A Mother’s Day Dream, Part 3 of 6

Part 3: Intragroup Combat with a White Knuckler

Once upon a time a little, humble club was full of patrons. Joe squeezed by an HB7/8. She was sitting at a 4-top table on a stool slightly past the end and within the space essential for but not exclusively used to walk the only way across club. She was not conservatively within the interstitial table space. There were three females of svelte figure at that 4-top. As Joe squeezed by the HB7/8 he said, “You could get mugged sitting there.” That was all Joe said. He did not linger. He did not threaten. Joe continued to mingle and socialize when he could, and to just vibe and look high value when he couldn’t. Later in the evening Joe stood near the same table with the same group of females. He noticed one wore a tacky tiara and a sash that read “Bride To Be”. The female he had passed by with a remark also wore a sash that said “Bride…”. Joe put a questioning look on his face about the sash, and she told him it said “Bridesmaid”. The third and only other woman at the table was not wearing a sash. Joe settled into the interstitial space on the opposite side of the table from Bridesmaid, enclosed on three sides by the said table with probably two stools, the external wall, and a speaker. The position was conveniently close to the dance floor. Joe faced the dance floor and vibed positive energy. Joe was fishing for interaction and exercising his frame control.

Sometime later a man apparently on familiar terms with Official Bridesmaid stood comfortably beside her. Let’s identify our couple as Herb and Broadway. They looked to be in their late twenties.

Broadway spoke into Herb’s ear as he wore the air of puffy and huffy masculinity. She was confirming that Herb had indeed identified the correct man about something. He was staring with ill will toward Joe. Joe signaled with body language that he was happy and friendly in an attempt to discount the frame of hostility projected by Herb.

More will be said in a later post about the expression of conspiratorial, sinister delight on Broadway’s face. She looked Joe squarely in the eyes as she was speaking directly into Herb’s ear. It was the strongest eye contact from a woman Joe got all night, even at that distance of about six feet.

Joe is getting good at reading body language, and he saw that Herb looked uncompromising in his body language. Joe considered his options and what boundaries he was willing to defend and how much. Joe noticed that Herb was about Joe’s height but probably a bit more muscular. It’s hard for Joe to tell without a third party perspective. Because Joe is roughly my age, he was about twenty years older than angry Herb. Here came Herb stepping forward. Joe held his ground and remained calm: state control is functional strength. Joe wanted to see if his read was really true. Could he dissuade Joe’s hostility by acting untouchable and unconcerned?

The answer turned out to be no. Herb punched Joe in the face. Joe remained calm and had anticipated the punch. He stepped and leaned backward. The punch was definitely thrown with intent to harm but only registered moderate discomfort. Now was Joe’s moment of truth. With an incredulous smile and a gut check to confirm doing what he had never done before, Joe side stepped to the table around a stool and placed his bottle of beer on the table. No patron was seated on that side of the table at that point. Joe never saw that poor, unfinished beer again.

It would seem that Herb was satisfied that Joe had retreated, even though Joe had simply moved back to avoid bearing the punch and had moved along the table deeper into the small area toward the wall. Joe was trapped, if Herb wanted to pursue. He did not. Joe smiled incredulously and mirthfully to win his new fans. Joe calmly walked into the open space of the main pathway and stood squarely in front of Herb at a distance of one step beyond punching range. Herb confirmed his puffy-huffy and stepped forward. Now that Joe was congruent with his animal nature at his service not vermin others, was unencumbered mentally by tax farm ideology that warns of morally prudent altruism, was aware his acceptance to fight for the territory in the vicinity of Broadway had been confirmed, but certainly not for any interest in Broadway, because we know Joe is the prize, Joe became (unlike his prime years self could have) hostile without qualm to angry Herb of the expeditiously closing ill will.

Joe would have had qualms about striking as early as possible in the past. His mother had taught him to turn the other check and assume no ill intent from others. This had caused Joe to yield opportunities of position as well and of first strike. Not this time. Joe decided he was going to stand toe to toe with Herb and measure himself against Herb, whom he thought was likely the lesser fighter. Joe has studied fighting and worked on his fighting ability, such as it is, to be mentally and physically prepared something more than nothing. He knew that sooner or later, given the cultural decline and his calculated response to it, to pursue a life of sexual abundance and ftw, this day would come. He was ready to assert his worth months ago. More importantly, he was still ready in this moment of truth.

Herb and Joe slugged it out, each pretty much holding position, each aiming for the head. Herb threw crosses with a mild hook, along the lines of Quinton “Rampage” Jackson. Joe was able to slip and evade Herb’s punches. Herb was unable to block or evade a few of Joe’s punches. Joe is uncertain how many hit or how well, except that he was short of knockout power. Towards the end of this exchange Joe switched from a southpaw stance to the orthodox or right-handed stance with a scissor move, meaning the legwork of a scissor kick without the kick. He then jabbed with the left. Herb had been more open on his right to Joe’s left and so Joe had gone southpaw and made his left the strong side. Herb was now focused on defending his right from Joe’s left.

The left jab kept Herb’s attention on the threat of Joe’s left fist, which set up a somewhat hooked and upper cutting right cross. There might be a better term for the punch. I’m an almost lover not an almost fighter. Whatever the punch was, it felt to Joe like it hit squarely and was his best strike to that point. Soon thereafter, as it seemed in the heat of the fight, Joe and Herb were standing face to face too close for punching and too far for elbow strikes.

Joe was in his player state, which is to say he was congruent and certain of his goals. There would be natural punishment to fit the natural crime. There would be adequate deterrence dispensed. Herb would be well acclimated to his inferior status. Maybe both their arms were down at this point. Joe read and felt resignation in Herb, motioned with his hands for Herb to come closer (not meaning to be friendly but challenging), and realized that this was an opportunity not to be wasted. It would appear that Herb was purely a striker and purely by fists. Herb was mentally unprepared for the situation he was in.

Joe stepped forward and clamped his palms on Herb’s ears and turned the assembly 90° to put his left hand on top while he rode Herb toward the floor. Success, and kindly without smashing Herb’s head. This was a deliberate kindness, and Joe’s reasoning for it, already suggested, will keep, but the concrete strategy was to limit the conflict methods to fisticuffs.

Joe’s left hand was on top of Herb’s right ear. Herb’s left ear was on the floor. At this point, if Joe would have been smart, he would have checked around for other threats. I always recommend to Joe and to myself to check one’s six, to look over the shoulder, actually both. Betas are frustrated, full of pent up masculinity, and like to attack politically correct and therefore socially safe targets. Joe got lucky and his inexperience did not cost him. Joe knew better, but there is nothing like a real life situation to season a man.

Joe sloppily switched hands on Herb’s ear to free his left hand to pound Herb in the face, as opposed to the back of the head. A guy could break his hand that way, so I’ve heard. Herb turned his head to face the other way. Joe returned his left hand onto Herb’s top ear, now the left ear. It turned out to be for the best. I…I mean Joe is left-handed but throws a harder right hand than left. Joe grew up with abusive parenting and did not want to differentiate himself from the other boys by playing baseball left-handed. Joe asked his dad for advice on which hand should be his glove hand and was told it was entirely his decision. Joe the boy had no idea that being left-handed would have been a recognized and real advantage. Joe swings better from his right side as a result, to this day but progressively less so. Joe had a static target at point-blank range for his power hand that lacked accuracy.

Another gut check for Joe. Was he really going to mete out whoop ass with calm supplemental calculation for the first time in his life?

Can 'o Whoop Ass

Joe swung his right and it seems that Herb was able to move his head, or maybe he got a hand in the way. Joe connected with his pinky more firmly than any of his four fist knuckles at the base of his fingers. It hurt. The opportunity would be wasted if Joe stopped now. He hit again and hit squarely, but the windup was nonexistent. He realized the power could be greatly increased, to his known maximum, using a swing similar to the uppercut Mike Tyson used in his vintage days, using a technique similar to a golf swing. With some experimentation Joe got his swing down and rained direct communication onto Herb’s face.

What a dream this is for me! I almost believe I’m there myself! I’m a writer not a fighter, damn it.

—‘Reality’ Doug, 15 May 2016

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About ‘Reality’ Doug

I'm feed up with herd people, so civil and uncivilized, these feckless barbarians with manicures. Where is Galt's Gulch? and where are the people to go there? Who am I? Who is John Galt?
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