Back when I was in high school and was a small part of an illegal business, my coworker/friends and I used to have a condominium that technically belonged to my friend Cokecase's dad. Cokecase's dad used that condo for the same thing that we used it for (read: drugs, money counting and partying), though not as often as us because Cokecase's dad was a member of an actual biker gang (whose name I am not writing here because I learned a thing or two in high school) and as such, very often had places to be other than the town in which I grew up (St. Louis).
Now, this condo was the sight of many awesomely disturbing times. Like the time Cokecase almost choked on his own vomit while he was under a card table and wouldn't let anyone touch him (Cokecase enforced this by holding a silver handgun in a threatening position), or the time we all walked in on our friend Fireplug as he was smoking crack while wearing nine layers of sweat pants and sweat shirts, all in an effort to make weight for wrestling (shameless plug: that story is in my upcoming book) or the time that Cokecase's dad, in an effort to keep us from going to see a Dead show, got us wasted as hell by spiking our drinks (essentially resulting in us going to see a Dead show while way too wasted), but, despite how messed up everything was there, some of the stories that came out of that condo were kind of cute and innocent.
This is one of those stories.
After counting a shitload of money while bored off our collective asses (we were waiting for someone important to us to arrive), my friend Brickmaster got the bright idea to challenge Fireplug to a fight.
Brick counted out five hundred dollars, put it on the end table (the coffee table was already covered with money) and said to Fireplug, “I'll tell you what: if you fight me and win, you get this five hundred bucks. If you lose, you get nothing and I get nothing.”
“Fuck,” said Fireplug. “Dude, you're a black belt in Judo and you got like eighty pounds on me.”
“Don't forget about the half foot of reach and four inches of height he's got, too,” I added.
“Or the fact that he's been kicking your ass since Junior High,” added Cokecase.
“But? man,” said Fireplug. “I mean, five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks.”
So Fireplug and Brickmaster went outside to fight and Brickmaster dispatched Fireplug, who yielded in under three minutes.
When both young men rose from the ground, Fireplug took one look at Brickmaster, saw that Brick's shirt was ripped badly and said, “At least I still got my shirt.”
Brick then reached over, grabbed Fireplug's T-shirt and ripped it from neck to waist.
At that moment, Cokecase, who had been busy with some business inside, came out into the backyard, took a look at his friends and said, “You motherfuckers. Those are both my shirts.”
See, even criminals have cute moments. Life offers many different flavors to all.
Like Skittles.