John Hawkins (hawk) wrote,
John Hawkins

time for a bedtime story

I asked him not to do it. I asked nicely, even, which was a stretch for me, because I don't like him. But apparently he took my threats to be empty. I wiped blood off of my pantleg with his shirt, and reflected on empty threats.

He was still lying where I'd forced him down, teeth more or less still wrapped over the side of the curb. The wierd thing is I'm not a violent guy. I really didn't enjoy crushing his neck like that. It's not a pleasant thing. Maybe if you're really just wierd, you could actually enjoy that. I'm not, though. It's just a question of follow through. I needed him to stop, and I told him that, and I told him that if he wouldn't stop, I would by God force feed him concrete with my shoe. And then he didn't stop, and I had to choose between demonstrating a complete lack of follow through, or ending a man face down in the street. So when you get right down to it, it was a pretty easy choice. I don't like him. We've been over that. Not that I ever had much chance to really get to know the guy, I mean we met yesterday, for chrissake. But the simple truth of the matter is, good people don't kick the shit out of their girlfriend. Admittedly, good people probably don't kill other people just to make a concrete point. ::winces:: Ouch...sorry... Ah, well, anyway, I claim he had it comin'.

The problem is, he's a lot bigger than I am. So playing fair wasn't really an option. And I couldn't very well just punch him in the head until he acknowledged I'm the better fighter. I'm not. He'd destroy me. But since my girlfriend is studying pharmacy, I was able to swing a little clorophorm. (Turns out she doesn't like guys who hit girls either...wierd). And you'd be surprised what a guy will agree to when you tie a fifty kilogram weight to his sack, thread it through a chair, and balance it precariously on the railing. A little extreme, but considering how things turned out, I don't think I'll be losing sleep about some risk we posed to his Goddamn sack. Least of my worries. A more pressing worry, for example, was what to do with the body.

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