That time between between fighting your way through TSA’s “Checkpoint Charlie” and when you are actually let onto the plane is a crappy boring time.
Unless of course, the airport has a kickass sports bar.
Welcome to Los Angeles International.
This place is even better than your local sports bar because of the fact that you know that everyone in the crowd is unarmed.
At that point, and by “Point” I mean several mexican beers later, feel free to tell the die hard Lakers fan that his hero is a sexual preditor.
The worst he can do is beat you with his fists.
And you can fight back.
Now, being short and chunkiy is not really going to kick a lot of ass in this world, but it is what it is.
Words are my fists, and I am bigger than most in that regard.
Its the vocabulary version of having a really big dick.
Ok, so half of you are annoyed right now.
If it bugs you, put a comment below.
Otherwise, I will assume that you agree with me whole heartedly.
Ah the arrogant freedom of writing a blog.
And the best thing about the airport sports bar, and all sports bars really, is that children are persona non grata here.
Kind of like the “He-man woman haters club” but for children.
The reason I bring this up is that there is a young child screeching at the top of his lungs, outside the bar, really going to town.
And I can barely hear him.
I am so glad my kids are grown.
The Laker guy is back with his “Charges dropped” defense.
I counter with a ficticious study that claims that forced sodomy is repressed sexuality.
This is almost too easy.
For reasons unknown, I have been given a shot of Jeagermiester.
God help me now.
The Laker fan has either decided that he will convert me thru alcohol or, perhaps taking after his hero, date rape me.
Either one is really unpaletable.
Plus, telling him this has raised his voice to a volume that is making the bartender nervous.
That is never a good sign.
Once again, I remind myself that I need to remember that the general public are not my psychological playthings.
Its tough sometimes.
I concede that a ring is impressive, whether he is a pimp or an NBA player, it still makes the point.
Do you know what I’m saying? (Official pimp-speak)
In the end, the Laker guy is a blast, as most tunnel visioned fanatics are.
I am not a basketball fan at heart, but its not my fault.
I am 5’3, and that is my full, adult hieght.
As I entered highschool at 4’6 and graduated at 4’11, there was not a lot of pickup b-ball to be played, so concequently, I never dreamed of NBA greatness.
I wrestled for a period in High School but never had the kind of talent that made me dream of greatness.
Which for wrestling is the Olympics.
I had the shame and the privilege to match up once against a kid that went on to be an alternate for the Atlanta Olympics.
It was fascinating and embarrassing.
I was thrown around like a rag doll for the duration of the match.
Which, in reflection, was mercifully short.
Also, I found out that the bartender is a die hard Lakers fan without a sense of humor
Thankfully, I drink only beer, so the option of watering down my drinks is not there.
All I have to look out for is him spitting in it.
Given my obnoxious nature, I look out for that anyway.
How sick is that?
Not so sick, I have caught an angry server delivering a little “customer adjustment.”
I don’t hold that against servers in general, but it doesn’t mean I trust them.
Do you know what I’m saying?
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