Two weeks ago Raphael was at bar in East Baltimore—a night club that caters to all ethnicities and is worked by a squad of big black bouncers. As the bouncers looked on with humorous smirks, a loud mouthed, stocky, black dude began threatening another black dude, with lots of talk back and forth. The short aggressive guy took a low boxing stance and the taller fit guy took a relaxed stance without his hands up. As they talked trash the short guy kept getting lower and lower into his weird boxing crouch.

After a full minute of trash talking and posturing the short guy said, “Bring it, Yo.”

To this the taller man—who Raphael all of a sudden recalled was a taekwondo instructor—brought his Timberland boot up high over head and brought it down in an ax kick that planted the heel on the shoulder blade and the toe on the face, dropping the drunken-yo-fu superstar in front of the bar.

I’ll let Raphael take it from here:

“Of course, they’re all black, so they gotta keep talking shit—like it’s some kind of law or something. Now the taekwondo man is running his mouth. The bouncers scraped this piece-of-you-know-what up and tell him to leave, but they let the other guy stay because he didn’t start it.”

It must be nice to be a taekwondo guy and have some guy not only pick a fight with you but squat down and give you a chance to look like Andy Hug.