This is completely unrelated to any DA business and more like mylife dot com shit that I usually don't post about. But I think it's worthwhile just because I'm getting home and not tired, and it's 5am and it'll be a moment or two before I get some sleep.

So people who know me know how nice a guy I am, and how I'm anything but trouble. I do quite well to stay out of it, just because it's not all that worthwhile in the end. As a good guy, I like people to walk away with a clear conscience and no sense of looming past troubles as they get up in the morning from an eventful night out.

So there I am out at the pub with a bunch of friends scattered left and right. I'm having a beer and next to me, opposite me at the counter's angle I've been watching this guy and that girl playing their drama. He's hyperactive and calling out for her attention a lot, talking to her in the ear and not handling his role as a seducer quite well. It's pretty obvious how it's gonna end up: he'll get boozed up and act inane. Meanwhile she's all doe-eyed, sending out signals that are like "Holy shit how did I get into that, and more seriously, how do I escape?". She picks up the smug grin on my face as I sip my beer, it says "Oh yeah aren't you well screwed lass, bearing this dead weight all through the night". It keeps going this way and as I have to walk through the place to go greet my cousin by the other end of the room, I excuse myself to that couple and slip into her ear "Know that you've got a little of my compassion" and walk away. Or would, as these heavy, dumb and dull arms chance about for sloppy hands to grasp me. From there on, you know how it goes. "What did you just say to my woman?", says the drunkard. "Nothing worth the trouble, just felt like saying hello", says me. Burps out all sorts of shit about disrespect and the like and tells me to pick up my gear and walk the fuck out. "Ain't you the nervous one", is all he gets from me. It's an easy case to settle really: drunk as fuck, barely carrying himself about, and acting right out of some De Niro movie. It's easier to try to shrug him out and away than to actually make it and obtain peace. Me, I'm pretty sober, amused, and just ready to be taking the piss at being talked to that way if it goes on any longer than my push-away responses. There's this thing where I believe that a good old smack in the face from a drunken guy just goes, whereas verbal abuse just doesn't click to me. I mean you're drunk, you're not quite yourself and you're devolved back to animalistic stupor, so a good old haymaker to my face works. I can't resent that, though of course I'm not gonna sit here idle. But spinning it around like a seamstress to her threads, what for? That's where it gets vulgar and rude and that's where I get annoyed.

So there's always some person in those places to interfere before both parties will rest their case. This time it's a friend of mine and I see that guy simper and limpen trying to get an it's settled, it's alright "handshake". I guess that goes. I mellow back to my side, there's an unfinished beer after all, and an ungreeted cousin. Obviously it's not quite over. It's not because he bought reprieve from my friend that he's all calmed down from the whole "How you talk to my wife romp", eh? Yeah, sure not. I just don't buy the threats and orders, so I'll be there waiting for season 2 of this drama. Obviously happens. Goes to bugger off another friend of mine, who's more drunken than him, gets a "What the fuck are you trying to tell me about" as my friend fondles and gropes the night's lady trying to obtain favours he's not gonna get and inevitably, our gibbering friend happens by me again, with all his talk of disrespect and shit, spoken out with a bit too much fervour and a physical proximity I don't like the sound of. "You about to let me speak yet?", I ask multiple times. "You realised I first notified you I was gonna interefere to talk to your lass, or were you just too far way out there to pick that up and just figured it was the night's opportunity to spew forth this disrespect drama". Keeps gibbering to my ear that's getting more and more impatient: "You wanna know what I do to people who direspect me?", he goes. It gets old, aye? Hard to look serious and mean and threatening when you're a drunken slobbering mess of a man who jumps around randomly on the dance floor in front of his embarrassed girl throwing his arms in the air in finger-pointing motion like he's hard on MDMA. She's not looking at the scene like she's finding point to it, and neither am I. "Are you on a fucking one-man show or something?".

This is not an "how I got tough fighting drunken guys" kind of story. You shouldn't be waiting for the point where my knuckles split his lips open thanks to an educated slam of my fist vertically-oriented and horizontally propelled on a rail of kinetic wrath below his nose and right across his mouth, because it's not happening. This is a writing exercise. In this story, the drunken guy gets a chance to walk away feeling like it could have been worse, and possibly thinking like he didn't completely lose it before his poor "girlfriend". And walking away, he goes, warningly but all sense of threat evaporated from his speech-wielding saliva: "Make sure you don't end up in hospital from keeping on direspecting people". "Do make sure you don't", says the good guy whose callsign is Me.

30 minutes later I'm walking out of the place, intent on ending up home. Girl's sitting outside and they're still arguing. She's of that blonde sort that looks like you couldn't stain her with anything, somehow she'd always come out pure and doe-eyed speaking "What just happened to me??" in swedish or another elvish language impossible to understand. In the usual testosterone laden stories, fool ends up with his jaw fractured and hero walks away with the blonde, off to a night of corruptive and steamy enjoyment, bringing her up heights unfathomed like she's the Virgin Mary impersonate, about to give messianic birth in the longest scream of ecstasy. But this is a writing exercise, and this is real life. I know that sometimes, the world's balance may just hang on the self-resolving setup of a failing relationship. Black magic is where energies flow back and forth between individuals like boomerangs, fed by anger and resent. Granted it sure would have been an easy knockout and the most pleasant of knockups, but good guys walk away their hands empty. Not because they're too good to be playing. Just, it's fair enough to let it slip now, cause that one true chance comes later.

And after all, this is a writing exercise, and it's all about a good guy.
What would I look like boasting about a drunken bar brawl? Shit, probably.

Yeah.


Stories aside, I've been resuming the gallery uploads a little bit. I hope you enjoy my new muse.