Let me tell you a story about Skidmark and Cumstain, two oppressed children of the News Nation—but first my six pack of $4.49 beer…

Having finished another book and retrieved my celebratory six from the Korean liquor store alongside assorted white trash and black retards—including a three generation family of heroin addicts—I was, a mere 90 minutes ago, returning by way of the back lot, alley and church ground. I approached the side street across from where the ATM that is the focus of thug activity in the area stands forever ignored by the police, who are probably around, but simply:

Patrolling

In

Gutsy fashion, elsewhere.

The three different crews of muggers who stake out this ATM like hyenas at an African watering hole use different strategies. But now there is a fourth set of players on the scene.

Skidmark is the leader, a mouthy, dark-skinned nappy headed piece of human debris who selects targets and distracts them just before they are sucker-punched by Blue, who is absent. While Skidmark stands 5’ 6” and scales perhaps 100 pounds, Blue has a grayish ebony complexion and is a wiry six feet and has knocked out five elderly and disabled men, and caved in Retarded Joe’s face. He specializes in walk up punches with the right hand from the front and the back. He nods to me and calls me ‘Sir’. I deduce from his absence and the disastrous hunting strategy adopted by Skidmark that Blue is calling someone else ‘Sir’ just now.

Cumstain is 5’ 2” and goes about 150, is a blond Irish-looking runt and is thankfully a smoker, puffing away on his stupidity tax token as Skidmark yells for two of the bank tellers returning from their break to give him “a smoke.”

Then they spot me and confer. Just before Cumstain yells, “Hey, hey, you,” Skidmark unleashes his master plan, his mugger Armageddon device—Blue’s apparent replacement; a white pit bull with black markings, full grown and well groomed at about 50 pounds with no fighting scars or torture marks…a pet.

Cumstain yells for me again and I ignore him. As I step onto the sidewalk 10 paces from Skidmark and his dog of war, he pushes the dog toward me by the hind quarters and shouts, “Attack—ged ‘im Yo!”

The dog takes a few steps toward me and then looks around kind of confused by the entire situation. Skidmark pleads, “Come on Yo—ged ‘im!”

At this point I’m thinking tactics, namely how to get my hands on Cumstain and bite his face off. I have to save my ink pen for the off chance that the only qualified combatant in this pathetic set decides to do her master’s bidding. The six pack is getting thrown in Cumstain’s face to get him pissed enough to take a swing at me. I’ve practiced on meat before and am pretty sure that I could press a sturdy writing implement into the eye socket of one of these wide-faced dogs as they feast on my arm and then hammer it into the brain with my palm.

It appears though that in this situation that would be like unleashing Admiral Halsey and Curtis Lemay on Antigua. The dog just swings her head from side to side sulking, as if wondering if it could go home with me rather than these two reprobates. As I leave Yo’s immediate strike radius and turn the corner Cumstain groans, “Yo dat’s weak, son.”

Skidmark addressed one bit of invective at the female dog which might have been the only accurate statement of his life, “Yo, you a bitch, Yo!”

And I was on my way, thanking my lucky stars—but most of all the good sense of a dog named Yo—that I did not end up at Central Booking facing assault, battery and animal cruelty charges, with the news media, the NAACP, PETA, FEMA [Feminists Emasculating Men Alliance] and the SPCA baying for my demise, as the DOJ decides whether or not to investigate me for a hate crime.

My strategy in such a situation is to let the dog chew me up while I chew up the white guy, as there is no news network to adopt his cause and no pack of liberal fiends to call for my imprisonment for the abuse of fellow white trash. I can take a hell of a beating and have fought minus a pint before. Unless there is someone there capable of taking me out right away I want to mark up the one that is not attached to the dog first, as the owner is likely to hang around as long as the dog is involved.

The best case scenario in dealing with group antagonists is to mark all of them up—and for you to get marked up too—so none of the attackers can claim to have been an uninvolved witness. The last thing you want is to follow karate advice and KO the biggest one right out of the gate so that the others can immediately turn into the uninvolved witnesses to your sucker punch crime.

Merry Christmas, Yo. I hope you get a new owner.