One Tough Son of a Bitch

George and I sat at a table drinking beer

in the smoke-filled local neighborhood bar.

He sat right over there, George pointed,

second stool from the right. Tiny we call

him, even though he weighs three-hundred

pounds.

Some other guy, never saw him before,

sat a few stools away had too much to

drink, and was egging Tiny on for a fight.

Tiny ignored him for a while, but could

only take so much of that loud mouth’s

guff. He tells the fella to shut the fuck

up. Better if he knew what was good for

him.

Now the other guy was no slouch either,

but he didn’t know that Tiny had a whole

lot of whoop-ass mean in him.

Well, enough was enough and the stranger

approaches Tiny and they came to blows.

George took another sip of beer and paused.

What happened then, I was more than curious

to know? Tiny, he’s still seated see, yet he

throws a mighty blow, and knocks the sucker

to the floor.

So, the guy shakes his head, wipes the blood

from his lips with his sleeve and pulls out a gun.

Tiny, he stands up and goes for the guy, who

then fires away hitting Tiny in the crotch.

And then what? I said. George shook his head

Smiling. Tiny didn’t flinch a bit, mind you.

Took one square in the nuts without so much

much as a whimper.

He grabs the gun and cold cocked the bastard.

Square in the nuts, I snickered with surprise?

What then, I asked? Well, that Tiny is one tough

son of a bitch, I tell ya. He goes back to his

stool sits down, bloody and all, orders another

beer, and waits for the cops and the ambulance

to arrive.

Sounds like a good idea to me, I said to George

as I called out, Hey Barkeep, two more Buds

over here!

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 5-24-2020