Posted: 03/20/2005 in None

Okay! … Something Happened!

Hello, and welcome to another installment of Warz‘s Mug-House Theatre

It was snowy Saturday evening. I had nothing else better to do. It’s not like I have a thriving social life here. After all, I am new in town. And there’s always work to be done. So I headed to work.

I was walking along 7th Ave., minding my own business. I was thinking about a conversation I had recently with someone. As I approached 3rd St., a fellow turns into me, pulls out a knife.

“Give me your wallet,” he said quietly as he waves his knife, “and you won’t get this.”

I took a good look at him. He was a good 6′ … 3″, maybe 4″. He had a thick build. Shaven head, goatee. He dressed like a construction worker; a big, heavy jacket, thick cargo pants, and big steel-toe construction boots. He looked as mean as he was ugly.

I paused for a moment. “No.”

The guy gave me a perplexed look. “I said, ‘Give me your wallet’!”

“I *said* ‘No’.”

So he lunged at me with his knife. I was careful to position myself far enough away and off to the side. I dodged, grabbed him by the wrist, twisted his arm behind his back and followed through to him on the ground, face-first. I disarmed him of his knife, put my knee into his elbow. I heard his upper arm crack. I broke his arm.

I got up and stepped back. “No means no, ass hole.”

He was furious. It must have been the shock, as he appeared not to have been bothered by the broken arm. He got up and came after me.

I couldn’t help but think to myself why it is that this sort of crap happens to me. I am getting mugged all the time. Is it because I’m Asian? Is it because I look non-threatening? I don’t know. But I’ve been mugged 6 times since I was 16.

I was also thinking why I end up in brawls like this. Then, an old teaching from my dad came through in my head. “In a streetfight, there are no rules, no conduct, no honour or respect. There is no structure. It is not a test of skill. It is a matter of survival.”

Truth is, I often let up. There’s no point in making matters worse. But this time, I see there’s no sense in this fellow. It was time to beat some sense into him.

To call it a fight wouldn’t do it justice. It was an ass-kicking. All of my dad’s teachings came through. “… use his power against him … make him move … use his momentum … exploit the weaknesses … hit and hit hard … don’t let up … don’t give him a chance to counter-attack … beat him into submission … if you lose, don’t come home!”

I’ve never been one to hit or punch. I’ve always used submission moves, holds, tosses and twists; I’m more of a grappler. I did make one mistake. I forgot where I had tossed the knife.

After a third or fourth hip-toss, he landed by the knife. Next thing I knew he was coming at me with knife in hand. He lunged again. I took several steps back, grabbed him by the wrist and tossed him again. He came crashing down on his bad arm. The weight of his body fell onto the curb.

*CRACK!*

He had just broken his arm again, just above his wrist. He finally stopped, as the pain was too much to bear. I found the knife, just as the cops arrived. The scene didn’t look good. Here I was, holding a knife, pinning a badly beaten man down … and claiming that *I* was being mugged.

So, off to the Police Station I went to give my statement. It was pretty textbook … right up until the “… well, we’ll investigate this and we’ll let you know if we decide to press charges against you for assault causing bodily harm.”

“Ah … EXCUSE ME!?”


So there you have it folks … my first real story to report here from mid-March snowy abyss …

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