That summer I was doing my best to improve my skateboarding skills. One of the training sports in the town was an old bridge – a weird place with mysterious flavor that makes you experience all kinds of deja vus, perhaps from previous lives. It was the middle of a hot day and I was pretty much alone except for the occasional grandmother and her screaming granddaughter covered in ice-cream. Nothing was working as expected, and I was really close to give up and call go home.
Out of nowhere a horde of young local football players entered the scene and started walking on the bridge like marching soldiers. They were at least 5 and dressed like funky villagers.
”Cool,” I thought without reporting them as a danger.
When they got close to me one of the guys said:
”Let me ride that skateboard, bro.”
That was problematic.
Here’s the deal: back in the day my skateboard was the most expensive thing I owned money wise. The costs were high because all parts were imported from the U.S. There was no local production of any kind. The skate shops were buying the products at prices corresponding to American standards of living and selling them at sky-high value to make a profit.
Therefore, I had to protect my board from the football invaders.
”No,” I firmly stated while making a grimace saying: ”I know that you will try to fuck with me, but the answer is still no.”
Then, the semi-fatso (gut between 38-42 inches) decided to get aggressive and pushed me. I fell on the ground, and he grabbed my skateboard. I immediately started running after that homoerotic swine like a lioness after a zebra. I wanted to take my precious from his fat sweaty hands. However, one of the other players kicked me in the feet. I fell again.
You have to understand that I wasn’t particularly big – about 6′ and 135 lbs. My chances to win against any of those guys were slim. I was representing the classic about-to-die-from-drug-abuse skater look.
Thereupon the crew of football wannabes surrounded me, and one of them said:
”You will do what we tell you if you want your skateboard back.”
”I am screwed. I should have stayed home and work on my French grammar. Those teen trashes are going to murder me,” I thought and said: ”You tripping, bro! Give me my board.”
I reached for my board, grabbed the upper trucks and pulled hard. The semi-fatso squeezed my throat and pushed me back. Then, another guy kicked me in the mouth with a karate move he had probably seen in a video game. My lip got cut. I had to let go.
The first thing they did was test my skateboard. It was painful to watch. A group of orcs unable to play Solitaire on easy level was testing my board. Every single move was hurting the inner layers of my soul. Each wooden piece coming off my deck felt like a stab. I wanted to headshot those morons with a slingshot.
The circus continued for about 10-15 minutes, which felt like an hour or two.
At one point, other people came to the scene. I was thinking about asking them for help, but didn’t want to sound like a little bitch that can’t handle the situation and said nothing. Besides, who will listen to a grandmother?
Among the visitors there was one girl with a super short white skirt.
Age? I was 14 and 6 months old. She didn’t look much older than me. I guess 17 years and 3 months old top.
The semi-fatso, who was without a doubt a masterful chronic mastrubator waking up with a swollen cock on a daily basis, located the girl. He came close to me and said: ”Slap the girl or I will break your board.”
The choice was simple, but hard – my integrity or my expensive board.
I looked at the semi-fatso. All I saw was raw anger. He was hungry too.
I had no problem with slapping a girl to save my board.
I had a problem with being someone’s bitch.
”Fuck it,” I said and slapped the girl’s ass slightly. She turned around and looked at me with eyes that could reach deep down to my soul’s nuclei. She was more surprised than offended to be honest, but I doubt she was truly enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, the semi-fatso started laughing. I guess he was happy that his self-pleasuring material for the night was set.
She continued her walk normally.
I said to the fatso: ”Give me my board back, lard collector!”. He started laughing again, punched me in the face and stated: ”You will have to do one more thing for to get your board back.”
Honestly, I had no idea what those morons were going to make me do, but I had no intention of finding out. Enough was enough.
This is when the universe decided to throw me a rescue boat – a small stone got into the front wheels of the skateboard. When that happens the board stops and throws you forward. The guy riding it fell on the ground like a sack of bones. I grabbed the skateboard and started running like a mad man. I ran for about a minute without paying attention to anything on my way. I wasn’t going to stop even for a million dollars. After a while, I turned in order to analyze the situation. The morons were actually running after me.
I was like: ”Those permabulkers don’t give up easily.”
I ran for a really long time before I was able to lose them. I guess they really wanted my steal my pants.
I went home, put my board down and sat on the floor, feeling like a coward.
What the hell happened?
Did I make the right decision?
What was I supposed to do?
Was it possible to prevent the issue?
What would Rambo do?
…were some of the questions in my obsessing head.
30 minutes later, I got a revelation:
muscle mass would have had helped
I got on the floor and did a pumping set of push-ups. Something tells me that I looked like a banana from the side. I have no idea how many reps I did. I guess about 6 or 8. Over the next two months, I got to 49 push-ups in a row. All sets were done before my skateboarding session. The goal was to prepare myself to smash those motherfuckers if necessary.
”I will show them who’s the real man,” I was thinking while pumping push-up after push-up.
A few weeks later, I found myself in a PC club, watching a movie.
Out of nowhere the semi-fatso and an older dude who I think was his brother or cousin appeared at the front door. Surprisingly, or not, I was no longer super scared. I was feeling pretty confident thanks to my 49 push-ups, but didn’t want to fight two guys. I was tired of being outnumbered. I decided to use a simple and yet effective prank – tie and run.
I went to a close shop nearby and bought a few cable zip ties. I sat at a computer right behind one of the semi-fatso. We were back to back. I was able to see his fat permabulking neck in my monitor. When he went outside, probably to buy some candies to satisfy his fat cells, I tied the hell out of his backpack to the chair with zip ties. The whole thing took about 10 second, but my hands were shaking the whole time. I moved to another PC from which I was able to observe him. I started a movie – something with Robert De Niro. I think it was called Showtime. Boring.
After an hour and some change the fatso stood up. He was getting ready to go home, I suppose. He pulled his backpack, and the whole chair went up. Great laugh! He called his brother or cousin who was playing Quake on another PC and showed him the situation. Their clueless faces were priceless. They went to the manager of the PC club who was one of those ”hackers” with crazy poodle like hair. I started another movie. After about 30 minutes my time was up, and I had to go. They were still there, looking for a knife.
While my strategic revenge gave me some satisfaction, I knew that beating the hell out of the semi-fatso and his village crew was the real deal. I continued with my push-ups and got to 53 in a row. On August 8, I broke my arm skating and spent 60 days in a right angle cast.
#5 inch arms.