What?!
He just stared at me silently. Disapprovingly. Haughtily.
Dude, if you don't stop staring at me, I am going to pop you right in your vacant, stupid, too good looking, face.
Unfazed, he continued to watch me.
If you're looking for a date, I don't swing that way.
Silent glare.
Am I not good enough to shop in your store, is that it?
Unbroken eye contact. This jerk is looking down on me.
OK. That's it pretty boy. You asked for it.
I stalk over and square up on him. He continues to mad dog me. I reach back as far as I can, to deliver a haymaker. He's a brave one, I'll give him that, 'cause he doesn't even flinch as I hurl all my weight behind one heavy fist.
I catch him right in on a chiseled cheek bone with a rewarding THONK!
His head snaps to the side looking off in an impossible angle, but he doesn't even whimper.
You brave magnificent bastard.
The store manager shouts at me so I have to run out of the store, but my life's mission is now clear. These stoic denizens of the retail world, demand an underground fight club.
Alright, first rule of the fight club is nobody talks about the fight club. Got it? No talking. Ever.
What was that? Did you say something? No? Good. Let's get to it.
Alright, Nike and Adidas, I'll fight you both at the same time. Nobody else jump in, got it? Stay out of it Polo Golf. Yes, I see you Ms. Lululemon, I'll be fine. Maybe later we can go strike a pose, if you know what I mean.
HEY YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THOSE MANNEQUINS? I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME BACK IN HERE?!
Oh crap, the security guard. Damnit, Active Wear, you were supposed to warn us if you saw him. EVERYBODY RUN! What's wrong with you guys? RUN!
