Sometime in 1990/91 I was 19/20 years old and had a symbiotic relationship with a 25-year-old, (unfortunately not that way, we were both straight white males) I had a low-level job(s) and (beer) money, Jim could buy beer and get me into the bars. It worked out well for the 8 months or so we hung out.

One Saturday night about 02:00 as we were driving out of town from (probably) some strip club (it wasn’t the 60s where you could drive with the beer on your dash, but still pretty lenient back then) he decided that it would be a good idea to flip off the next car we seen.
This was in the 3rd biggest city in Missouri, approx. 140,000 at the time. The road we were on was a 5-lane fancy city road with two driving lanes and a turning lane. There were very few people on the road at that time of night, really only other drunks would be my guess. The next car we see is a Jeep (actual Jeep, not some truck/SUV from the company Jeep) and so being intoxicated and easily led astray, I followed along with the joke and flipped off the Jeep as they passed.

I really didn’t even think they would notice; BOY WAS I WRONG! The Jeep made a you-ee and were quickly behind us. We were really in no shape or actually looking for a confrontation, but it was not too late: we just decided we would take the next turn (which also was a back way to our small hometown.) Problem solved.

Not exactly; seeing as how we were drunk, Jim didn’t want to run a red light. As we are setting in the left turn lane in Jim’s little 1985 Chevy S-10, just waiting for the green light, waiting to make our get-a-way, the back window exploded! What the HELL! Seems like these fuckers had just thrown a beer bottle through the back glass! Well now our flight or fight response had kicked into fight mode!

We drove two blocks and turned down the street (I really don’t remember the conversation, probably something along the lines of we’re going to kick these fuckers’ ass!) because there was a field there and not just houses. I grabbed two cans of beer, got out of the passenger side just as two men got out of the passenger side of the Jeep, I said “Hey sorry about flipping y’all off, would ya like a beer?” they said “Yeah, sorry about the back glass” and we sipped beer and became best friends. HAHAHA

Actually, I threw the beer cans at the assholes, no idea if either can connected, and we commenced to brawling. Jim was busy with the driver of the Jeep, while I was busy with the two passengers. I guess I was doing alright, but definitely wasn’t winning. (As those of you who have been in fights can probably attest, you aren’t thinking consciously, just reacting.) So after about 10 minutes (HAHA) 1 minute? I was backing up and away from my adversaries, I looked over to see how Jim was doing. I guess he had lost sooner than I had, he was across the street knocking on a door and the other foe was walking towards me, which would mean three on one, me being the one. NOT GOOD.

I started yelling at him that I clearly needed help. Jim does come back to join the fight, leaving me with just two rivals to face off against. Well, we got back after it. I don’t remember anything until I feel three distinct blows to my face: left side, blam; right side, pow; left side, ka-bam! (These are the first punches I remember feeling in any fight, when you actually feel the punches, you know you are beat, at least I did.) I was able to back pedal, get my hands up and say “You win, I give up”. By this time we were at least 150 yards! (wink) from the truck, and all I wanted to do was get back in the little Chevy S-10, have a beer and a cigarette, and get home.

I guess I was a decent challenge to these two other late-night drunks, because when I gave up, they allowed me to give up and quit the fight. As I start walking back to the truck I notice that the driver of the Jeep has Jim by the collar and bent over the wheel well of the little S-10. I remember thinking that by the time I reach the truck he will have let him go and we can leave. That was not to be. So, plan B pops into my head. I reach for the door handle and open the door; my two adversaries were backed off about 5 feet. I acted like I was going to get in the truck, but then turned to my left, did a crow hop and landed one of the best punches of my life on that MF’r holding Jim across the wheel well. I know S-10’s aren’t all that big, but his ass landed by the bumper and slid another foot or so. His buddy grabbed me, and I him, and he tried to knee me in the family jewels, while I blocked his attempt with my knee.

The driver, while picking himself up of the ground, said “lets’ get out of here”, and they did. But unbeknownst to Jim and I, the real reason was that some people in an apartment had heard the commotion and were walking toward us with guns. I have no idea how much they had seen, but the Jeep people left and the apartment people let us into their place to clean up.

By the time we got back to the S-10 the cops were there. They asked us a few questions and then let us go. It was obviously a drunk fight and no need to spend any more police time on this foolishness.

As we were driving home Jim said that the reason he was at the door trying to get help was because it was the hardest he had ever been hit in the ribs and he couldn’t hardly breath. The next day he called me and said that he had actually been stabbed. He had called the cops and this perked their interest slightly, but we didn’t have any description or license plate, so nothing ever came of it.

At this time I was still living at home with my mother. I put my shirt in the sink with hot water. The next morning the only thing my mother said was that you get blood out with cold water.