Couple weeks ago I asked for peoples’ tales about the last time they were in a fistfight. Perhaps cause no one fistfights (good on ya) or perhaps because no one’s dying to display their stories of defeat!, but the only people I know who took me up on my offer were my best friend Jessica, because she is my best friend—and, ironically, Cali, the lovely Cali, now and forever a gentle fawn in hot pink briefs. The man whose extremely involved workout/smoking routine I aspire to emulate. Here is Cali’s tale of final mortal kombat, in beautimous detail:
hiya shep,
teenage fisticuffs were plentiful for me. i was full grown at twelve AND the only punker in 8th / 9th grade. My GF, Barbara Bean, was the only goth in the whole city.
One day there was a new kid, Julian Turbobiner, the son of a south african diamond mining family. He was a couple of years older than me and he had a class with my goth princess. On his second day he KICKED her shin and called her a “ghoul bitch!”
She reported to me and the following day I left class early to wait outside of the class they had together. I wanted her to see Julian pay for his bastardism.
So class let out and i immediately start punching him, it’s raining and he’s down in the mud. The funny part, in retrospect, was Barbara was very quiet, very timid, and she is emptying his backpack into the mud and spitting in his face! She was like an animal taking out all the times she had ever been picked on on this kid.
SO.
I go to the bathroom and wash my hands , which are all cut up and bloody, and then i ditch the rest of the day. the next morning i come to school and am immediately sent to the office, where the principal asks me why my GANG of nazi skinheads jumped and beat this poor boy. Julian’s father had called and demanded the expulsion of the skinhead gang that hurt his son!
i was so insulted! im no nazi! i listen to conflict!
anyway, i got suspended for like two days.
that’s it.
xoxo
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The irony: my story is about HITTING CALI. wtf.
I don’t read blogs.
That being said I was asked to read this particular passage because at the tender age of 10, I was privy to this rare brush of chivalry and justice!
I was on the couch at the W. Plata Dewitt compound when 16 year old Cali Dewitt was sent home for allegedly fighting with a south African peck student named Jules. Dewitt’s then gigantic mitts were bloody as was his uniform choice t shirt. What sticks out most was the way Dewitt chose to dress his wounds…that’s was was so inspiring to me, a 10 year old sun soaked surfer kid from up the street. With 10 bloody knuckles, and a room full of gauze and band aids, Cali chose to wrap each finger in duct tape…duct tape! Unheard of at the time and I was mesmerized. It was my first taste of punk rock revenge and I have been hooked ever since.
Now a mercenary stationed in a remote section of rural Laos, it is that extreme example of courage that fuels my government funded fire day after egg noodle soaked day.
The end.
“ghoul bitch!”
i dont remember duct taping my knuckles but it sounds very macho! and Jessica , please dont hit me anymore.
okay
so the last time i ACTUALLY got into a fist fight was as a bouncer at this stupid bougoise bar that i worked at. i had to kick out this old fucking pervy guy, who waited till he was outside and had two people between me and him to grab my sweater and hit me in the face about as hard as your grandma might. i didn’t retaliate because he was old and drunk and i was on the clock.
but the best time i ever got into a fight was in 8th grade. some of the cooler kids thought it would be fun to amp me and this other kid up into fighting one another. the cool kids told both of us (seperately) that the other one had been talking shit (neither one of us had said anything about the other). and when you’re in 8th grade you don’t stop to think about possible alternate motivations, you just want to please the cool kids and prove your balls. so at lunch that day, with the support of the preps, i fucking dumped chocolate milk on this kid’s head as i walked to return my lunch tray. the last thing i remember is dropping my tray about three inches short of the window for no apparent reason. next thing i knew my friend was pulling this kid off of me. apparently he had come up behind me and punched me in the back of the head, and i fell and hit my head on the floor. at which time this kid with MY chocolate milk all over HIS head had flipped me over onto my back, sat on my chest, and proceeded to rain thunderous blows down on my semi-conscious face. awesome. i ended up with a mild concusion, three days suspension, and a pretty decent reputation as a kid who would pour cafeteria milk on your head if i thought you were fucking with me. what, what!
100% PURE FUCKERY! It slipped my mental that I meant to write/send my girlfight story over to you. So here it is, without further…
The last time I had a true fistfight was with a chick named Tiffany and one of her friends (well, it was supposed to be a brawl with Tiffy but her friend jumped in). As is the case in many a girlfight, me and Tiffany were at one time, if not friends, associates. I brought her to a party in the park with some of my homeboys, and as the story goes, she fucked a couple of them, either that night or on a subsequent evening. So I ran into Tiffany in Westwood, across the street from the donut shop, around the corner from the arcade. We exchanged words, and as I was walking away, she said some expletive/excrement out of her mouth, yet under her breath.
The old gangbanging ways got the best of me, I turned around, snatched the Tiffster by her hair, and proceeded to beat her face in with my fist. I was getting with her, in a real way, when her friend rushed me from behind – tearing the shit out of my new Guess button-up shirt ($98!!!). Then I got pissed. I kicked up from behind with my right foot, hitting her homegirl hard as hell with my heel in her genital/nether regions. She got off my back, posthaste.
The fight ended with me beating Tiffany’s head against a van parked near the site of our girlfight, someone yelling “La Jura” (the cops), and me belling (running) down the street toward Wilshire where I caught the bus back toward the Eastside.
Oh yeah, I think I was either 16 or 17 during this scuffle. There was the time in college at SFSU where me and a few friends wandered into the wrong part of the Tenderloin and were jumped by about 20 guys and a couple of girls, but nothing connected to me nor did I throw blows, hence my back-in-the-day-beating-the-mess-outta-that-hoe-tiffany anecdote.
ENJOY!
hey Cali! remember that one night in April ’94..?
anything you wanna get off your chest..??!?! ;)
Hey Cali you suck hard! You don’t honestly think your ‘scrappy story’ makes you cool do you?
I’m cool plus 1, even though I promote god awful music and have no talent.
Yeah, April ’94… What was that again, Cali..??
I wonder why Cali is not answering… Don’t worry, I’m not Tom Grant or a cop. I’m just a girl wondering what happened.
O, another little thing, just something I recently found out. Michael DeWitt and Jessica Hopper get Nirvana’s Special Thanks in the booklet from In Utero.
And you’re the guy in drag on the disc! Wow, I’m starting to get some details, here ;)
Still wondering why no-one is answering… Hmm…
And you’re the guy in drag on the disc! Wow, I’m starting to get some details here ;)
Still wondering why no-one is answering… Hmm…
they don’t answer because they their lawyers say it’s a no-no
Looks like ole Courtney is paying the bills for ya. Wonder why….