"Well c'mere then!"




Folks, as far as I'm concerned, the Marquis of Queensbury is some mincing hairdresser. I drop everything in my hands except a cheap saucepan I thought would swing the best and make a run at him. I put my head down as I turned to run, and probably got about five feet before I picked it up to look at my target. Hence, I did not get to see him crap his pants in surprise. I did get to the look of genuine terror on his face as he turned and ran. He sprinted into the driveway. We ran around a parked car, and then he ran for the car he came in. At this point the upstairs neighbor and another guy- who I mistook for the painter- run in between us.

The only reason I didn't brain the guy who looked like the painter was, well, because I thought he was the painter. I have a shitty facial memory, I had met the painter a few days ago (who, by the by, also shared my exact opinion on how much of a prick this kid was) and he was an alright guy. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize it was *not* the painter, and by then, it's all over. Turns out the guy who looks like the painter was with VagLips.

Anyone who's seen a fight that doesn't really get going knows what happens next. The people in between appeal for calm; if it was an even fight without a clear winner, where someone doesn't crap their pants and flee, the two parties might gesticulate at each other in order to try to convince people around them who's tougher without actually fighting. For me, it was over over- calm had been restored to Claudland, and if there was any doubts about me before, well, the whole neighborhood, from the landscaper, to the mail lady, to the hippies next door and the vietnamese family on the left, they had all just watched me chase a guy around the house with a saucepan. Thank his lucky stars that was the most dangerous thing I happened to be carrying at the time, because until that moment, I didn't think I was capable of such a thing. You usually read about that kind of thing in the court logs and wonder "wow, there must be a good story behind 'Assault with a Deadly Weapon (washbasket)'." Claud turns and goes to pick up the pile of stuff he had dropped.

"You aren't nothing, you little bitch!"

I turn- and in the calm voice now- with actual calm, I reply:

"The only reason you say that now is because you think you are safe behind two people. Now that you're running your mouth again, are they still willing to get cracked in the face for you?"


I look VagLips in the eyes, and he quickly looks away. There is no subsequent challenge, and I go about my business.


Unbelievably, he's not done.

Now, he calls the landlord. When I get back to get another armload of stuff, he starts demanding that the landlord tell me to give him his key then. In the landlord's calm voice, he tells VagLips that this is not his apartment yet, and that his stuff is there out of my good graces. He does the diplomatic thing; I'm moving out, VagLips is moving in, and my landlord knows how his bread is buttered. Me and the landlord make plans to meet up at his office shortly after to do the last of our financial business.

I'm going to miss that landlord. Good landlords are few and far between, and as people who have read the Unabridged Claud know, I've seen a string of shitty landlords. Because when I got to that office, the first thing he said to me was:

"Claud, he said there was a guy in a ponytail threatening him, and I hadn't seen you with your hair out. I thought someone was breaking into the apartment, which is why I hurried over. Because if I had known that was you chasing that little fucking punk around with a frying pan, I would have laughed and hoped he gave you another reason."

So kids- and most importantly, young college age males- let's review the lessons here.

1) If you aren't a fighter, don't talk like you are.
2) If you challenge someone to a fight, they might want to fight.
3) Don't challenge someone while they're carrying an armload of blunt objects.
4) Not all crazy people are in jail. Some of us don't even have records.