the steel mills of Pittsburgh.
I was grateful for the following summer of Star Wars and the relative safety of lightsabres over fistfights, however slow-motion the re-enactments.
So yeah, I’m not going to fight you.
Leave it.
I’m not worth it.
Ah, my sweet Roxanne. Were it not for Camp Horseshoe I would have married you when you asked.
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Three Word Story
The words seemed to echo endlessly around their cell. Digging a tunnel had proved fruitless and oddly phallic. Finding a vein had been the laborious task ahead, but they opted to forge ahead while singing “We Are The Champions”.
It wasn’t until they stopped singing that they realised they were never going to see Gdansk. In the dark, damp silence, the candles sputtered out. “Bugger,” said the slightly balder spelunker, “we need tallow - and FAST!”
Latest three words by Suz
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