So while I was in my teens I got into a palmistry phase. I was like 15 or 14 y/o. One of my highschool teachers started teasing me about it, and at some point asked me for a palm reading, just for the lulz.
I took it seriously, as I do with most things unfortunately, and did as asked. I didn’t say much because I had no idea of what I was doing, but I did recognize in his hands what my book said was a sign of sudden end of life. I estimated the time and warned him he probably didn’t have a lot of time left, five years tops. He got really angry when I said that and held the grudge for about two weeks, claiming I was being rude. I just wanted to help…
Time passed and I grew out of my palm reading phase.
Almost two years later during class someone showed up and informed us that the teacher died in a car crash for driving recklessly. The room went silent. Everyone including myself had forgotten about the palm reading incident, well, almost everyone. Breaking the silence with a gasp, one of my classmates said, “OMG!!! IT’S LIKE WHAT (my irl name) SAID DURING THE PALM READING!!! OMG!!!”
When I was a young child, we didn’t really have much choice of TV channels so all you could watch was what was offered. No smartphones either, so you had to make do. There was this period where they were showing nothing but fluff about the Royal family, and that pissed me off as a bored kid.
So I did something that I’d never done before: I got down on my knees, clasped my hands together and prayed for a certain member of that family to die. One week later they did. The guilt stayed with me for a while, but eventually I got over it convinced that it was mere chance.
Then a few years later, at college, desperate to pass an exam I had no chance of passing, I did the same thing, and passed it with flying colours.
I don’t really know what to do with this power, but I know that I should use it sparingly.
Now, hol on tight chilluns and chaps, it was one hell of a night.
My ass got out of the Marines, and started looking for work that would allow me to pursue my hobbies while also taking classes.
I found the perfect spot, a drag club. I could sing and dance on my days I wasn’t working as security.
It was a good job. Our boss was this sweet old man that owned a bunch of gay bars, and some strip clubs. I spose he would be called asexual nowadays, but back then, he was just hisself. But it meant he never had no trouble with his boys or girls. Good man, and I miss him still.
Most nights, things were cool. We worked in two, two person teams when we could, three when we couldn’t. See, this was the south, not too far away from mountains so inbred they say the people in Deliverance was too high falutin, you feel me? But a big enough city all the gays flocked like beautiful rainbow birdies
Is was our job to keep them from being plucked by them redneck boys looking for trouble.
My partner some nights was this big ol boy. Not as tall as me, but built like a brick shithouse. He got bigger over the years we worked together, then got smaller. But this sweet white boy was a slab of usda prime. And too damn straight to let anyone slip inside without ID, since he didn’t want no head from nobody that was there. Good boy, turned into a good man.
Our other two were the Bulldog, and Little Tony. Little Tony wasn’t much. He would let his little dick get sucked if we didn’t keep an eyeball on him. That’s why he was little Tony, it wasn’t ironic. My pinkie finger was bigger.
But the Bulldog? Oh my lord, she earned that name. Called herself the meanest bull dyke on that side of the mountains. All of maybe 5’4", 150 pounds of her, but she’d jump right on some troublemaker, drag his ass down and work him like he owed her money.
I ain’t told this story in a while, in case you can’t tell. This was back in something like 94, and don’t none of these new little gay boys that be on me care about this shit.
This night, we was just the three of us. Me, the Bulldog, and the big boy. Now, big boy was a scrapper from the first day, but had some trouble, and by this point was doing him some samurai shit. Kempo, jujutsu, some boxing, that kind of thing. We talking about 250 lbs of beef that made me look like a twink, and I was 185 at the time.
See, this boy, he was what you might call straight, not narrow back then, but he took it a lot more serious. His best friend was this handsome gay boy, and they was like brothers. Made our big boy a bit enthusiastic about gay rights. And he took our job at the club amd other bars serious. He got tired of them assholes driving past and throwing shit at our people. Got tired of running rednecks off of little gay boys in the parking lot, so he suggested we have an extra team on the lot, while the regular team was on the door, which was right by the fence that stopped most of the beer bottles and such the haters would throw.
But, once our people was off the lot, the boss said insurance didn’t cover us. So we was limited.
You see what I’m working to?
One night, some psycho all hopped up on hate, crazy, and probably meth, decided he was gonna kill him a f**. That’s what he said at trial.
This crazy little punk ass bitch comes out of a side street with a brick and smashes it into the head of this sweet little boy that had just hugged us all. Little boy was rollin hard.
This boy goes down hard. Big M, my beefy samurai baby, he take off running. The Bulldog is right behind him, like she always was. My ass used my brain and told the girl inside the door to call the police and an ambulance, then get the inside security moving.
Then I go running.
By the time I get close, the Bulldog is down, her face all bloody. She’s moaning, and trying to move though. I froze up a little. First aid, or back my boy up? My boy was doin fine right then. Shirt tore a little, some scrapes on his arm and back, but swinging on the shitstain. Doing him some shit he been learning in class. So I check my butch bitch and make sure she ain’t in too bad a shape. She wasn’t gonna be as pretty, but she never was pretty to begin with. So I go to my boy.
Now, it was only a minute to check my girl out. But in that time, this fuckstick had picked up some rebar with some concrete on it and was swinging. My boy takes a hit, and I jump in, throw my daddy longleg up the cracker’s ass. Move to restrain him. But this fucked up thing was fast, and mean. Swung hard and caught me upside the head. I’m on a knee, head spinning and all I hear is my boy screaming.
You ever see someone get slammed for real? Like, picked up over somebody’s head and just planted on pavement? They’s a sound a body makes when it hits like that. They’s some crunching, they’s this thunk like a slab of steak hitting a counter, but loud enough to carry.
I heard that shit, and my boy is in between me and the shitstain. And my boy loses his shit. I ain’t talking cussin and slapping, no. They was feet stomping, and then my boy takes a knee next to the asswipe and starts pounding, screaming about leaving people the fuck alone, and how he better tell all his redneck, asshole friends they was gonna die they come there again.
I thought he was gonna kill that punk. He maybe would have, but I start talking sweet to him, calling him baby boy, like when we joking and shit. The Bulldog comes up from the side and just jumps on his arm, trying to stop it, and not doing much but slowing it down.
Now, I have seen some shit. Place I grew up, motherfuckers would stab you for looking at them nice. I seen fights when I was still slaved to the flag that ended up in scars.
But this fucker on the ground was fucked up. His trial was the next year, and he still wasn’t healed all the way. My boy, he had some nasty cuts, and a busted rib. The Bulldog had a concussion, some bones in her face broke, and an ugly face. The face was there before, but I like reminding her she ugly. Don’t tell her, but she cute for a little white girl.
My big black ass had a concussion too, about the fourth or fifth one. Might have had a hole to go with that. Bulldog said the cracker was winding up on me when big M grabbed him.
Twenty minutes e later the ambulance shows. Fifteen after that, the cops. Cops said some nasty shit, but they was witnesses all over, since the inside folks had made it to the door, and some customers had come with them. Buncha assholes in cheap polyester woulda done nothing if they could. But that’s just how it is. Didn’t no cops really care about a bunch of gays and dykes. Even the ambulance guys tried not taking care of us, but my boy was a nurse’s aide, and knew people at the hospital and told them he’d raise five kinds of hell if they rode off without calling another bus and checking me and the dog over
Oh, and my boy? Was right there on the door the next night, and didn’t take a day off with his busted rib taking care of his men at the old folks home. Boy was big, and usually smart, but he ain’t never had no sense when it come to working.
And, just in case him or the Bulldog run across this, since I know they on this lemmy shit, y’all can kiss my cracked ass, I love you no matter how ugly you be.
Gave up smoking 25 years ago. Diagnosed with incurable blood cancer 5 years ago. After two stem cell (bone marrow) transplants, three years of chemotherapy, and a year of immunotherapy, I’ve been told I’m in full remission — no evidence of disease — and I’m not expected to relapse.
Look after yourself while you’re young and fit and still have a chance to keep healthy.
Not much, honestly. One night this year, my friends and I planned on going to a bar to welcome back a buddy who we hadn’t seen in a long time. Something happened, can’t remember what, and we had to go to someone’s place instead to celebrate.
Later in the evening we saw on the news that the bar had been shot up, and plenty were dead. Bar was shut down soon after. It had a good crowd, wasn’t too noisy, the food wasn’t that bad, and prices were cheaper than other places in the city. My guess is that it was a money laundering scheme and someone would benefit from having it being shut down, because I didn’t hear anything about anyone important being there at the moment as if to imply it was a hit.