Pat Gets Knockwurst'ed By Some Toughs

"Was it the same spot?"

Pat looked at me, confused. He had been telling me about how he'd been jumped in the park by a consortium of Hanseatic League Sympathizers. (Really weird part of town.)

"You know," I said, "where the little kid threw sand in my face just because I want to make America great again?"

"Oh! Not there, but close. These three guys came up to me because someone had set off a string of Black Cats and I was stimming really bad."

"Stimming..."

"Yeah, I was holding my ears and jerking in place. Like this..." Pat shook in his chair, eyes screwed tight.

"Oh, you mean Doing the safety dance!"

"Uh, right. Anyway, these guys came up to me and asked what my problem was. They were hostile right off the bat, and the biggest one just punched me in the mouth. So I got into my judo stance. I hit the guy with a move I had just learned that week, and dropped him flat on his back!"

"Wow."

"Yeah! The other two guys ran off, and I ran the other direction. The whole thing was pretty scary. I was bleeding from the mouth, and my back molar was a bit loose. But there's a happy ending."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the guy I dropped was in the park a few days ago with his little niece. He came right up to me and I thought there was going to be trouble. But he smiled and said he wanted me to teach him and his niece my 'karate' moves. I told him I wasn't an expert, I just knew a few moves, but he wanted me to teach him and we started to be friends. It's amazing! I'm now friends with the gang leader of the neighborhood. Someone good to be friends with..."

"Those damn Hanseatics. When will they build a wall... in the Baltic?"

"He even invited me over to his place this Saturday for his cousin's Quinceanera, can you believe it? Now I want to learn how to dance from the wife of my yoga teacher. If only she could teach me how to be taller. It's going to be embarrassing for me to dance with some teenage girl and we're about the same size..."

"It can't be any more embarrassing than this..."

"It's my nonceanera, when I turned ninety."

Pat gave me a look of extreme pity.

"Do you want me to teach you some moves?"

"Could you?"

Cue montage of me carrying buckets of water and waxing Chevy Impalas and fending off Hanseatics with my dry wit before I get punched in the balls... You're a lousy teacher, Pat!!