ya, still feeling delicate. Lots of sleep and no snow boarding. Drain Bramage is no laughing matter. Amazing how quickly they see you in the emergency room when you list "had injury" on the admittance form. I could have used a laughing gristle but since my last fight was 10 years ago, and I tend to walk away from physical fights, I have not cultivated a crew of the gristle and chop. Perhaps its time to start.

So here's the rundown on my introduction to Fight Club meets Where's Waldo, if anyone is interested...11:45 pm Wednesday night, Feb.28, a night that will live in infamy and tribe. I was minding my own, a slice at the Pizza Orgasmica on Filmore, when a friend was 'baited' by a crew of two guys and one crazy chica. They asked him his thoughts on fake boobs, to which he replied, "My philosophy is that you date them but don't marry them", to which she responded by screaming and yellling and poking and punching. Seems she had just had the boys done.

Enter Mongo, stage right to find crazy chica and some 6'3" silver-spooning, sucker-punchin Marina Gentleman demanding my friend leave. But more about him later. My friend, happily slicing, has begun to retreat as HIS gentlemanly instincts to not hit a member of the fairer sex and finish his pizza in peace win out. Once on the outside, she continues to follow him and poke him and punch him...with no reaction but to defend the blows. Mongo tries to go inside to retrieve his slice, only to be told to leave wthout said slice by said Marina Gentleman. Mongo refuses and Marina Gentleman pulls another "baiting" move - a moving screen that no four-eyed NBA ref could ever miss. Mongo waits for impact, steps back, and propels right shoulder into said gentleman's chest, sending him back a few feet.

It is at this monent Mongo realizes he has been baited and so, not wanting to break his uniterrupted string of no fights, begins to turn around and withdraw, keeping peripheri taut on Marina Gentleman ,who winds up a nice wide left-handed roundhouse and lets looose.

Thank god Mongo mom taught me to look both ways 17 times before crossing a street. I credit her with saving my jaw from almost certain obliteration at the hands of this punk. Long story short, I duck right, his blow glances off my back, I wrap him and take him down to the ground in the warming embrace of head lock. And hold him there. You see, I was never much of a brawler and it had been 10 years since my last. I keep him close enough so his blows are damageless...until something, a boot smashes into my head from nowhere. I release my head lock and defend my head, allowing Marina Punk the opportunity to land some blows, along with his friend who continues to kick my head and neck from above.

So that's it. Blessfully, someone wrapped the kickboxing champion and allowed me to gain some distance from the punk to find my bearings and lick my wounds. Even luckier, my cat scan and x-rays came up roses. most lucky of all though, I met a friend of Jack Kerouc's in the emergency room waiting area and heard a new story seperating the man from the myth.

And yes, this all really did happen to me. You think my life is strange, ask me about my trike and how it saved me from being crushed by the uberman.

Okay, back to the front.