Black And Blue

"I wrote this while smoking a La Gloria Cubana Wavel.

I look at my opponent. Sergeant Rocksalt [OPSEC] stares back at me, if not with hate, than with a reasonable determination to choke the life out of me.

The referee stands between us: “No Armbars. No punching. If this guy taps out, you stop.”

“Wait a minute,” I think. “The referee pointed to me when he said that.”

The referee already knows that the outcome of this match is predetermined. It’s not a question of if Sergeant Rocksalt will win, it’s a question of how long before he chokes me out.

Sergeant Rocksalt’s eyes drill into my soul. He’s already breathing heavy, psyching himself up into a frenzy so that he can liquefy me before the two-minute clock runs out. He is two-hundred and ten pounds of pure pissed off corrections officer. In real life, he stomps the heads of inmates at Trenton State Prison. He’s also a platoon sergeant in one of the line platoons. He’s not my arch-nemesis like Sergeant Blackjack, but I exist as a minor annoyance to him, like laundry or dandruff.

Oh my G-d this guy is going to kill me."
Big Tabacco