Style. I Haz It.

At the new job, most days the dress code is business casual.

But -

Game night...  Suits required.

Gotta make another run to Shanghai for more suits.
Mine are suitable for bodyguard duty or funerals, as a rule.

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

On The Left Coast -

...The left coast of Florida, that is...

I've been busy as the proverbial paper hanger since I arrived here in Tampa...
Folks in the arena have been very welcoming, and I'm doing my best not to scare anyone unnecessarily. At least not my co-workers. My vendors are a different story.
I've had a come-to-Jeebus meeting or two with Brighthouse and another vendor who think that it's a good idea to come to the Arena on a game night under the pretense of "preventative maintenance" or to be on hand "just in case" and hang out in the suite level or the club level and watch the game.
Wrong.
They could get away with that shit under the previous regime- but no more.
FTMF

So... Last week was the company Holiday party-
The Woman Who Knows Most Things came down for the festivities- as always, she was a delight, and her very presence increased my social standing at the company through her charm and personality.
Interesting to note- We were sitting with my boss & his wife, our in-house network engineer (stag), our marketing Exec VP & his wife.
There were 3 or 4 empty chairs at the table when we went up to the buffet, and when we came back the CEO (Mr. Griggs) and VP of Corporate and Community Affairs - Dave Andreychuk followed us to the table and sad down with us to eat. Dave was the team captain when the Lightning won the Stanley Cup in 2004.

This is Dave...
Seems he spent some time down in Marathon during the beginning of lobster season this year- 
He, Mr. Griggs and I talked Keys fishing & diving, and we all talked about kids, our own and others...

During the party I opined that in my former position I didn't lack for fresh air and (occasionally) sunshine as many of my events were golf or tennis tournaments, and thus outdoor work kept me in Vitamin D and that now I would need to guard against the standard IT Manager's pallor by making sure I got outside - preferably near the beach, as often as our schedule would permit.

The day AFTER the holiday party I made the trip back to Jacksonville with The Woman to pick up my motorcycle, or as she calls it - my Japanese girlfriend, and bring it back to Tampa.

Now, suitably equipped for getting outside and into touring mode I headed out on Sunday morning...
No sense in overdoing it, I headed just a few blocks, over to the Blind Tiger in Ybor for a cortadito and to read the local fish wrapper.
 


After the tiny glass of carbon con Leche, I headed west eventually hitting Clearwater Beach, then turned south.
As I headed down the Beaches I made note of several likely spots that held the promise of adult beverages, served in questionable conditions, probably by some nefarious people, for exorbitant prices. Just my kind of places.
After a long midday ride I crossed back from the Beaches into the lovely community of Pasadena,  and finally stopped at Ted Peters Smoked Fish restaurant- famed in several Food TV mentions as a foodie destination.

AND they weren't kidding- if you like smoked fish, you'd love this place...

I had a lovely dish of smoked fish dip... Ambrosia.
 
Folks sitting near me indulged in smoked salmon, smoked mullet, smoked mackerel, and one Airedale had a tasty-looking (not smoked) burger.
My server Chris tempted me with a taste of their hot German potato salad. I was, however, able to maintain my will power and didn't put in for a side order of it- trying to conserve caloric intake as much as possible.

I was back on two wheels shortly thereafter- it looked like some ominous weather approaching from the South so I eschewed the scenic route and took I-275 back to Downtown Tampa, arriving back a my humble abode just before the rain began to fall...

A little 100 mile jaunt around the Tampa- Clearwater- St. Pete communities...

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday...

TBG - - Livin' the Dream

I Am NOT The Man With Whom To Fuck

"Hey Big Guy...
tell us something about that latest trip to Shanghai."

Jeebus, where to begin.

Well, this year the cameraman that covered the player walkouts for the broadcaster is a slight Spaniard named Juan.

We usually stand together for about five minutes waiting for the players and the ATP Tournament Managers to arrive, then we walk out for introductions before start of play.

I'm usually there because we transition a semi-public area where high-end sponsors can stand and watch the behind-the-curtain pre-match ritual.
Part of the percs of being a title sponsor at a 1000-series ATP event...
It would be bad for some crazed fan to rush a player to get an autograph/selfie when the players have their war faces on...

So... while we wait, I usually shoot the breeze with CameraDude.
Except this year the usual CameraDude (Skippy) isn't there. Juan is the videojockey.

He is on headset with the Director in the TV Truck...

As we chat,  he gets the thousand-yard stare then he points the camera at my face.

I can tell he is getting some instruction from the director and it doesn't look like good news...
He keeps the camera on me as he relays the conversation.

Juan CameraDude: "uh...From the director I have a message."
Yours Truly: *raised eyebrow stare*
JCD: "He says that you are the big man but he can...-his words- kick your ass."
YT: "(scoff) I'm sure."
JCD: "He is saying this. Not me."
YT: "Players coming. We'll pick this up another time." I give the camera the forked-fingers to the eyes 'I'm watching you' gesture and we walk the players out to the floor.

This exchange escalated daily... Always started by Director via JCD.

JCD: "The Director...I'm sorry, he says to tell you he will be...opening the can of Whip Ass? on you.."
Points camera at me to get reaction.
YT: "Really. Well... tell him his won't be the first snot-nosed TV-dweeb ass I have kicked, but he can be the next."

And things escalated...

JCD: "Director- he wants to know if you are ready for your ass kicking."
YT: "This is getting tiresome... Tell him to bring a sandwich, a cold drink and a band-aid 'cause I'm going to be hungry and thirsty after I'm done whipping his ass."

Later...

JCD: "Director would like to know what kind of flowers your widow would like."
YT: "Tell him when we tangle, I'm gonna knock one of his lungs loose... I'll be on him like rust on a pump handle."

Now in the old days TV trucks were man-territory- very few of the fair sex were in the production vehicles or on the PL circuit. Now, there are women everywhere...And as some of my more colorful and creative comebacks are quite, uh... descriptive, I was a bit apprehensive to really rip into him, but after a little reflection, any woman in a TV truck has probably got some pretty thick skin and has probably heard some pretty bad stuff.

So, by the end of the week I had a great script running through my mind for our final confrontation...

JCD: "Uh, Sir. The Director. He says you are obviously the little girl, and he has won the war with you. He has lost all respect as he can insult you and you will not face him."
YT: "Hm." I address the camera directly- "Hey Director Man- I hope you wore your pretty pink panties today... After I do this walk-out, I'm coming out to the truck and I'm going to bitch-slap you silly, then knee-walk you to the middle of the broadcast compound, bend you over and have my way with you, and I'll sell your ass to any takers for 5 kuai a pop. You're going to fly back to Australia with a size 14 poop-chute and knot on your head so big it's gonna need it's own postal code."
JCD: "*speechless*" then  "In the truck, they are all laughing."
YT: "Laugh it up, ladies. I'm gonna tear into him like a stray dog into a restaurant dumpster." 

We do the final walk-out and I have a cold drink, then head out to TV Land.

TV Trucks aren't made for Ogres to pass through silently and stealthily, so I embrace my entrance.

I fill the doorway on my entrance... The guys on the back bench have a deer-in-the-headlights look.

YT: "Where is that piss-ant motherfucker who needs a mudhole stomped into his ass?"
One of the Back Benchers: "Oh shit... Someone better call 999."

The closest one half-heartedly points toward the front bench.
I stomp past them up to the front.

As I arrive, a long rally is just beginning, so no switching will be needed...

The three guys on the front bench look up and the two on the right point to the guy on the left.

Front Bench Guys: "He's the one who thinks he can kick your ass..."
YT: (*loudly cracks knuckles*) "I've been waiting all week for this... Are you ready, Little Man?"

Director stands up and faces me... I tower over him....
A long moment passes. The truck is deadly silent.
Finally we both break into a laugh and have a firm and hearty handshake and bro hug- 

YT: "Dude! Good to see you... Sorry I couldn't make it our earlier."
Director: "Absolutely... Glad you could make it out. Drinks tonight after we get back to the hotel?"
YT: "Absolutely... See you tonight."

The entire truck is agog.  Their hearts start beating again and are all grinning and breathing a sigh of relief.

The Director (Guy from Gearhouse) and I ran into each other at the hotel on the day before the tournament started and laid the groundwork for this... 

He had been playing it up inside the truck all week.

Most of the guys in the truck were at the bar that night- 

Guy had done a masterful job leading everyone on, and when I went out there they were absolutely certain that I was going to rend him into little Director bits...
We all played it perfectly.

Poor Juan, though...

He had to relay all the messages every day and he was absolutely sure I was going to take my anger out on him...

Not my best prank, as practical jokes go, but probably one of our most successful ones.

No one injured, no property damage, and some good old-fashioned trash talk...

Good times... Good times.

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

-TBG

You Talkin' To Me?

Names and monikers use in addressing me during the Rio Games

Hey!
Big Jay
John (used by those who don't know better or know me by legal paperwork. Like cops and attorneys.)
Big Man
Big Fella
Bigg'un
Yank
Hey- IDS guy...
Hoss
Harley Davidson
Famous / Amazing!
NBC
Big American
Gringo

 
I'm sure there were some terms/names used about me- but as long as they were polite when they actually spoke to me, I didn't rip anyone's arms off.

TBG - Travelin'

Helpful Hints for Rio from The Czar

After I fired off a cry for help, The Czar (may his toenails never fester) comes through with a timely and accurate assist:

Dear Uncle Jay,
You’re right that the key word for traveling to Brazil is “don’t.” Of course, that makes it sound like you shouldn’t travel there at all; in reality, (1) you shouldn’t travel to South America at all and (2) the word don’t really applies to everything related to Brazil.

This actually is Rio. This may not be one of the Olympic sports, but that doesn’t mean you won’t see this at some venues.

Brazil is basically all the cut-throat lunacy of a Mexican pirate town plunked helpfully in the center of a sweltering jungle, featuring a river filled with creatures that have teeth the size of your aunt and the predilection to eat something her size with them. 

Another feature of Brazil is the fact you can drive about ten minutes in any direction (in theory, as there aren’t nearly enough roads) and find yourself in a stone-age culture equipped with blowguns and cell phones. They will not hesitate to use both. No, the Czar doesn’t mean “either,” he means “both”: they’ll gleefully put a dart in your neck while talking to their agent.

Brazilians, on the other hand, are great for parties. The Czar strongly recommends befriending a Brazilian if you like to eat, drink, roller skate, dance, and basically repeat this every hour until four or five in the morning. These people do not quit.

It has been decades since the Czar went to Rio, though, so let’s see what we remember. Your high school Spanish will be just as useful to you here as when you went to Cozumel, by which we mean totally useless. Brazilians, as you already know, speak Portuguese, not Spanish. Portuguese is an interesting language that’s half-Spanish and half-arrogance. It has a lot of shushing noises, which is linguistically interesting: since Brazilians spend about two-thirds of their day inebriated, they simply modified the spelling of their language to reflect drunken slurs.

Helpful phrases:
“These are not my drugs, therefore you can keep them.” — Não minhas drogas; portanto, você pode mantê-los.
“Waiter, my seafood is threatening me.” — Garçom, meu frutos do mar me ameaça.
“What can I drink that won’t kill me?” — O que eu posso beber que não vai me matar?
“If I drink this caipirinha, will I still have two kidneys in the morning?” — Se eu beber esta caipirinha, vai ainda tenho dois rins na parte da manhã?
“Get me on the next flight home.” — Quero que o próximo vôo do avião casa.
“No, I’m Canadian.” — Não, sou canadense

Don’t worry about pronouncing the Portuguese correctly: just read it loud and in a drunk voice. They won’t understand you, but that’s because they’re too hammered themselves. “Vamos roller skating,” they’ll say in sympathy. 

The Czar is also familiar with Brazilian cooking, being something of a grill-master himself. The Brazilian method of cooking is quite simple: subject thick cuts of meat—python?—to extremely high heat until the food is charred black on the outside and bloody raw in the middle. If you look carefully, you might find some medium-well fibers of meat between the two, but these will be utterly soaked in salt.

The heat is unbearable in Rio, but clothing is totally optional. Actually, the bigger and hairier you are, the less you want to wear. The Czar guesses for a mostly shaved Sasquatch guy your size, Jay, you should wear an eyepatch in place of a thong. Surprisingly, that won’t be the most surprising thing you’ll see someone wear.

Everyone talks about the gigantic statue of Jesus up on the hilltop, but what they don’t tell you is that, over the last 50 years or so, the statue has totally turned itself around so it looks away. It would be a Vatican-sized miracle, but no one admits it because it reflects nothing but shame on the city. Hey, if you had to gaze down on that mess, you’d at least squint.

Anywhere you go, look for the nearest exit and use it.

Fortunately, you’ll be traveling there with fiber optic cables, which is good because you can use them to strangle the hotel clerk when he arrives in the middle of the night to perform his customary turn down service and leave something minty on your pillow. Don’t worry about the body: murder is not only sanctioned there but positively encouraged. If the authorities ask, simply say what all Brazilians say and claim you thought he was a poor person. You’re off the hook, and you can just leave the body where it is. There will be no air-conditioning in your room anyway, and within moments his corpse will be swollen with bottle fly maggots, so dumping it won’t matter.

For the last 50 years or so, the Czar has become increasingly convinced that the Olympics are just a huge joke that we’re not getting…so the organizers are choosing even dumber locations each time. “Let’s pick a disease-infested pithole that’s corrupt, filthy hot, and has no transportation or clean lodging.” “How about Rio? Chicago said no.”

Well...
I do plan on going to the beach at least once...

Let's see if I can find that eyepatch/thong he's suggesting... To Amazon!
(How appropriate!)


Wow. That would look frightening trying to hold in all my dangly bits...

Here's something even MORE better! A steampunk eyepatch/monocle!
This might be the ticket- but...
If that thing isn't the size of a one-quart oilcan, I'll probably be causing a ruckus on the beach at Copacabana...

Stronger, Higher, Faster - forsooth!
TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Shock & Awe

Let's put six rounds downrange...



Round 1 - Boom!


Round 2 - Boom!


Round 3 - Boom! And... Look at that plume of gas escaping from between the cylinder and the barrel. Keep your fingers away from that gap, kids.

Shot 4 - Progressive stills:

Slowly squeeze....


Uh... Why is the fire starting here? In this 1/30th of a second frame, it looks like the hammer is still back, but the round has been fired.


Round 4, frame 3 - Cylinder of fire, and the nasty plume of hot gas from the cylinder gap.


Round 4, frame 4, getting back on target...


Round 5 - Fire!


Round 6 - See where the "Gun Shot Residue" comes from?

Want to see what it looks like from my point of view?

A different string of shots. Firing single handed here...

Boom!


On target...


Boom!


Back to target...


Boom!


That's what flash suppressors are all about, kids.

And anytime anyone wants to try firing the .44 Magnum stiff-armed, let me know.
Bring aspirin and a wrist brace.



TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Hardships

Reading my RSS feeds about the Temps and snow around the country...
I am tempted to throw in my "woe is me" story for this Sunday...

Well, it's spitting tiny raindrops, temp is in the low 70's...
I'm sitting outside the lodge at the FOP range cooking yet another pig.
(52 lbs)
Looks like the rain will be done by 12. The annual turkey shoot starts about that time, and then our annual Turkey Shoot Feast begins about 4:30.
The pig should be done by 3 or 3:30, so things are running according to schedule.

Cold front coming through tonight...
Temps will be waaaay down in the low 60's out here at the beach...

(Please send angry messages re: shitty weather in the comments. Thx)

Laundry Day Night

Did my laundry the other night...
(Yes, I do my own laundry... Have you ever seen what they charge to wash a shirt or a pair of pants at a Hilton? It's redicking fuckulous.)

So, a block up O'Farrell is the TL - A DIY laundromat, cafe and bike rental.
A great way to spend a couple hours on an off-evening.

The sign over the door was a good memo from Captain Obvious...


And yes, that's a pterodactyl hanging from the ceiling.

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Going Overboard

Boy the spammers, scammers and phishers are really pulling out all the stops now...

I got this in my inbox this afternoon:



Trying to do some due diligence on this...
St. Ass says the nice folks we were working for in Sochi nominated us...
(I assume he meant the entire team. If its only St. Ass and YT, fuggetaboutit.)

I do have to wonder what the category was, though...
Most Khatchaipuri eaten in one sitting?
Outstanding performance while lusting after the Canadian women's curling team?
Highest number of Starbucks double-whip, half caf-half soy skinny caramel macchiatos drank in a 24 hour period?

(I won't be able to attend anyway- I'll be in SanFran, up to my eyeballs in Amateur Golf at Olympic.)

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

New Orleans - Part III (Final)

6:30am rolled around and we were up and moving... Amazing for a Saturday in New Orleans...
I made the girls get up and moving on a perfectly selfish motive, because I wanted to share my favorite breakfast spot with them...
We braved the 38 degree temps- fortunately the rain had stopped- and walked over to Poydras St, and got in line at Mother's Restaurant.
"Why so early?" an astute Constant Reader might ask...
Answer:Because they only have a limited amount of black ham.

They bake nice crusty hams all night long, and in the morning they trim off the outside crusts of the ham and set that aside. This crispy savory-sweet ham trimming is amazing.
And it only lasts a little while, so you've gotta be there early.


The black ham biscuit. I'll take 6, please.

Their entire menu is awesome old-school New Orleans diner fare...
If you don't make the cut-off for the black ham, get a biscuit with debris (the dregs from bottom of the roast beef tank) or if you go for lunch, get the Ferdi's Special Po' Boy - Ham, roast beef, debris and au jus... Amazing.
Highly recommended!

After a sumptuous brekky, we trundled back to the hotel to check out and head off to some daytime activities...
We saw a few interesting things along the way back to the hotel...

An endangered species- sadly, this one is deceased and will no longer roam freely the streets and alleys, providing help and succor to hookers, pimps and drug dealers. RIP.

I love graffiti... This was great.
Damn, Caitlyn. Can't you stay out of trouble?


This was a headscratcher- people build little fences around trees to protect them as they grow...
Like this:


But this...
C'mon circular tree guard railing- you had one job...
Ouch.
So we got checked out then headed off to enjoy the sunny day (finally).

We needed something to fortify us as we started the walkabout, so we found our way to the French Market-

The PC had her Mimosa, I had a Hot Cider and Rum, and The Woman had a Bloody Mary.

The PC and The Woman opined that they'd like to see one of the many graveyards that dot the New Orleans area, so I took them to St. Louis Cemetery #1 on Basin St.

They (the City of New Orleans) are changing the rules on touring the cemeteries- soon you will only be able to visit if you are part of a bona-fide and licensed tour.
No more individuals going walk-up, walk in because of the vandalism of the crypts.
Two cases in particular:
Marie Laveau's tomb...
Local legend says if you do any of a number of rituals - draw X's on the tomb in chalk, knocking three times, rubbing your foot on the tomb or lighting candles and shouting your desire, you might get your wish...
More likely, if you get caught these days, you'll get a charge of vandalism and pay a hefty fine...

The girls checking out a tomb- this may or may not be Marie Laveau's (Or Marie Compte's, or Marie Phhilome Galpion... Who knows?) final resting place, but it seems like a large number of people think it's worth damaging someone else's resting place in order to participate in dubious urban legends.
Morons.

Speaking of morons...
The last empty space in St. Louis #1 was recently (in 2010) purchased (for an undisclosed but reportedly huge sum) and a crypt built to await the owner's final demise...

This is/will be Nick Cage's final resting place...
The Latin reads Omnia Ab Uno (everything from one)...
Nick isn't the moron in question- it's the idjit women that make pilgrimages here to leave lipstick prints on the marble plaque... (Click the pic and you'll see them.)
As for the pyramid- National Treasure anyone?

I enjoy walking around cemeteries, looking at the architecture and stonework and ironmongery of the crypts. I also get a kick out of seeing other minutiae in the cities of the dead...

As I mentioned on twitter regarding this crypt- These are nice shiny chains, but if whatever is inside that box wants out, them chains ain't gonna stop 'em.



Lunch found us at Acme Oyster House in Metarie for, you guessed it... More charbroiled oysters! Yay!

That night we wound up down on Frenchman Street, going to a couple clubs (The Spotted Cat, Blue Nile) and enjoyed a streetcorner performance by what looked like a high school band.
We also wound up having a great dinner later in the evening at 13... Great food, if you get a chance- go. The Srirachos (Sriracha-tater tot-nacho hybrid) are awesome.

Back to the hotel by 1am, and back on the road to Jax at 9:00 the next morning...
We could only take so much fun...

On the way to New Orleans we were full of energy and potential...
And the way home, not so much...
Back to reality...

Update: the Girls are already planning their next trip to New Orleans... Koeschi help us.


TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

I Don't Blend In

If you look carefully at 1:14:20, 1:27:21 and 1:36:45 you will see why I am considered to be a "hulking menace in the background" as opposed to the "unobtrusive but watchful presence"...

See the video here.
(No, at the 1:36:45 mark I was NOT texting... I was making notes on our exit strategy, thankewverymuch.)

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

About Damned Time - Trader Joe's

We (the Northeast Florida Beaches Communities) finally have a Trader Joe's!


I love me some TJ's! Too many cool snacks and sauces...
And they actually have some unique (and tasty) breads and vegetables.

For my local Constant Readers (both of you), it's down in the Sandcastle Shopping Center where JTB meets A1A.
Time for another appearance of the Trader Joe's Song...


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Drinking Games

So... The PC's 21st birthday is right around the corner...
There is supposed to be a big shindig at the Estrogen Palace that will probably end up in a series of drinking games like Quarters or Asshole...
I'm going to try to get them to stick with Quarters and it's permutations-
I'm had some bad experience with Asshole....
Like this and this...

Anyone remember this?:

Yeah- that's Yours Truly walking through the hotel lobby with my pants over one shoulder and shirt over the other... Listen to your Uncle Jay, kids- Don't play Asshole, ummmkay?

So- in order to keep things lively...

Drinking Game Rule Making

PhoneMaster - If any player touches their phone, the Phonemaster can send a text message of their choice to any name in the contact list.

ForeheadMaster - (Variation of ThumbMaster)-
Just like ThumbMaster but you put your forehead down on the table.
After a couple rounds, getting your forehead down before the last person leads to slamming your head down and perhaps a concussion after a few rounds.

Meow - Can't use the word 'now'... Players must use the word 'meow' instead

No Eye Contact - Players cannot make eye contact

Gummies - If you laugh, you cannot show your teeth.

Viking Rule - The Viking (rulemaker or designate) makes horn motions on his 'helmet' with his/her hands. Every one else must paddle. Last one to do so drinks.

3rd Person - No one can talk in 1st Person

T-Rex Arms - The designated T-Rex must use 'tiny arms' when they drink. Double up if they forget.

Anyone got any others to add to the list?

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Моё судно на воздушной подушке полно угрей

I know- I'm slacking.

I'm just slacking on the website...
I've actually been busier than a vibrator in a women's prison here in Kazan.

Long days, and really short nights and some really redicking fuckulous conditions that I will expound upon later.

I can tell you that this is a place where you will find quite a bit of makeshift repairs and expediencies...

(Click for hugeness)
This widowmaker was a winner we found during setup...
Sean was moving one of our air conditioners and it almost bit him.

Another excellent example was a delivery UTE that arrived at the site when we were heading out one evening...

(click for bigness)
Yeah- that's the bottom of a water bottle, cut off and slapped over the neck of the fuel filler.
Oooo, I feel so safe in this place...

On a more festive note, we were celebrating the fact that we got moved to a hew hotel last night... There was a small tent serving beer and some kind of meat on a stick (we have found it's better not to ask) next to the new hotel.
We has just ordered up a round of drinks and put in our dinner order when an older gent at the table next to me leaned over and started to try to talk to me...
Through really broken Engrish, slurred Russian and hand gestures, he challenged me to an arm wrestling match.
Oh Ghod.
That last time this happened was in '97 in Miami during the Sony-Ericsson when we were arm wrestling at Hooters and broke one of their tables and were asked (nicely) to leave.
When I picked up the waitress and threw her over my shoulder and headed for the door, the "nice" demeanor of the management evaporated and there were police involved.
So, needless to say, I was hesitant to agree to this dude's request.
I had visions of the rather flimsy table getting destroyed and getting arrested for violence & mayhem, or the off chance that this guys was some kind of Tatarstan Arm-Wrestling savant and he knows some esoteric elbow-fu and could kick my ass blindfolded.
More likely, it would go the other way I wind up hurting him and waking up in a Gulag the next morning because I snapped some local politician's father's arm.

Trying to avoid this...

However...
Egged on by the entire bar, we did engage in one round of Bras de Fer...

Literally, the entire place was cheering (for him, I'm pretty sure), and the end result did not result in injury, damage or even hurt feelings...

Yeah, I beat him like a rented mule. Just because he's a drunk old guy, I'm still a benevolent and patriotic American and I don't care if it harelips the Pope, the Roosky is going down.
'Merica! Fuck Yeah!

And, of course, to the winner belongs the spoils.
Sometimes it's good to be The Big Guy...

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Feeling My Pain

(Click pic to see entire comic)

Yeah...
The guys at Doghouse Diaries have a clue. One of them must be 6'+.

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE