Sunday Night's Alright for Fighting

This is a story that happened just recently. I was at the college working on some lame documentary project and it was getting late. After putting many hours in said lame documentary I was ready to call it a night. I saved all my progress, turned off the lights and trudged out to my truck. It was time to go home and away I went.

Driving through the town of Desert, Utah on a Sunday night is always great. There is not a lot of people out and the whole town has a hushed and quiet tone. I really enjoy it. On this night, however, things were about to get noisy.

A hive of scum and villainy.

While rushing home, I made a turn onto a street and cut off a small car. I have to admit that it was totally my fault and I was a huge dick. I could have waited literally two seconds and this whole story would not have happened, but I didn't. A huge douche was I. Now the person was behind me. Pissed.

The person was revving their engine and riding my tail. I was apologizing in my rear view. This did not help the situation and looking back, this person probably thought I was flipping them off. As we drove through town, all the while this person is continuing their dance of revving, honking and tailing. It was going to be a long ride home.

I am the cause of his pain.

After a couple minutes, I rolled up to a stop sign and did what the sign asked. The person behind me slammed on the breaks and squealed to a stop. Then I heard the door open and close. Peeking in the rear view, I saw the person, a disheveled man who looked like the actor French Stewart if French Stewart enjoyed meth for a number of years. I let out a sigh.

French Stewart told me to roll down the window. I was a bit curious, so I obliged. He had some choice words for me. Most of them involving a word that rhymes with duck. One thing that I noticed about Mr. Stewart was he smelled like alcohol. Bad. French then ordered me to step out of my truck. I told him I was not going to do that. He yelled some more. I was sick of him, so I stepped out.

Now I am a pretty big guy, so my wife tells me, and that is something I always forget. French Stewart noticed my size and took a step back, but because he was powered by alcohol he did not back down. I told him I was sorry and I did not want to fight. French Stewart did not care about things like laws and reasons and because of that he took a swing.

He looked like this, only less crazy.

 I have to admit, I was a bit shocked. French Stewart landed me square on the job and hit me a bit harder than I thought he would. I rubbed my jaw and looked at French. He knew he was in it and it was on. I straightened up and raised my fists. I stepped in and punched him square in the nose. French stumbled and fell right on his back. 

He groaned a bit and I walked over to him. I asked him if he needed help and he shook his head. I reached down and helped him up and into his car. The whole time I kept asking if he needed me to call an ambulance or a ride to the doctor. French was a bit confused, stunned and kept shaking his head. I made sure he was in all the way and closed his door. He sped away. I rubbed my jaw, which still ached a bit and walked back to my truck.

I let out a laugh and drove home. Life can be interesting.

In this story, I am played by Channing Tatum.