The Time 4 Big Girls Tried to Mug Me…


On the way home last night I saw a woman start a fight with a dude, who looked like he had spent some time up North (Prison). While I am physically bigger and can bench press more than him I would not want to fight this cat. There was a hardness in his eyes. I was brought back to a time when 4 women tried to mug me. It reminded me of a quote by Bill Burr:

There’s no physical ramifications for being an asshole if you’re a woman. You know how much of a dick I would be if it was socially unacceptable to kick the shit out of me? dude, I would be trashing everybody I saw. See some big muscle-bound guy. his protein shake out of his hand. Hey, go fuck yourself, right? But I can’t do that, right? Every guy has a line, and if I cross the line, I get blasted in the face. Totally acceptable, right? But with women, there’s no line.


100Degrees The summer of ’99, I got my first job tutoring and teaching students with learning disabilities. I was 17, full of promise and sperm the hallmark of the beginnings of a man’s young adulthood. With only enough money to commute to and from work, I was set up for a months worth of suffering. To explain, it takes the PAF form in HR about a month for verification and entering into the system. It would be a month before I could see the fruits of my labor.

An hour and 20 minute commute on public transportation doesn’t on initial glance seem so bad. But for those of you who don’t know NYC summers are humid torrid affairs. It was pure misery in my apartment. Without a fan or air conditioning unit, no one could get more than 4 hours a night. Between the lack of sleep and long commute I couldn’t hold anything down the few times breakfast was available to me.

What that meant was that I would have to work hungry accompanied by headaches and minor sickle cell pain triggered by the heat. Dinner was my saving grace. It also meant I’d find air conditioned places to sleep after work like the library or a sufficiently filled train cart. To sleep at least an hour.

lWhen pay-day rolled on through, I was so happy I could finally eat something after work. Went to a popular deli and got a sandwich called the Godfather, because that is how powerful I felt. For those of you who don’t know the Godfather is a specialty. It’s was a right of passage to me, as my Italian American friends introduced me to it. There is provolone cheese, salami, roasted pepper, maybe a bit of prosciutto. Fucking amazing. The sandwich was enormous and was nickname by my fellow students: the horse-cock.

That horse-cock was to be chased down by a giant bottle of grape juice and a chocolate croissant. It was the best lunch of my life, the first one I paid for completely with my own money.

The streets and trains were empty around 12 noon, so I proceeded to take my food to go and eat on the R train going from Bay Ridge Brooklyn into Manhattan.

rlineWhile finally enjoying the fruits of my labor, three big girls came in to the train-cart and before I knew it, had surrounded me. They were each asking me how much money I had on me. Between you and I know I had $300 – $500 in my pocket. This is generally how a mugging or jacking starts. The ring leader tells me assertively, that she knows I have money. What some of who who haven’t lived in a shit hole may not know is that back in those day girls used to carry razors in their mouths. They would spit out and cut people’s face or neck, etc.

In my head at this point, I still firmly believed in equal rights between man and women. Yet I had no problem problem punching anyone of these chicks in the throat. As I was sitting down I was at a disadvantage. After all the discipline I had endured at the hands of leather belts wielded by tired over worked immigrant parents, I wasn’t going to let any girls whoop my ass.

Yes, I would sleep soundly after punching a woman who threatened my money and physical well being. That money would pay for food, books for college and new shoes as I had been walking with holes in mine for the last 2 months. This money meant a lot to me, and fighting and taking some fucking damage to safe-guard it was only expected.

I told her that I had no money. If she had caught me before buying this food (pointing to the godfather and grape juice) I could have helped her out. I told her my chocolate croissant was rather large (no innuendo intended) and they could split it amongst themselves. This caught them off guard, as did my invitation to sit down with me. Violence was avoided, I didn’t have to bash anyone’s face in while getting cut.


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