JustMattHenry.com: gossip, life and humor

                                                                                                            Matthew W. Henry

            Your Mama’s a whore.  I banged your sister.  Those are fighting words.  Those are words that would make me thump my chest, put up my fists, and say, “Bring it on, Becky.  Outside.  Now.”  How can a simple question, spoken by the sweetest South Carolinian you’ve ever met with the sweetest southern drawl, a question so light, fluffy and cream filled, spark what could be the fight of the century? 

            “All I wanted to know was what his favorite Little Debbie Snack Cake was.”  Kai tells me, lighting a Marlboro Ultra Light. 

            Harmless.  Or so he thought.  He proposed that question to several people that spring night at Jr’s Bar and Grill.  Most laughed or smiled, knowing that when Kai got a little drunk, he got a little silly.  He is not the kind of person that got violent, obnoxious or moody.  He’s a simple guy from a simple town in the hills of western South Carolina.  His momma was the kind of woman, sitting out on the front porch in her favorite green sweat suit, who always had a Winston in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other.  His father, although an avid Harley fan, was forever the town flirt, and has patted the bottom of and winked at every cute waitress in a thirty mile radius of home.  His sister recently had the wheels taken off her double wide trailer.  Everyone knows Kai’s family, and not one bad word has been said about any of them. 

            Kai and his best friend Clay (another from South Carolina) parked themselves at their usual corner by the stairs, kindly polling passer-bys as they ventured up the stairs to the bathroom and pool table. 

            “You know how that bitch gets when he’s been drinking,” Clay says, and then, imitating Kai, “Hey, Helen, curious minds want to know…what’s your favorite Little Debbie Snack Cake.  I don’t know why he’s callin’ everybody Helen, but he did.”

            Enter Johnny Cocktail.  He’s a regular at Jr’s.  Six foot four, at least 230 lbs.  He’s a big guy with an even bigger temper.  We don’t know if that’s his real name; all we know is that he likes to drink, he likes showtunes, and he would pick a fight with his own shadow if he could.  The rumor mill is guessing that he was a big kid that got picked on growing up, and now he’s taking revenge. 

            “You don’t ask a big guy what his favorite Little Debbie Snack Cake is.  Now, that’s just down right mean.”  Clay offers as to what perhaps sent Johnny Cocktail over the edge. 

            Kai did, however, and Johnny Cocktail tore into him like a 12 oz. steak.  He cornered poor little Kai, who is only five foot six and about as heavy as my right leg, and started calling him backwards, red neck, crooked nose, mother fucker, inbred, illiterate…all the stereotypes he could think of. 

            “The next thing I remember (after he called me all those names),” Kai continues, “I picked up my gin and tonic, took a sip, and said, “okay, chunky.”  And turned away.   Then, all I know is that he had his hand around my throat, I was pinned up against the wall, and my feet were not touchin’ the floor.”

            As Kai struggled to free himself from Johnny Cocktail’s massive hand, a woman nearby comes running over, banging her fist on Johnny Cocktail’s back, shouting “NO, NO, NO!”

            “I don’t know what to tell you,” Clay says, “But it took myself, a lesbian, and a Puerto Rican to get that guy off Kai.  And he did not spill one drop of his gin and tonic the whole time.  His little feet were just dangling off the ground, and you know, I had to agree with some a’ what he said.  Kai does have a lazy eye, a greasy nose and those gap teeth, and that ain’t from natural breeding.” 

            As the fight broke up, and both parties excused ever so politely from the bar by the manager, Kai recalls standing outside with Clay, fiending for a cigarette. 

            “I was so embarrassed.  I was humiliated.  I couldn’t even defend myself.  And now for the past two weeks every time I see Penny (the lesbian) she’s goin’ round telling everyone how she saved my life.  I feel like Jodie Foster in The Accused.” 

            Clay sums up the night in this way, “That was damn near the funniest thing I ever did see.   When it comes time for our end of the year review, this is going to top everything that’s happened.  I mean, I’m glad Kai’s not dead an’ all, I mean, he is my best friend.  And I was just as surprised as everybody else that it wasn’t me getting my ass kicked.  I’m usually the trouble maker. ” 

            The rumor mill churned out all kinds of stories there for a while:  how Johnny Cocktail killed another one, how Kai’s laid up in the hospital clinging to life, who started what, and how drunk was who, and so on.  Kai hasn’t stepped foot in the bar since, knowing that Johnny Cocktail is always there. 

            “I’m not up for round two,” Kai says, “But let me tell you, if he picks on me again, I’m gonna kick that son of bitch right in the balls.”