That awkward moment whence people try to take your objects on the street and you are not OK with it.
I’m sure if one is a mugger then this is a highly lucrative position with a high risk to reward ratio.
LACK OF STARS
I’ve only been mugged once, and even then it was a strange and awkward experience based off terrible misconceptions. It was also very scary. Me and my friend Anna were in Newtown many years ago, and we’d decided on some form of whim to visit her ex-boyfriend.
Now, the problem with any story involving Anna and I at this point in my life, is that you can never tell at what point or stage or level of drunk we are at. Perhaps we went there already drunk, or perhaps we got drunk there. Who knows. But an accurate summary of the night involved sitting on this guy’s windowsill screaming at each other that the other was a communist and should be sent to the Gulag. Then Anna stole a bunch of his knick knacks, and we stumbled out the door.
As we walked out the front of the apartment building, a gang of youths surrounded us. I believe there were close to twenty, and each of them were very aggressive. Opposing this dread crew was the drunken spine imitation of a sick giraffe that I resembled and a tiny drunk redhead with Russian roots and one kidney.
The spokesperson muscled into my blurry vision and jabbed his finger into my chest.
“Were you those cunts that were calling us communists?”
I am confused. I am speechless. I am scared.
Anna, however, was only exhibiting one of those flaws.
“You know, it’s not a bad thing to be a communist.”
As if this was some sort of signal, these democracy loving hooligans put me in a headlock and started punching me in the face. Others took Anna’s handbag and rifled through it, taking her iPod and various other electronic paraphernalia.
As I am being beaten (fairly mildly, I must say) Anna is spouting an admirable diatribe about the comparative benefits of socialism and the historical relevancy of communism.
|Lenin loves ya, baby.|
This eventually weirds these people out to such an extent, that they stop hitting me with their fists, and GIVE BACK all of our stolen belongings, with the strange mission statement of
‘that’s just not what we’re about.’
Perhaps they just really don’t like communism. Maybe they hadn’t heard that the domino theory was debunked around the same time Jim Morrison died.
Anyway, so after a bit more pushing and shoving, THEY BEGIN TO LEAVE and as they recede into the darkness, one turns around and says ‘Don’t fuck with the KJA”.
In the manner of drunks the world over, I ask Anna in a much too loud voice,
“Is that a radio station?”
|This is Hooligan and Addict with you on your morning ride to the crack-den.
Thank God it’s Tuesday!
And congrats to Marty, who guessed that our secret sound was, that’s right, a shivving!
This kind of guff is apparently over the threshold, and they all come storming back, to go through EXACTLY THE SAME PROCEDURE we had already gone through. This time Anna got a bit hysterical, and started roundly abusing them. She managed to construct entire sentences which were 9/10 swears. I’m not sure if it was scary, but it was grammatically implausible. Perhaps this drove them away. Regardless, somehow, we survived to tell the tale, as blurry and hyperbolic as it might be.