I was born a couple of hundred years ago. That's not true, but I always celebrated my birthday like if it was my last. Why? Because. You never know when somebody's gonna crack your skull open. Some years ago Marcos and I were doing our post-natal ritual of counting down until death. I had my own apartment and invited everybody I had on my cellphone's contact list, including my mom. Why? Because she made the mess now she needed to witness it. In all our glory we had over around 30 people rummaging through potato chip bags, vodka bottles, and BBQ'ed hotdogs. I had invited everybody under the pretext that it was a pool party so we had a nice kiddie pool for the cool kids. Marcos and I sat in said pool sharing a hotdog a la lady and the tramp and judged everyone who was at our birthdays.
At night we got dressed up and greeted more random people that showed up with good friends of ours. I made a little pit-stop at my room for some birthday sex with a girl who's name escapes me. Suddenly Marcos and my brother begin knocking to inform me that an intruder had arrived. I cared very little about shit talkers but Marcos reasoning was sound; it was our birthdays. This kid Pandy asked for it (no he didn't). I got my steel toes on and went out the front door. They were waiting for me. I was very drunk and imaginative and grabbed the steel rod I was using to move the BBQ coals.
Marcos started it. He was discharged from the Marines some years before so he had been trained for this kind of birthday intrusion. He drop kicked him on the side of his ribcage and proceeded to punch his face repeatedly. I proceeded with a swift tolshock to the side and kept batting away until my brother wrestled the rod away from me. I accepted the mercy power grab to start kicking his face on the ground.
They took him to the emergency room and didn't call the police so everything turned out all right.
We ended up partying some more at a roof top and threw bottles off of it.
Beat that.
