“Dave?” His jaw nearly unhinged. Apparently his name wasn’t Dave. “Are you really that fucked up right now?”
“Come on. I’m getting you out of here.” He grabbed my forearm and tried to rip me away from Johnny’s gravitation. “We’ll talk about this later… fucking bitch.”
Jeez. Taking this a little personally aren’t we? I was so high I almost laughed.
However, Johnny didn’t find any light-heartedness in his words, because I immediately felt my entire body being flung, helpless, into the grainy, white sand, and had to watch as his colossal hands formed into two balls of knuckle and sinew that began to pound themselves into Dave/Dale’s face. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do but watch, as an audience of hopelessly intoxicated individuals began to swarm around the two animals that were literally destroying each other for the sake of my honor. Or rather, as the one insanely-ripped and sexy ex-Marine obliterated the face of the other insanely-ripped-but-not-as-sexy-socialite that threatened my imaginary honor, and the poor boy laid there, spitting blood and teeth, and taking every single knock to the face like the unavoidable reckoning of Thor’s hammer.
The sight of Johnny in action was enough for me to know in that moment that I didn’t need anyone else. He would always have my back, and I would never need anyone else to watch it. Therefore, it didn’t matter that the racist, son-of-a-bitch, incompetent piece-of-white-trash was getting his own personal form of shake-n-baby syndrome. Quite simply, he deserved every blow to the face that didn’t directly lead to his acquiring of much more brain damage than he had already procured. As far as I was concerned, Karma had reared its ugly Medusa-head in the direction of the flaming flamer. Really, he was just getting social justice.