First off, I would just like to state that the title of this story makes no sense. This story will only re-tell one instance of a street fight in Williamsburg and as far as I know, unless my life takes a turn for the awesome,

First off, I would just like to state that the title of this story makes no sense. This story will only re-tell one instance of a street fight in Williamsburg and as far as I know, unless my life takes a turn for the awesome, I will never see two middle class twenty something babes succeed in kicking the living shit out of each other again.

My good friend and I had gone out on a Friday night with the usual hopes getting super drunk and ideally making out and/or getting two 7’s or higher’s phone numbers. It is not difficult to see that out of these goals only one is absolutely guaranteed.
We decided to go out in Williamsburg because as everyone knows, Williamsburg is teeming with good looking girls i.e. 7’s and above for those un-enlightened idiots who fail to see all of the merits offered by the 1-10 system. To sum up the night, we went to a bunch of bars looking for girls, found plenty, but didn’t do shit about it. This insignificant fact was of no real concern since we were already well on our way to getting hammered. It was at this point we realized it was about quarter after three and the night was reaching its end. We proceeded to put our collective heads together (no homo) and figured out that it only made sense to go to Union Pool since we had already exhausted all of our other babe repositories.

When we arrived there we were met by a myriad of attractive girls. Right off the bat the DJ played “The Love you Keep” by the Jackson 5 which is probably the best Jackson 5 song. We decided to start dancing and use the “middle school dance” approach of picking up girls–simply asking a girl to dance for a song. I spotted a very cute short girl who I could have sworn was giving me make out eyes. I started dancing with her and was surprised by her bravado; she waited all of two seconds before reaching into my coat to grab the shit out of my ass (always sort of a weird move on a girl’s part). In any case I let her do it and before I had even had a chance to wipe, she looked up into my eyes and asked, “Hey you wanna make out?”

“Sure” I replied and she then met my lightning quick response with a confused facial expression which said, “well of course he fucking said ‘yes,’ I must be drunk.”
We made out for a few minutes in a booth and then we both sort of went our separate ways, we were both hammered after all, and plus, I felt that neither one of us really wanted to talk to some wasted person who we would end up fucking anyways—we both subconsciously must have felt that it would be easiest if we just met outside when the bar closed. I found my friend and drunkenly said, “dude, I totally made out with a girl.”

“Yeah man I saw, I just got a girls phone number. I saw her sitting by herself at the bar and said ‘hey where is your friend? Mine decided to go make out with some chick, whatsup?’”

Then, like the stoked drunk asshole I tend to become after drinking a whole lot, I replied with an unbelievably annoying, “Oooooaaaaahhhh yeeeaahhhhh.”

We then both looked at each other the way drunk dudes do when the possibility of getting it wet is within reach. A few minutes later when “last call” was announced I went to the dance floor to find the girl (whose name I never learned) to see if I could end up at her apartment. Sure enough, before a minute had even passed, the girl came up to me and started dancing, but before I could try and make out with her again something out of the ordinary happened.

As I was about to try and kiss her, I saw that the girl noticed another girl out of the corner of her eye, a friend perhaps, and without so much of a warning, the girl reached back and threw one of the meanest right crosses I have ever seen in my life, which was directed right at the mystery girl. The contact made with mystery girl was solid and it sent her careening face first into the bar which was directly to our collective left. I looked up and before I could even think, “What the fuck!? this chick is gnarely,” like an action hero in bar fight from a shitty action movie, the enemy, while draped over the bar picked up a shot glass and with all her female force smashed the thing right on the girls face. Needless to say I was motherfucking speechless, first of all this chick is made out of piss and vinegar, second, shot glasses are fucking thick and it takes some serious force to break one, especially on soft human flesh. The two girls then proceeded to lock arms and started pulling at each other’s hair, realizing that this chick was probably cut the fuck up I picked her up off the ground and pulled her away.

Once I put her back on the ground, she briefly paused and started smiling, looking at me with the same euphoric drunk face she had when she asked to make out with her. She proceeded to start dancing and could not figure out why I was not into it. After trying to grab my hands to start dancing, I simply said, “Listen, you are not O.K.”

“Oh come on what are you talking about, lets daaannnccccee.”

“No you don’t understand, your face is fucking covered with your own blood.”

And while still trying to dance to Billy Jean she said, “Oh stop being a pussy, you’re craaazzzyyy” and proceeded with her stupid emphatic dancing. Out of frustration, I grabbed a napkin from the bar, wiped it on her head and said, “Look, you are fucked up!”

That cute little make out face hers all of a sudden turned into that painfully vulnerable about to cry face you make when you’re a little kid and your brother takes it too far and actually beats the shit out of you. And before I could blink, she made an about face and ran to the bathroom followed by a flock of her friends.

I then look back up and see my friend standing there with the same baffled gaze as me. We stood speechless taking drinks from the same beer he had just bought. Finally I looked at him and said, “it is time to go-o-o-o.” I did not want to follow this event to its logical conclusion, the idea of having to cheer up a girl after she just got a shot glass smashed in her face out of sheer and utter malice seemed entirely too fucking difficult for the sake of a shitty drunken lay. My friend agreed and after re-telling the story about three times outside to people who heard what happened, but did not actually see it, we got into cab and relished in our cumulative sense of self-satisfaction over the night we had just experienced.
-Danny Miami

Related posts:

1. DEAR STREET CARNAGE: WILLIAMSBURG LOONIES
2. DEAR STREET CARNAGE: TYPES OF GIRLS
3. DEAR STREET CARNAGE: GIRLS IN FRONT OF ART
4. DEAR STREET CARNAGE: DEAR DREW
5. DEAR STREET CARNAGE,