LE FIGHT

in commemoration of my arrival in paris, i will post this old story, which happened to me in mid may of 2008...the unedited story goes like this...

The other night i got retarded drunk until around six in the morning. When i realized what time it was, i decided that i should bike up to Montmartre to watch the sunrise over Paris. (Why the fuck not?) Well I got to the steps of the Sacré Coeur and I was greeted by a band of kids that were kicking it by their black twingo listening to some bunk French rap. I rode by and one stopped me and asked if i had a cigarette. "Sorry guys I quit smoking a week ago," i replied. I thought they would be happy to hear that i had broken the chains of addiction, instead one just mocked me and told me "Good, be healthy, do some exercise and ride your ass out of here." At which point he pushed my bike in the same tender fashion a dad pushes his kid when they're just learning to ride a bike. I braked and told them that I was just here to watch the sunrise, and "je suis tranquille."
"Get the fuck out of here," the smallest one said as he ran towards me. (Napoleon complex?) This poor bastard got the brunt of it, i punched him in his face a few times and pulled off some sort of drunken judo maneuver where i used his momentum to throw him to the ground. His friend didn't like that too much and ran towards me, but i guess he was too afraid to punch, so he just kicked me from a distance with his lanky legs and knock off designer shoes. Maybe the little one was drunker than I was, because he was a terrible fighter, while i was being kicked, he got up and tried a running punch (crow-hop) but completely missed. I threw him anew to the ground. I looked up and saw a droopy faced guy with sad eyes (in retrospect these guys might have been ridiculously stoned) holding my bike over his head, swaying it back and forth so he could throw it at me. I mean, throw a bike? That doesn't even make sense. Finally one of their friends gets in the middle and tells them to back off, that i'm all alone, but the little one won't have it, and runs past him and punches me on the side of my ear. One of the pacifists of the crew gets my bike and stands it up, as if to offer a quick escape. When I saw this, I think I wrestled with the lanky kicker and the little one a bit longer, tried to get in as many punches as i could, and then hopped on my bike and rode away.
In classic 8 year old taunting style, I rode away and then slowed down telling them they were pussies and to fuck off. Two of them started running after me and I slowly pedaled off. As they got closer, I sped up, keeping myself and the bike just out of reach. They got tired and stopped, so I rode a bit farther, slowed down, and told them again to go fuck themselves. They ran after me again and I rode down the hill into the neighborhoods of Montmartre.
As I rode off I thought to myself that had the same thing happened to me in any other city in the world I would probably have received a proper beat down, followed by a shit kick, and wound up unconscious or in the hospital. But apparently the only thing the French thugs use their hands for is to fix their hair into faux hawks, put on their slim jeans and roll hash joints. They can talk and act the part but when it comes down to what makes ghetto kids scary : pure and wanton violence, these kids were laughable. Way to go France, even your thugs are effeminate.

and the corresponding photoshop brut...