rugby players bitten - 2 ......(on average one every 15 years)
mexicans bitten-1
I bit a Mexican at 6 PM before jumping from a moving taxi-moto.
“Tranquility Base, Godzilla has landed.”
Bloody footprints on my bathroom floor this morning. Maybe these new friends of mine are a metaphorical bloody step in the wrong direction. My cool tire tread sandals were destroyed when I jumped, so I had to walk barefoot until I found another cab. Bright red blood drops on the floor of the cab. Almost neon. Mayan blood sacrifice.
I hit the street upright, but my sandals failed and I had to tuck and roll, gashing my big toe. I was Steve McQueen for a half of a second, James friggn Bond, then I limited the damage. Rugby teaches you how to survive falls. Rugby teaches violence. My new amigos saw both my knee zippers from the surgeries and I heard them explaining rugby to each other in their stupid secret language. I thought we were good. I thought our roles were defined.
“Que es significa asshole?” So I had to demonstrate to them what an asshole was. I explained to them that my job on the rugby team was to be an aggressive asshole. That as long as I was an aggressive asshole on saturdays, I always had a job to go to on monday. Hakuna Matata. That term, they knew. I explained what an azzhole was by cranking up my aggression, “what are you looking at....., are you talking to me?.... I don't see anyone else here.....what did you just say.... you fat faced faggot?” This prompted the mexican boxing champion to bring out a puppy. A cute blonde lab.
They like to tell me “take it easy” down here.
I thought I had investigated most of my violent potentialities via the healthy outlet that is rugby. My power drinking was done with other alpha males, post mayhem. That was the key. Mayhem first, beer to follow.
A good friend of mine said to study yourself, and this I am doing now. Maybe I need a better understanding of the language. Maybe no more afternoon loads?
This will be the first of a series I will call CULTURAL DIFFERENCES.
It sure sounded like a joke.
Three teachers and one dudes pop, shooting the shit in the back yard. Drinking quarts and eating excellent Chicharrones. The one dude hilariously indicates that he has effed his father (or his father has effed him) TWICE today. Another teacher shares the idea that the small potent peppers called “chile mash” might be the secret. I make a joke about not needing viagra with all of the natural vitamins available in the garden and the conversation turns away from incest with the sure curative power of humor.
I am a funny dude,but I can't ever see me drinking with my dad and sharing stories of our recent forbidden love trysts. It would not happen. Cultural differences. A different path in the woods, not taken. We have family friends who lived that forbidden love. They all still show up with poker faces and avoid each other at family functions and my discomfort is minimal compared to their life time of it.
So I roll.
I am not an expert on families or forgiveness, but I have seen it in action. I deeply respect the effort to make nice and understand the reasons, but still...long, those years...the horror of realization...the decision to keep it in the family...the ultimate power of family.
So the mexican boxing champion is hand fighting with me in the cab. And this is after I have made this clear with these guys, on multiple occasions. I told them “NO TOCAR el INGLISH”. I have also indicated my willingness to bite. Told them of the ”linea” I draw. Told them that they can “disfruta tu vida”, enjoy your life, but enjoy your life without touching the english teacher. Explaining the concept of “espacio personal”, personal space (they switch the adjective and nouns position here just to confuse me deeper. )
Maybe I am just a bad teacher. I do not remember another time I bit a dude that wasn't on a rugby field. If I keep living here I will have to start a rugby team. Maybe have a tournament. Invite some Cubans and some Philly dudes. Teach kids the place of pain and purposeful violence.
So that was yesterday, today is supposed to be the beach, but maybe the biting has changed those plans....cultural differences....
mexicans bitten-1
I bit a Mexican at 6 PM before jumping from a moving taxi-moto.
“Tranquility Base, Godzilla has landed.”
Bloody footprints on my bathroom floor this morning. Maybe these new friends of mine are a metaphorical bloody step in the wrong direction. My cool tire tread sandals were destroyed when I jumped, so I had to walk barefoot until I found another cab. Bright red blood drops on the floor of the cab. Almost neon. Mayan blood sacrifice.
I hit the street upright, but my sandals failed and I had to tuck and roll, gashing my big toe. I was Steve McQueen for a half of a second, James friggn Bond, then I limited the damage. Rugby teaches you how to survive falls. Rugby teaches violence. My new amigos saw both my knee zippers from the surgeries and I heard them explaining rugby to each other in their stupid secret language. I thought we were good. I thought our roles were defined.
“Que es significa asshole?” So I had to demonstrate to them what an asshole was. I explained to them that my job on the rugby team was to be an aggressive asshole. That as long as I was an aggressive asshole on saturdays, I always had a job to go to on monday. Hakuna Matata. That term, they knew. I explained what an azzhole was by cranking up my aggression, “what are you looking at....., are you talking to me?.... I don't see anyone else here.....what did you just say.... you fat faced faggot?” This prompted the mexican boxing champion to bring out a puppy. A cute blonde lab.
They like to tell me “take it easy” down here.
I thought I had investigated most of my violent potentialities via the healthy outlet that is rugby. My power drinking was done with other alpha males, post mayhem. That was the key. Mayhem first, beer to follow.
A good friend of mine said to study yourself, and this I am doing now. Maybe I need a better understanding of the language. Maybe no more afternoon loads?
This will be the first of a series I will call CULTURAL DIFFERENCES.
It sure sounded like a joke.
Three teachers and one dudes pop, shooting the shit in the back yard. Drinking quarts and eating excellent Chicharrones. The one dude hilariously indicates that he has effed his father (or his father has effed him) TWICE today. Another teacher shares the idea that the small potent peppers called “chile mash” might be the secret. I make a joke about not needing viagra with all of the natural vitamins available in the garden and the conversation turns away from incest with the sure curative power of humor.
I am a funny dude,but I can't ever see me drinking with my dad and sharing stories of our recent forbidden love trysts. It would not happen. Cultural differences. A different path in the woods, not taken. We have family friends who lived that forbidden love. They all still show up with poker faces and avoid each other at family functions and my discomfort is minimal compared to their life time of it.
So I roll.
I am not an expert on families or forgiveness, but I have seen it in action. I deeply respect the effort to make nice and understand the reasons, but still...long, those years...the horror of realization...the decision to keep it in the family...the ultimate power of family.
So the mexican boxing champion is hand fighting with me in the cab. And this is after I have made this clear with these guys, on multiple occasions. I told them “NO TOCAR el INGLISH”. I have also indicated my willingness to bite. Told them of the ”linea” I draw. Told them that they can “disfruta tu vida”, enjoy your life, but enjoy your life without touching the english teacher. Explaining the concept of “espacio personal”, personal space (they switch the adjective and nouns position here just to confuse me deeper. )
Maybe I am just a bad teacher. I do not remember another time I bit a dude that wasn't on a rugby field. If I keep living here I will have to start a rugby team. Maybe have a tournament. Invite some Cubans and some Philly dudes. Teach kids the place of pain and purposeful violence.
So that was yesterday, today is supposed to be the beach, but maybe the biting has changed those plans....cultural differences....
yo horse they were trying to save your DEGRADED BODY... you COULD have saiD NO! YOU DO NOT REMOVE HORSES FROM GAMES....thats what bit you in the AZZ...need to leave the ALPHAS ON THE FIELD... THE YOUNG ONES ARE AFRAID TO FUCK UP NEXT TO YOU IN A RUCk.....unless you are yelling yoursef HOARSE from the sidelines with which is also fun.....
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