Me 01 : Rednecks 00

I'll have to let psychologists determine what exactly brought me to a cowboy bar in the first place. I'm Irish, tattooed, predisposed to rock and roll, MGD, abortion, and American Spirit cigarettes, what good could possibly have come from the adventure? Was I looking for trouble, or did trouble find me? Did my elbow find his face, or did his face find my elbow?

Keeping me honest (haha), I didn't actually get to sit down and enjoy my beer as is portrayed in the last frame. The entire confrontation lasted about 1.5 seconds. I felt chivalrously compelled to action. I warned him to back off, and he didn't, so I charged him like a Twiggy blitzkrieg, powerful, swift elbow-to-face action. He fell to the floor, surprised (but not unconscious). Instantly, a pair of hands fell on my shoulders and ushered me to the door. It was a waiter. He suggested I leave in case anyone should call the authorities, but smiled and admitted he was about two seconds away from clocking the guy himself.

Come on. Artistic license, people! To be sure, I did have a smile on my face the rest of the night. This was my first bar fight, and my first fight of any kind since my wild and crazy Junior High days.

OK. The fight is on. Do you...