I fight cripples

This one goes out to Nanbread, who recently recommended my site "because the blogger is so nice, and the site’s design and content is so unique". Let it be known that I'm using a generic Blogger template. What follows is the rest of my response to these vicious charges.

Sure, I beat up Kyle, but it was his own damn fault. He swung his crutches at me.

I know what you're saying: You beat up a kid with crutches? You are a heartless devil! But you're wrong. I'm a reasonable guy. And I beat up two kids with crutches.

But both times, they started it. Take Kyle, for instance. He was a real dick and a hothead. He'd just go nuts and start swinging his crutches at you for no reason. And he was on crutches for years, because he had hip problems to go with his mental problems. Eventually, his act wore a little thin, and he'd exhausted all possible goodwill. He swung his crutch at me, and I stepped in and sank a fist into his solar plexus. He immediately collapsed, gasping for air like a dying fish. I took one look at that and figured out two things: The fight was over, and there would be a howling mob led by his older brothers at my front door in the very near future. So I went inside and let my sister go out and win herself a Nobel Peace Prize by straightening things out, which was ironic because she was usually pretty violent and unreasonable herself.

I gave the other kid, Mike, every chance to get out of it. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked. He kept pushing me. "You're wearing a cast," I pointed out. He kept pushing me. So I figured, screw it, this kid gets no favors. I didn't just beat him up — I methodically worked over his leg like I was "The Nature Boy" Ric Flair. I hit him with kicks to the knee, leg sweeps, and knee bars, and I'd have gladly cinched him into the figure four leglock if he hadn't been weeping in a heap. When someone gives you an obvious advantage like that, good sense says that you take it. It was his own damn fault. And I'm a reasonable guy.