(Special contributor to PSD.com)
cause that's how I roll. It's a Saturday in May, in the year of the Lord nineteen hundred and ninety eight, and my wife is 6 months pregnant. I'm 39, and I shouldn't have let her have that second wine cooler, if you catch my drift. My two older kids are 17 and 11 and when we told them they were getting a sibling, their joint reaction was "GROSS!"
Hey, Old Spice works in mysterious ways. So anyways I'm coaching a little league baseball team with this A type personality dude who has a schmuck for a kid. We are talking top level stuff on the phone and I'm sitting on my front porch, like which bench rider has the prettiest Mom so we can decide which one of these bottom feeders should play more than 3 innings in the upcoming game.
This car rolls by slowly and I see the kids in the car say something to my kid and his 2 friends. The car goes up to the corner and this baggy pants wearing, slacker looking, long haired 155 pound tough guy jumps out and starts stomping into my yard. My kid and his buddies go in the house and this kid introduces himself by saying, "hey why don't you have your son come out so I can kick his ass?"
I keep the other coach on the phone and look up and inform this miscreant that nobody is getting their ass kicked today, least not anyone I share DNA with. The other neighbors are in their yards, doing what real Americans do on Saturdays, like cutting their grass and remembering how much money they spent at The Fireside Grill the night prior. This pimple faced, gym class skipping, sideways hat wearing Jabroni starts talking louder and every one is looking over at us.
I forget I'm still on the phone and I'm explaining to this kid how he needs to leave before I play Haydens Hawkeyes to his Cyclone sorry azz and he's not getting it. My wife is leaning outside the screen door with her big belly telling the kid to leave. Apparently shes forgotten Ive knocked dudes bigger than this kid out by accident since I was around 14 years old.
There's a phenomena with young guys who think us older peeps were born at the age of 40. This kid in particular is needing a history lesson but I don't want to hit him. I recognize him as the product of a local broken home and one of Hawkness Monster's misguided youth. His Mom is 35 going on 16 and she generally dates dudes a few years older than her son. So I feel kinda sorry for this future parolee.
He keeps trying to walk around me and I'm tired of this BS, so like the Real American I am, I reach up and knock his hat off his head, just so he knows I'm done playing. He starts screaming "you hit me!!!"
And I calmly advise him he'd be asleep if that were the case. He runs down the street to his house and the next thing I know I've got a tweaked out crow bar carrying, life expectancy lowering, juvenile delinquent springing up the sidewalk at me.
I figure this has now gone too far. I know I can disarm him but I want to see how stupid he really is. I step into my house and leave the outside door open. if he comes in, I'm going to beat him like a red haired step child.
He's banging on my mailbox with the bar and his Mom is out there crying. I'm cooler than the other side of the pillow, waiting for him to come in. He finally leaves and a few minutes later two female Altoona cops show up.
Hey, I will finish this next week. HGTV is on so I hafta jet.
For Vol. 1, click here
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