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Published June 24, 2009 More Info »
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Published June 24, 2009
My dad is really old. Really, really old. So old that he fought in World War II. You see, when he was 17, he quit his job working at his family’s grocery store in order to join the Navy. He coincidentally enough quit grade school when he was 6 to start working at the family grocery store. And at nine months, he quit gestating to start grade school.

It’s kinda funny when I think about it though, because at the same age my dad was going off to fight in a world war, I was smoking pot and playing Mario Kart instead. And when my dad was my age, he was starting his first family with the two Korean women he raped during the Korean War. And here I am still smoking pot and playing Mario Kart, albeit now with people from Korea – probably my dad’s bastard offspring – thanks to the Nintendo wii’s wifi capability. I can only hope that when I’m his age I’m still smoking pot and playing Mario Kart.



The point of all this is that when my dad was a punk kid in the navy, he used to get into bar fights all the time. Apparently when Navy ships were docked at ports, all the sailors on a particular ship would claim a local bar for the night, and if any other sailors from a rival navy ship would try to come in, the seamen would fight for the right to drink there. And according to my dad, the older sailors often sent him into the bars to start the fights – and usually without the aid of a spinach can.



Not to be outdone, I decided to get in a bar fight of my own – although I didn’t realize I was getting into one until it actually happened. The fight went down about a year or so ago when I was at a local dive called Coach and Horses.

After a couple drinks, my two friends Zach and John went outside to smoke a cigarette while I held our position at the bar.  A few minutes later these two guys walked over and took their spots. One of them was a young gawky guy in his early 20’s. The other guy was this piss drunk Eastern European kid who was slumped over on the bar with his ass sticking towards me. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m pretty sure he farted. And I only say that he farted because I smelled a fart as soon as he stuck his ass in my face.

Now, although I’m convinced that I’m capable of unleashing a berserker rage if I’m ever caught in a fight or flight moment, for the most part I’m not a particularly tough person and I’m not really into physical pain, so I don’t tend to start shit in bars. But something was different that night. I don’t know if it was because I was taller than these two guys, or if because I had a couple drinks in me, or maybe because I felt the support of my friends, but I had to say something.

I turned to the Eastern European guy and asked, “Did you fart?” He looked at me for a beat and said, “nyet.” I didn’t buy it, so I said, “I mean, you can smell it, can’t you?? I don’t care if you farted, it just smells like a fart, and I’d just like to know who did it.”

I could tell that the Eastern European guy was starting to get angry, but I didn’t care, he farted and he needed to admit it.  At that moment, my buddies came back in and I immediately told them that the Eastern European guy farted. Zach was drunk and didn’t care because he was more interested in hitting on some woman at the jukebox. John could kinda smell the remains of a fart but felt like he didn’t have enough evidence to point any fingers at the Eastern European guy.

The Eastern European guy was clearly getting annoyed that whole conversations were taking place about whether or not he farted, and what he potentially could have eaten for dinner. He started giving me this really freaky death stare so I decided to stop harassing him about the fart – although I was convinced that he was cutting some serious cheese that night.

I saw a cute girl sitting at a booth by herself so I decided to start a conversation with her. As soon as I sat down, the Eastern European guy came over to her table and started cock-blocking me.

Instinctually, I turned to the girl and said, “did you know this guy farts in bars?” The girl immediately exploded in laughter and the Eastern European guy started giving me an even more intense death stare. Fortunately for me, my friends came over to the table and the Eastern European guy left.

The whole time we were at the booth I could feel the Eastern European guy staring at me, and every time I looked over my shoulder I could see him glaring at me with that same Eastern European death stare.

After another couple of drinks, Zach and John went outside for another smoke  break. Alone, and without my friends, the Eastern European made his move. All of a sudden I felt this thud on the back of my head, followed by the sound of glass breaking. The fucking Eastern European guy smashed a beer bottle on my head – a Corona beer bottle to be exact – still filled with beer and lime residue. And after he smashed the bottle on my head it, he ran out the door like a typical Eastern European coward.



Believe it or not, I was okay. I was just in shock that a guy would actually smash a beer bottle over my head because I accused him of farting. But more than anything, I was really proud of the fact that I had taken a beer bottle to the head and I didn’t pass out or anything.

By this time, my friends had seen the Eastern European guy run out the door and they came back inside to see what happened. The cute girl at the table went on to explain that Eastern European guy tried hitting on her earlier but got angry when she turned him down.

My roommate grabbed the Eastern European’s gawky friend and wanted to beat him up for revenge. But as it turns out, the gawky guy was just a college kid visiting L.A. because he was thinking about moving out here when he graduated. And he barely even knew the Eastern European guy. He was a friend of a friend and was just letting the gawky guy crash at his place for a few days. Because of that, I couldn’t let my friends beat him up. He didn’t do anything wrong. But I did give him a message. I told him to tell his Eastern European buddy that I know he farted. The gawky kid thanked me for my compassion and disappeared down the Sunset strip.

So at this point, I did the only natural thing I could do – I asked the girl if she wanted to have sex with me. And keep in mind, it’s not that she was even that attractive – I just figured it was the least she could do because that fart joke saved her life. Seriously, if it wasn’t for me, that Eastern European might have taken out his drunken fart aggression on her. And on top of that, she had just witnessed me show mercy to the Eastern European’s gawky friend. I thought I was lookin’ pretty amazing at that point.

Do you think any of that mattered to her? Nope. Not at all. She could have cared less.  Apparently she’s into developing relationships with the men she has sex with first. What a slut… So I went home, took a shower, and washed the bits of broken Corona bottle out of my head.

If there’s one thing I can take away from all this, it’s that Eastern European guys have really smelly farts and no senses of humor about them, whatsoever. But who knows, maybe he didn’t even fart at all. I can’t tell for sure. I was kinda drunk to be honest with you.
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