The Dumbass Chronicles: The Hobbit
While the bulk of this story comes from Crigger, when alcohol is involved we at Ranger Up like to infuse many perspectives to ensure a truthful recount.
For once this story isn’t about an act of incongruence by a member of Ranger Up. Instead it’s about an act of sheer stupidity enacted upon us by a vertically challenged apoplectic douchebag.
There we were, finishing up an average night of Rangeriffic partying in Vegas after UFC 114 at the Mandalay Bay’s Foundation Room with James McSweeney and MC Hammer when a little shit hit the fan. We were hungry, but the closest sustenance was 41 floors below us in the lobby. With our go-mugs in hand we stepped into the elevator along with a few other party goers when things went amuck.
I had not been paying attention much at this point, as I was enjoying the terrific buzz coursing through my body.
From my vantage point, the first exchange started when we piled into the elevator. Someone else said (maybe one of the girls) “are we all trying to fit in one elevator” and Lex said to no one in particular something like “yeah, it’s going to be a little scary.” (i.e. There were some big boys in the pack and it was going to be tight.)
Just as Lex had entered, then turned around to face front as the doors closed, Napoleon was already nose to nipple on Lex and says “Oh yeah? What’s gonna be scary? Who’s scared?” There was a lot of silence in between the first few comments, primarily due to the fact that no one realized who or why this guy kept speaking to an elevator full of strangers. On the 3rd or 4th comment he spit directly at Lex was when everyone in the elevator realized that some elevator midget tossing might be on the docket.
Back to Crigger
Nick, chipper after a night of partying, casually says to the short, bald, Steve Austin wannabe, “It’s all good man. No need to be angry tonight! You’re going home with three girls.” Most people would have taken this at face value since his intent was to say, “lighten up dude.” But not this guy. He was chemically unbalanced and listed severely on the side of roid rage. If ever the term Napoleon Complex fit a small man, this was him…with a bottle of gay juice. And Nick had inadvertently just pushed his wee little button.
Due to imbibing on bourbon (and not really caring about anything other than my growling stomach) I must admit that I didn’t catch the next few words that were exchanged until Frodo Baggans (sans the hair) looked the hulkingly large Lex McMahon in the face and said, “You scared?”
That caught my attention. This runt had 235 pounds of Lex in front of him, Nick’s square 5’8” by 5’8” physique flanking him, and me (my nickname is Thor) behind him. Professional fighter Dale Hartt held the opposite flank while Reed Kuhn took notes for the eventual police report. Somewhere 40 floors up Matt Phinney’s spidey senses tingled (until his drunken brain told him it was a false alarm). In their hotel rooms Tommy Batboy and John Tackett felt a disturbance in the force, jumped out of bed, and loaded their Armageddon arsenals. In short, this guy was surrounded and facing his own personal Chosin…and Chesty Puller he wasn’t!
But there he stood talking shit. He had to look nearly straight up to see Lex as my hands slowly positioned for a rear naked choke in the case that he decided to strike. Nick snuck a leg in between his for a Judo throw as Dale Hartt pulled a ninja hood over his face. So props to this guy for not backing down. But the sheer insanity of the force he faced meant only one thing – he was a complete idiot.
“You don’t want this,” Lex said calmly. Still he pressed forward. His girlfriend stepped in between us. Still he jacked his jaw. The elevator door opened and I alerted security to avoid a massacre. Still he talked shit. What was it with this dude? Was he brain dead? Or was he the Andy Kauffman of pugilism? For a second I wanted to alert a special ed teacher that one of his students had wandered off without his helmet. But I thought better of it and for the most part we kept our cool and tried to walk past him to the nearest restaurant. Nick was getting bored and said, “we’re done here man, have a good night.”
Dan Ostrower’s Perspective
I had taken the next elevator and was rushing to catch up to the guys. The door opens at the bottom and I am happy to find Nick standing by the entrance “waiting” for me with a new “friend”.
I notice the rest of the guys standing around the perimeter hanging out, a mini-strike force consisting of raw power (Krigger & Lex) a quick reactionary force (Dale)and my co-embed Reed keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings since I took a quick break upstairs.
I walk up to Nick, drink in hand, with a solid buzz and absolutely no clue what I was walking into. In other words- fat, drunk and stupid.
At this point I find myself standing side by side with Nick and a drunken Frodo Baggins look alike that I presume to be another facebook fan or friend that I haven’t yet met.
As the dialogue continues I notice said Hobbit becoming increasingly belligerent towards Nick, and Nick’s complete disregard for such animosity adding further fuel to the fire.
In light of Nicks complete and utter calm and the hilarity of the proposition, I continued to knock down my drink as we start walking towards the restaurant with the now increasingly irate Hobbit in tow.
With our chosen restaurant in sight and the Strike-force ready to get their feed on, Nick made a quick overture of reconciliation to end the ass-clownery from the Hobbit and hopefully call it night.
I want to eat. I have done nothing to this guy, have no idea why he wants to fight me, and don’t care. Eat then sleep. That’s my plan. I’m pretty much in Ranger School mode.
Baggins blocks my fucking path. “You think you can take me, don’t you?”
“Nope. I want nothing to do with this. You look like a tough dude.” I lied, giving him his eighteenth out of the night. “I’m really sorry for whatever it is I did. Have a great night.”
“Oh, you think you can leave that easily? You can’t,” the Hobbit adds, stroking his precious.
I’m done. I try to walk around him. He blocks my path.
I look at the bouncer. “Dude, do you see this?” He nods.
I take a step back. Baggins moves a step forward. I take another step back. No we’re cha-chaing.
My aggravation level is rising fast. I’m not 18 anymore, so I am perfectly willing to “back down” to the aggressor to not get in a fight, but an infantryman has his limits and after the military and 22 years in combat sports my instinct when I am met with aggression is to destroy.
I am fighting that instinct with everything I’ve got when Reed walks over to help out.
Thinking Nick must somehow not be getting the logic of the situation across to Frodo, I walk over and point out to the guy that he is really the only person there who wants to fight (since he kept repeating the same questions towards Nick and Lex : “You wanna go right here?”) He also continuously offered up mindless rhetoricals like “you think cause you’re big you can take me?” or “you think cause you got your boys you can take me?” Never liking to leave a question unanswered, at least three times I point out that if by some miracle he bested a thousand pounds of ex-military beefcake and 170 pounds of ex-military and professional fighter Dale Hartt, he would surely still spend the rest of the night in a hospital or a jail. “The only way you sleep in your bed tonight is to just leave them alone,” I emphasize. Amazingly, he perseveres. “I’ll fight anyone. I’ll fight everyone.”
Back to Crigger
Blah Blah Blah is all I heard Reed say. I was tired of this. We were all too weary (and yes, drunk) to lose our cool, especially knowing that once we did, the situation would get fugly at ludicrous speed. Nick stopped answering, but Baggins continued to close the distance between them. His girlfriend (the only voice of reason on the Hobbit’s side) got in between them and tried to defuse the situation, but Frodo stuck his hand past her and poked Nick.
“You only want to fight because you got all these guys with you.”
Oh no, you didn’t.
Nick suddenly had a crazy look in his eye. Troops and barn animals shudder at this gaze. “No…I want to fight you because you’re a fucking faggot!” he erupted.
Saw that one coming.
From this blog (and Facebook) you may only know Nick as a drunken rowdy when in reality he’s a professional guy with a cool head. But block his path, physically prod him, and accuse him of cowardice and the hyperlocks that keep him in check are off. Even a lethal cocktail of a Ritalin and Valium won’t stop his Italian blood from boiling over. If it weren’t for the uber bad security dude holding him back, Nick would have shined the Mandalay Bay’s floor with Napoleon’s pancreas (I prefer the spleen, but Nick’s still a little young). I give the security guy all the credit for avoiding a bloodsport because the rest of us would have merely watched. Dude deserved it.
Then Nick served up the ultimate insult. “Here’s my card,” he said. “When you sober up in the morning, if you still want to do this, call me. We’ll fight in a cage. Fair and square.”
I openly laughed. Lex heckled. Dale Hartt let out a “daaaaammmn.” The dude’s girlfriend stepped up and took Nick’s outstretched card and said, “you hunka hunka burning love.” It was epic. Only a challenge to have a dance-off would have been more hysterical. He had no recourse but to back away, but not before Nick reached over, shook Frodo’s hand, and delivered the backhanded coup de grace.
“Looking forward to your call.”
At that point there simply was no point in taking anything seriously.
Until ten minutes later when we stepped into Raffles diner and Tommy and Tackett crashed through the ceiling, rappelled to the ground, and violently aimed mini guns at everyone in the place screaming “Bad boys, bad boys..whatcha gonna do!” That’s when things got awkward.