I Swear — There’s an Asshole Hiding in Me


The Lord knows that I hate myself for behaving so violently. Allow me to set up the situation so that you may better understand the previous statement.

After having finished mowing our front yard, I was sweeping up some random clippings. Buddy, our dog, was lying in the shade, on the freshly cut grass.

From our east came a bicyclist riding on the sidewalk. While I saw him, I thought nothing of it as Buddy got up and walked to the edge of our yard to greet the rider.

Without warning, he kicked Buddy in the face, causing the dog to yelp in pain. Seeing me and the broom, he tried to skirt me, thinking I was going to swing it at him, jumping his bicycle from the sidewalk.

However, I never intended to swing at him. Instead, I hiked the broom handle through the spokes of his front wheel.

The sudden stop not only destroyed five of his spokes, but it toppled him face-first to the asphalt, back tire in the air. When he jumped to his feet, his face, hands and elbows, and one knee were rashed up and bleeding.

He came off the ground, ready to fight. I flicked open my lock blade knife and stood my ground which was in my driveway.

Then the shouting commenced once he realized I wasn’t going to back down from his blustering.

“What the fuck, man!” he said. “What did you do that for?”

“You kicked my dog in the face, asswipe,” I answered.

“I didn’t mean, too.”

“Bullshit, liar!”

“Well, I’m gonna call the cops.”

“Do that, prick.”

“You ruined my tire.”

“Be happy I don’t ruin your life.”

He hobbled away, bicycle inoperable, in the direction he was riding and I have yet to hear from the law.

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