There are so many stories to tell this week!

Let me get the IDs out of the way real quick. Number 354 was the daughter of a family whose mom said, "you can trust that it's real because I'm her mom." Well, now I know you're both dirty rotten liars. Number 355 was a bad Michigan fake. Nothing to see here so let's move along to the good stuff.

Junior ... The Second

There aren't many names that will shock me. I've seen all of the Name of the Year candidates I can take working for the high school sports department for four years.

I can name two instances that genuinely stopped me cold. The first was a man with an X next to his name. He stated he was the 10th of generation of his namesake. It wasn't even a cool name.

It wasn't even weird like how Mormons do it.

That's like 160 years of one bland-ass white dude's name. 

And the second instance was on Saturday when (name changed for anonymity*) Richard Jefferson Williams Jr-II came to the bar.

Junior. The Second. 

Here's the rundown straight from the perplexing gentleman's mouth:

"Well I went to this country show with my girlfriend but I wanted to watch Supercross, but I missed it and you got it on TV and I had like 60 text messages about it asking who won. But then I saw you guys had Busch Light so I was like, Yep, this is cool. So yeah, my dad is Richard Jefferson Williams Junior but he hated his dad so he decided to name me after him instead of my grandpa which is how you get Richard Jefferson Williams Junior, the Second."

Midget Tossing

If someone's getting handsy and it's unwanted, please tell me, and I'll take care of it. 

We get one man out of the bar after a few reports, and he's just not reading the room. He waits outside for over an hour, pacing and trying to call his friend inside (who we later toss for the very same reason). 

Things come to a head when he balls up his fist and utters, "as soon as I figure this out I'm going to drop you."

He is approximately 5-foot-4, 140 pounds.

I am not.

"You're just tall."

“Yeah, by over a foot.” 

And then knowing all of this information, he lunges at me!

Peanut grabs hold and I move out of the way. Lucky for me, because I got to watch Peanut fling him like Pedro Martinez on Don Zimmer. Two minutes later and Midge is huffing and puffing and threatening to fight me (and not the one who already flung him) with SEVEN members of the bar staff outside. In fact, the eight of us were the only people on the block, and the Midge thinks he's going to walk away clean.

Once we kicked his friend out, they left into the night.

And then things got crazy.

Latvian Lothario

It's hard to tell the last two stories because they happen simultaneously, in the sense that Tarantino don’t films have a set beginning, middle and end. 

Vlad, a Latvian man in his early 40s, slightly above average in height and build, walks up to me and says, "You want drink? What you want fuck to drink?"

I’m almost sure he wants to buy the bouncer a drink, but I also thought he wanted to offer me a sig of a hidden flask.

"I'm working right now, sir. I'll have to pass. But thank you."

"What FUCK you want drink? You want vodka? I get you vodka."

So, he goes inside, and I don't see him for a while.

Hammer Douche

A young man walks outside from the bar with a drink in hand. I ask him to step back inside the bar with the cup, as per the law (at the time). He decides to play around with the alcohol, which is a notoriously dumb idea.

He holds it above his head and says, "Oh, what drink? This drink?" He then moves it up and down like he's toying with a toddler's food on a magical airplane. 

'Cept I ain't no toddler.

So smack the drink out of his hand.

HD gets in a huff and walks away with his friend. HD then comes back about five minutes later because he wants a refund for his spilled drink. I tell him he's no longer welcome here after he was given multiple chances to go inside by the staff. He acted immaturely and that's why he forfeited his spot inside.

As soon as I walk into the bar, he punches the door and runs away.

He catches the metal door frame where it holds the window in place. If his hand isn’t broken, it hurts like hell.

20 Minutes Later ...

HD walks up and asks me to step aside with him a few feet to my left so he and I can have a 1-on-1. I refuse because I've seen movies.

I tell him we can talk right here. HD juts out his left hand and I flinch.

I have a black belt brother who likes swords. I'm not about to lose a limb from a crazy guy that's already punched a perfectly good metal and glass door.

"Why won't you let me back in?"

"Because you punched the door!"

"But are you going to give me my money back?"

"No."

"Well, can we shake on it?"

This part, admittedly, makes no sense. I personally believe he wanted me to get close to hit so he could attack. He was 5-11 and spry. And you can't plan for crazy, so I kept my distance.

Plus, he was bleeding. From the hand he wanted to shake with.

"No, man. I'm good. You're also bleeding."

"No, I'm not," he says as he wipes his bloody right hand on his coat.

HD walks 10 yards to my right, close to the end of the street, but still within earshot of the bar's entrance.

Face steps out for a smoke, as does Peanut and a new guy who I'll have to make up a name for soon. Nope, got it. Brasco.

HD starts to act out.

He doesn't deserve this, he says.

He says we're at a "Still Stand" until he sees the manager.

Screwball walks out, perplexed as to why he must stand outside in the cold.

HD accuses him of not supporting military families.

"My dad served in the matillary for 26 YEARS!"

Matillary.

And like any good matillary man, he charges a hill. Or rather, a sidewalk next to a shrubbery outside a bar in winter.

Brasco does a good job holding him back until he starts questioning Face's military service. Face, who wears the same boots behind the bar he wore in Afghanistan, takes some offense.

Words were shared.

Phones were dropped. A shirt was taken off.

Party time.

"MY DAD SERVED FOR 26 YEARS! AND YOU DON'T CARE! 26 YEARS!"

At this point, most of the action is happening to my right just when, you guessed it ...

Latvian Lothario

A sultry woman with a red cocktail dress and a faux fur shawl stands outside smoking a cigarette.

Just kidding, she was a elementary school teach wearing blue jeans and forest green sweater … standing outside smoking a cigarette.

"What your name,” said LL Cool Beans.

She says her name.

"Where are you from," LL says with all the blood rushing to his head, keeping him in a constant state of unstable forward momentum.

"America."

"No, NO. Where are you from? Asia?”

The woman was of Vietnamese descent.

“I'm from Latvia and I will punch this man for you,” LL says while pointing at me.

I have no idea who she is, but not only wasn’t she alarmed by this, I could tell she entertained the thought of a man punching me for her own amusement. LL then dropped his wallet on the ground. While he was drunk, I couldn’t tell if the move was accidental, or a Dr. Mantis Toboggan setup.

"Sir, you dropped some money," she said.

"Don't fucking touch my money!"

It was accidental.

He promptly falls down on his ass trying to pick up his money. There's $60 on the ground. LL manages to pick up 20 while the most patient woman in the world asks to pick up the remaining bills.

Now at his feet, LL tells me to "take it," meaning the $20 already in his hand.

I tell him to keep his money and that I cannot let him back inside.

"YOU TAKE $20, YOU FUCK!"

And now I have $20.

Hold the phone, what's happening to my right again?

Hammer Douche

HD, after getting his ass kicked by several passers-by, is told by a woman driving through the intersection that "life's too short for stupid shit." No longer by the bar, he’s now standing across the street, with his hoodie on, wearing black pants and black and white tennis shoes, staring us down.

It's snowing. Heavily.

He's not moving.

It's The Shining, Part Junior, The Second.

The police are on their way, finally. Oh, did I forget to mention that HD fought some random people who called the cops on him? Well, that happened. Three cruisers pull up and take their information and come over to get my statement. I tell them all about the punched door, the fights with staff, and the assaults on random passers-by. This kid is not handling tonight well.

During this time I notice it's the same officer from the Brass Knuckles event.

We have a chuckle.

He asks me if I have anything else to s-

Latvian Lothario

"Hey, what you doing here? You arresting me?"

"For what, sir?"

"Because I going to fuck him up."

The cop and I each have an exasperated look on our faces.

"Sir," the officer asks, "do you have a way to get home?"

"No."

"Are you staying somewhere?"

"No."

"Where did you come from?"

The ether, I thought to myself. An angel bestowing mass amounts of cosmic comic relief beyond human possibilities.

"No."

LL then gives a nod to the cop, turns 180 degrees. 

And falls flat on his face.

Oh, Wait, He's Not Done

 LL gathers himself and walks toward me and the patient woman, who is about to leave. 

Brasco returns and gives me the lowdown on what's been happening with HD.

I tell him they've been dealing with Plan A for so long I've moved onto Plan B.

"I nobody fucking Plan B!"

Hammer Douche Returns

It's three hours after bar close.

He walks north. He paces back south.

A car drives by, slowly.

A car disappears from frame.

HD turns.

Faces the door.

Retribution, possibly.

If at first you don't succeed.

Out comes the hammer.

Held by the Douche.

Who breaks the window.

Wearing the same pants. And the same sneakers. 

2019 UPDATE: The cops found his name, address, and even went to his house to investigate. The police declined to move forward because there was a “lack of evidence” despite being questioned about his various activities the night in question.

2022 UPDATE: This was the craziest night that’s ever happened in the bar, around the bar, and to the bar. While there were moments that were sexier, more violent, and funnier, this one had a little bit of everything.