One never knows when they will be forced to engage in fisticuffs. For this reason I am always prepared and aware of my surroundings. Like a ninja. Or a boyscout. However, sometimes the activity I am engaged in skews my perception of how my bout will end. These are some examples:
While hanging out, a neutral observer will come and inform me that a fellow around the way wants to fight. Before I can kindly object, we are surrounded by people yelling and cheering for us to throw down. Caged in, with no chance to escape, my opponent begins to circle me, waiting for an opportunity. He finally lunges at me to try to bring me down, but negates to defend himself against a submission attack. I lock in a double reverse deathgrip guillotine choke until he begs for mercy. An incredibly hot girl wearing nothing but a bikini top and boy short underwear jumps from the crowd and into my arms.
While entertaining the most stunning lady in the room, I attract the ire of the rest of the males in attendance. Clearly, they are intimidated by how smooth and sophisticated I am, and with how much ease I make the beautiful goddess sitting next to me smile and laugh and swoon with lust. They elect a representative to step forth and forcefully remove me from the room, but with an uncanny combination of grace and power I take my attackers wrist and bend it behind his back to the very brink of fracture. I then whisper in his ear (in a manner which makes an innocent onlooker believe I am simply sharing a delightful anecdote) that it would be wise if he were the one to leave. I then return to the gorgeous woman who asks me if I would like to accompany her home.
Out of the blue a bigger, stronger, vastly superior athlete will saunter up and murder my best friend with his fists. I will kindly tell the gentleman that I do not agree with his actions, and that vengeance will be mineYo. I rise up, back to my feet, just a man with my will to survive and he quickly cold clocks me back to the ground. He severely beats me for about 6 minutes before I land one hopeful punch, that makes the murderous bully back up and say "my God, who is this machine with which I spar?" We shall then trade blows for approximately 5 minutes until the superhuman athlete somehow runs out of gas before I do. Having punched himself out he will have no defense against the onslaught of blows that I am about to reign down upon him. I then go into my "chopping down the tree" punches and in dramatic fashion knock the ruffian out cold, then run into the arms of my adoring lover.
At dinner by myself, while walking back to my lonely corner table from the bathroom, I clumsily knock into the table of a beautiful woman, and her date. I awkwardly apologize, and offer to buy them drinks, even though theirs did not spill. The man, feeling territorial, stands up to engage in battle, but I protest. "Please, don't, I don't want to fight you," I beg, as I try to get away. He catches up to me, grabs me by the back of the shirt, and with one punch knocks me out. I awake groggily a few moments later to see the angelic woman standing above me, doubled over with laughter.