March 20, 2009: Bar Brawl

LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 20, 2009

Rough night in Gotham City. Rougher night at Happy Harry's.

Insider tip mentioned illegal business being conducted at Happy Harry's bar. Two broken legs later, business specified to be banned combat sport. Had to investigate.

Prepared for anything. Every night dangerous, this may be most dangerous of all. Bar patrons are ants from the seedy hive of the city, whose queen ant is crime.

Pornographers. Addicts. Whores. Hippies. Clowns. All have had their path crossed by LOLSCHACH at point in time. All have potential vendetta.

It starts with mule-kick to door. Deer in the headlights. Cigarettes drop from fearful mouths. Money-for-pleasure talks freeze in time. Clearing of throats, choking on saliva and beer. Can see it in their eyes: brains begin to cognate alibis, lies. Wheels are turning, hamsters are dead.

Walk to the back of the bar, approach Harry. Behind me, door swings shut. Then opens again.

Heard a joke once. Difficult to retell. Will try.

A black, a Mexican, and a Chinese man walk into a bar.

Snapped the Chinaman's spine in half. Black and Mexican whimper unidentifiable phrases, defecate like undomesticated children.

Crying.

Funny joke. Everybody laughs.

Harry tells me to head to back of bar, behind alcohol shelf. Please, don't kill anyone, he says. Ha ha. Funny. Always funny when he says it.

Enter barely lit chamber, the smell of sweat and testosterone permeate the air like locker room full of athletic hobos whose diet consists of booze and garbage. Screams of men watching sick form of gladiatorial combat.

What I see next disturbs me. Loss of words.

Crustaceans used for the wagers of violent men. Violent sea creatures, murderers of mollusks, blood as cold and as dark and murky as the briny deep that spawned them.

Born from dark oblivion, butter-knife fighting till return to darker oblivion. Ehhh.

Fifteen minutes pass. Twelve twisted arms, two broken bottles through ribs, five men going to the emergency room. Money litters the floor as survival instincts make men take flight. Benjamin Franklin, dead presidents unimportant at moment.

Take lobsters to local animal shelter. Know they will find good home for them.

Good deed for the day.