Hello, gentlemen. I’m very glad that you got my E-vites and were able to join me on this fine sunny day. I’m sure you are all wondering exactly what this is all about; even though I’m pretty sure the E-vite subject heading of “Tomorrow, We Shall Perform Fisticuffs at High Noon” was a bit of a giveaway. But, if you didn’t understand it, then I guess that’s the reason you’re here.
It has come to my attention that some of you fellows are acting in the very same manner as a scallywag. I know this because I looked up the term Scallywag in Webster’s and it read like this, ahem: “a deceitful and unreliable scoundrel.” I should note that that was actually the second definition of Scallywag. The first was something about white Southerners who supported Reconstruction during the Civil War. I think you’ll be happy to hear that I saw none of that definition in any of you, although, Tim, I do believe you were acting a bit first-definition Scallywag-ish with me when I brought home that five-hundred dollar Millennium Falcon Lego set. But I think that was just you being a nice guy in trying to help me build it. Actually, you know what? I’m not even sure if that means you were a first-definition scallywag. To be honest, I’m very confused on the usage of that first definition. Regardless, some of you have been acting in a manner most scallywag-ish, and I seek to put an end to it at this very moment. How? As I my E-vite said, with fisticuffs.
That’s right, sirs. It is about that time that we settle our unspoken differences with one-another by means of physical combat using only our hands that have been clenched in to small, tightly packed fists that will be hurled about in all manner of furious manners. At the stroke of noon (seven-minutes from now) we will all pair off and battle each other until only one is left standing. Or, we can choose to gang up on only one poor fellow. If we all for some reason decide to choose the latter, I suggest we beat the crap out of Ted. He made us very late for our viewing of Iron Man 2, and he always made a mess in the old apartment and expected us to clean it up. Of course, by “us” I mean “me,” seeing as I’m the only one that had the dishonor of calling Ted their roommate. Although, you’ve all seen the messes Ted made, so I know I’ve got you on my side should the gang-up scenario pan out.
Now, I know how unruly a session of fisticuffs can get, so I suggest we lay down a set of ground rules as to add a touch of order to the chaos that will soon ensue.
Rule #1: No below the belt funny business
Seriously, guys. I’m not kidding. There’s no need to make this personal. This is all about airing our grievances. It’s cathartic, not vengeful. Also, Raymond is trying for a baby and I don’t want any of us being directly responsible for an eventual divorce and his inevitable wagon fall when he gets back on the heroin. I don’t think you guys want to be reasonable for Ray Ray destroying his life with the H, again, right? Good. So no nut shots.
Rule #2: No Weapons
I’m pretty sure none of you brought weapons, so this one is more of a just-in-case-you-didn’t-know kind of thing. I now some of you are inclined to bring weapons to nearly any event you attend for the purposes of protection from the crazy, crazy world we live in, but, Eric, Sea World is no place for a baseball bat with a spike drilled through it, nor will such a bludgeoning/impaling device be tolerated during our bout of fisticuffs.
Rule #3: No Name Calling
Seriously, guys. Physical scars may heal, but emotional scars never go away. I read that on one of those cars that has every square-inch of paint covered in bumper stickers. Also, Rule #3-A is “My Other Car is a Ferrari,” and Rule #3-B is “My Child is an honor roll student at Ludlum Elementary.”
Rule #4: Parameters
I don’t want you guys trampling all over my newly planted flower patch. Those lilies were expensive as balls, and Marsha would engage me in a round of fisticuffs if they were to get messed up. So, as to maintain my lawn’s integrity, I kindly request that you fellows keep all of your rage-filled bloody mayhem within the 10×10 square of extension cords and bungee cables you are all currently standing in. Also, try to keep all blood and dislodged teeth away from the lilies. The in-laws are coming in tomorrow, and I don’t want to have to explain to Dan and Sarah that my chums and I engaged in a bout of vicious fisticuffs in my backyard as a way to air grievances and settle disputes. As long as we keep our violence within the square we should be A-okay.
So, those are the rules. I made sure that I didn’t make them too constrictive, because what’s a round of fisticuffs with your friends if you’re all bogged down by a series of petty and arbitrary rules? Am I right, guys?
Now, it’s getting close to fight time, so everyone hold up your fists as if you were preparing for a brawl…good, good, that’s right. Frank, Frank, hold them higher. Yeah, cover your face. I wouldn’t want your lips to be severed off after they get sandwiched between a fist of fury and your adult braces. Good. Now, hold those fists up nice and high, plant your feet in to the dirt, but don’t plant them too well. I don’t want Dan and Sarah to see all these big holes in a 10×10 square hole in the lawn. That would be embarrassing.
Alright, twenty-seconds until the fisticuffs commence. You can now pray to your various gods and such for protection. James, I know you’re an atheist, so you can go ahead and pray to Mother Gaia, or whatever pagan thing you do. I’m just joshin’ with’ya, bro. I respect your beliefs. Just a bit of witty repartee before the violence begins. Like in the movies. “I will avenge the death of my family, Sanchez!” or whatever they say in movies and stuff.
Okay, ten-seconds. One final note, for those that survive, there will be cold beer in the cooler, various chips and dips to the left of you on my lovely new outdoor dining set that I got on sale from Target, and Marsha made some of her famous breaded jalapeno poppers and shrimp and crab mini-sandwiches.
Okay, enough with the talk. Are you gentlemen ready? Let’s do this.
I’ll see all of you in Hell…after we enjoy the beer and poppers.