A Tale of Two Meatheads

A WARNING: This is a VERY long blog, and I realize most people have the attention span of reading the directions on a ketchup packet, but there is NO way to tell this story in a few brief paragraphs. So suck it up and read it.

Let's start this newest blog by identifying the actors involved in the story to follow, shall we?

The esteemed gentleman on the right, sporting the lovely Swarm of Eyes t-shirt, is my best friend of 22 years, Dana.

The drunk meathead on the left, in the "Affliction" t-shirt and the Jarhead haircut, is the guy Dana tried to kill thirty minutes prior to this picture being taken.

Let me go back to where the beginning of this tale started. My friends and I are enjoying some soothing Death metal bands, and after the second act, we head outside for some fresh air. As I walked out of the building I heard, from the smoking area just to the right, the following in a slurred, tough guy voice: "Yeah, but how many fights have you been in? I've been in WAY more fights than you bro."

All I could do was roll my eyes and hope to steer clear of Chuck Liddell Jr that night. Oh, but that wasn't to be the case, was it?

Cue the third band hitting the stage and the crowd milling back into the club just as the strains of chugging guitars bled through the walls to those of us outside. My friends and I weren't familiar with the band playing, but we like to show support for everyone playing and up there working hard. I think it's disrespectful to not give every band your attention at a club. But that's just me.

So the band has a good amount of people up front crowding the stage, bobbing their heads along to the catchy hardcore/metal riffs. At least they were until Captain Fights-a-lot and his two douchenozzle friends decide that they are going to turn the floor into their own private Drunk Karate Mosh Pit. Elbows are flying at heads, feet are kicking with the coordination of a wounded rhino, and people are scattering for the back of the club.



And listen, I don't want you to think I'm an old fuddy-duddy. In my younger days I mixed it up in quite a few mosh pits myself. When I was 19. I think it's great the kids can cut loose at a show and release some pent up aggression and have a fun time. But these steakheads were at least mid-30's. And drunk when they got to the club. That can only mean they were there to start trouble.

The rest of us? We are too old for that crappola. Most of us in the crowd stood around with a drink in hand and fiddling with our cellphones wearing a pair of earplugs asking each other, "Are they really loud, or is that just me?"

The biggest mistake I made this night was not grabbing Dana and going to the back of the club. It's almost like I refused to accept that these assclowns could make me have to move away. So we stood our ground, trying to look cool and like it was no big deal. But every time a windmilling set of arms came whizzing by, I knew that standing up for my principles was a bad idea in this instance. And I could see Dana's blood pressure soaring; his face tightening as his level of annoyance rose and turned into anger. RIGHT THEN I should have grabbed him and headed back to the bar area. But nooooooooooooo, I'm waiting it out so I don't look like a complete puss for backing away.

Just then, the guys seem to calm down. The dancing stops. Maybe they were tired, or the song was over. I don't know, but they are just ambling around now and one of them heads to the bar. He walks between Dana and I and slightly bumps into him. I can see Dana's anger growing, like one of those cartoon characters that their head turns into a giant thermometer and you see the mercury rising until it pops. And when Captain Mixed Martial Arts walked by him next and bumped him...that thermometer POPPED.

Wow, this is getting long. Did I lose you yet? Hello?

The term "all hell broke loose" doesn't even begin to describe the next three minutes or so. Dana is screaming at the guy; Meathead is asking him if he wants to go outside to fight; I'm holding Dana back as best as I can while he screams he's going to effing kill the guy. Another dude is grabbing Dana by the wrists trying to calm him down...when Dana breaks free of me and a few other people and grabs this guy trying to help him around the throat with both hands and slams him against the wall. Like out of a movie, I'm not even kidding, he was like a killer cyborg in a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie.

EVERYONE is jumping on everyone else now and we get Dana free of this guy, and he starts punching the wall. Meanwhile, Meathead is still standing there, asking ME if my friend wants to go outside and fight him. He's not angry or upset. He doesn't even know what the problem is. He's just up for a fight. I swear I'm dealing with complete clowns. I really must have had better things to do than babysit.

For the sake of the length of this column, I'll try and wrap it up quick. I get Dana outside and calm him down, which is no small feat. He was thirsty, from all the screaming and threatening I guess, so I gave him the only thing I had in the car...an energy drink. Brilliant! Settle the guy down with stimulants! I'm a genius!



Once I get him in a better place and his blood pressure is down, we headed back to the club. I see the Meatheads out front smoking and I go right up to them and start shaking their hands. Dana follows suit and everyone seems cool...until the guy says, "What was your fucking problem anyway?"

Oh lord.

Dana starts saying you shoved me, the guy says no you did...blah blah...so we leave on tense terms again, me continuously apologizing for everything, even though I didn't DO anything. I hurry him back into the club and we are watching the fourth band play. About halfway through I notice Dana has disappeared. I look around for him. No where. I ask a few friends if they've seen him. They say he headed outside when I wasn't looking. Oh Christ on a cracker...

I RUN out of the club and the second I get outside I see Dana and Captain Shitfaced laughing their heads off, acting like old friends talking about their college days. (Ok, neither of these two probably made it out of 10th grade, but that's not the point) It was at that moment I knew I needed to capture them on film together with the Grapefruits of Metal pose, because I had to get SOMETHING out of this ridiculous night with these two rocket scientists.

Hmmm...that whole story really went downhill fast and didn't really have a payoff, did it? Meh.