vii.

[repent]

Hey, happy St Patrick's Day! I think everyone deserves to have a little Irish in them, wink wink. As a Southie I know what I plan to do tonight... but before then!

Spirit of St Patrick's, and all, I found this old warehouse that used to hold building supplies and I thought, that looks like a wicked place for a brawl. It's been a while since I went one-on-one with some of you so I figured I'd call one? Sort of a last man standing thing, but without the fatalities.

As free-for-all as I'd love this to be, there should be a few rules. No weapons and no pyrotechnics; keep the Jedi mind tricks at home. A bit of natural supernatural's cool, but no fireballs, witchcraft, massive fucking guns etc. I mean I can drag a couple of peeps to the hospital but how much do I not feel like lugging your bullet-ridden carcasses around? So I'll be checking at the door.

No kids. I don't care how you handle yourself, if you're still in school I don't wanna see you there. Run your own little competition. if you're all grown up but you can't hold your own? I'm not gonna take responsibility if your pretty face gets ruined.

Finally, you can talk about this shit all you want, but if someone calls it quits or falls unconscious, leave 'em alone. Keller and me will be watching.

So I guess if you consider yourself a kickass fighter and want to blow off a little steam this Easter, come down to 34th & West on Friday and join a little friendly competition. Ten bucks entry, winner takes home the cash. You know, just to make things interesting. Doors close at 5pm.

[ Filter: Vilma ]

Yo, Sensei. I know you could kick the ass of pretty much anyone who'd step up to the plate. So do you reckon you could do me a favor, help adjudicate this little rumble? I don't want someone just walking off with the cash. I could get you an umpire chair and everything...

Comments

[giantego]

Three things, Durden! One, I don't work with the geriatrics. They learned not to put me with those back at Sacred Heart, because if there's one thing I can't stand in a hospital, it's a gomer. They just! Won't! Die! I work with trauma injuries and rehabilitative therapy, thank you very much. Which brings me to two — if your little Fight Club goes through, that's exactly what I'll be overloaded with! Because there's absolutely nothing that I love more than cracked ribs, broken bones, dislocated shoulders, fractured pelvises, missing teeth (and eyes, but for the love of god PLEASE do not go as far as that maladjusted bag of douche did), crushed eye sockets, missing chunks of hair and/or skin, and best of all, crushed self-esteem and low morale! God, I mean, that's why I love my job, right? Right! I do it all for you. Three, I may have to come check this out. Just to be sure it's up to standards.

[repent]

I skimmed that, but don't think anyone will refrain from kicking your ass just because you're old or a doctor or whatever. And checking it out still requires the entrance fee. As long as that's clear.

[giantego]

I'm crystal clear on both of those, Faith. I'm a rage machine. A rage machine who has ten dollars to spare.

[repent]

Though if you save any lives on the scene, I'll refund you.

[giantego]

You're on.