We spotted you about a mile off. The minute we sat down I looked at my husband and said "fuck. That guy is going to kick off." You'd probably been drinking since the Timbers started the match they (surprisingly) won. And then crossed the void from happy drunk to total fucking dick. (Benefit of the doubt here.)
I don't know why you decided to fuck with someone's motorcycle. A regular no less. But you did.
And he punched you. And I'm so fucking happy he punched you.
What I'm even happier about was when the cook/bouncer came flying out of the fucking kitchen to pin your ass and make sure you never come back.
Every fucking time there's a fight in this bar, it's because of someone like you. Some asshole in khaki shorts and a turned baseball cap with a Timbers scarf decides to be a big man. You're really just pathetic pieces of shit and we laugh at you.
For the record, if any of the rest of you assholes decide to go to this bar? Don't. We can all spot you. The waitresses saw it, the bartenders saw it, the regulars saw it and the cook took care of it. Everyone was waiting for an excuse.
Go to the fucking Gypsy or somewhere else. Your Axe reeking, dickbag asses aren't welcome. Go fucking glass and kill each other on your own turf and leave us alone.
We go to this bar because you don't.
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