EPTIt was 10th grade. My friend, a Colombian guy who liked to sprinkle his joints with angel dust and party hard on the weekends, invited me to a Friday night party in a ghetto ass neighborhood where he was going to hook up with some girl he'd started talking to. He said there'd be a ton of hot chicks there and we hadn't hung out in a while, since he didn't go to my school anymore, so I told him, "Cool. Sounds good."
We didn't go to the same school anymore because during summer school between 9th and 10th grade one of the teachers accused him of breaking the A/C. At my school, a lot of the classrooms were held in portable trailers, because there was a massive overflow of students and the education system couldn't cope. So they just carted in a bunch of trailer homes and taught us in those.
Anyhow, the A/C in these trailers was just a window unit. In Florida, it gets hot as balls in the summer, so if the A/C breaks everyone's in a miserable mood. Plus, we're talking 40-45 kids crammed in here. So, yeah, his A/C was broken. And the teacher freaked out and tried to blame him, saying he would have to pay for it. Now, my friend, lets call him Xavier, came from a poor family. His mom and dad never married. His dad was a businessman in Colombia, who sporadically sent money to support his sons. His mom was a single mother raising two boys. Xavier was the oldest by five years. His mom didn't work from what I could see but I never explicitly asked him.
Back to the A/C. The teacher accused him. My friend got mad. The teacher got in his face and started yelling. My friend raised his hand to point back in the teacher's face. It's kind of a ghetto thing, they like to gesture a lot and point right in each other's faces when they're arguing. He did that, the teacher reacted like he was getting punched and swung at Xavier. Xavier ducked and kicked him in the balls and they started rolling around on the floor while all the kids cheered and went nuts. Obviously, the end result was my friend getting expelled. And because that teacher was the baseball coach for our school, which was doing really well at the time with a lot of players getting scouted by UF, he got away with throwing a punch at a student scot-free. It also helped that the witness reports were erratic, with some claiming the teacher tried to grab him, others saying the teacher tried to punch him, and others saying Xavier attacked first.
Regardless, Xavier now went to a special remedial school for expelled kids, so we didn't get to hang out that much. In 10th grade, only a few kids had cars, neither of us being one of them. But we used to be best friends. We started a breakdancing crew together, we formed a motley gang and fought the blacks and the druggie kids, the cubans and the PRs. Every other weekend we used to run a little fight club in my backyard. All of us would come over to my house with grub and sparring gloves and we'd just beat the hell out of each other for fun. Then we'd watch movies and wrestle and at night we'd go fuck about at an outdoor shopping mall and hit on the girls. So, I definitely missed the guy, and this sounded like a great time to hang out with him again.
After he told me about the party, I called a bunch of my friends, mostly from our old gang, and tried to sell them on the idea. Some of them weren't too happy about the hood we'd have to go to because it was far from where most of us lived. That was bad for two reasons. One, we couldn't get dropped off by our parents. Two, it'd be in an area with a bunch of people we didn't like. See, our gang didn't just fight people from our own high school. By the beginning of 10th grade, we'd already established our dominance there and rarely had any problems. My big brother was a senior when I came in as a freshman, and was a big cutup himself, so he linked us up with the shot-callers on day one. We smoke and drank with em for a few weekends, they liked us, and soon enough gave us the stamp of approval and backed us in our fights. After that, we picked a fight with the 4 other groups who thought they could run shit and stomped em all. So, by the time of the party, nobody in the school wanted to fuck with us anymore.
But, we still got in fights all the time. Why? Because on the weekends we'd go out to the night clubs and pool halls. And we'd ball at the local YMCA. At all these places, we'd run into kids from other schools who didn't know us or didn't respect us. So fights would break out. After a while, most everyone knew us. Especially the bouncers at the clubs. We were outright banned from most of em. The fights were always over something stupid. A hard foul on a layup, stepping on a shoe at the pool hall, fingering someone else's bitch on the dance floor, etc. Point is, we made a lot of enemies. Chances were pretty good we'd see some of them at this party.
Course, that didn't stop us from going to the party. It just meant we had to invite some annoying kids, whose parents were rich and bought them cars soon as they turned fifteen. And we needed enough of those kids to give all of our friends rides, coz God knows none of us hoodrat mfers had a car. I mean, my parents were rich. I lived in a mansion at the time. That's why everyone always came to my house on the weekends to hang out. But I didn't get a car. Mostly because my brother had already totalled two of them by the time he was eighteen and I thought he was a spoiled bitch for that and wanted to go the opposite route of not spending any of my parents' money. Or at least as little of it as I could.
It took a few days to arrange all the rides, but eventually we got a group of 14 guys and 6 girls who were down to go. I rode with this Jordanian dude named Sami in his white Lexus SUV. He was kind of a bitch. He always wore plaid button downs, leaving it hanging open like he was an ese, yet gelled his hair into this fking pineapple helmet, like an A&F preppy kid. And he sprayed cologne all over the fucking place. Tommy mfking Hilfiger. It smelled like shit. He also always kept fidgeting with this watch, which he tried to show off to everyone and called his "bling." It was just a fucking watch. To make him even more of a wannabe, he had this tattoo in Arabic around his belly button. No clue what the tattoo said. But I just remember we laughed our asses off when he tried to show it off. WTF kind of dude gets a tattoo around his belly button? That was something hoes did. To top it off, he was super husky, so it's not even all tidy sixpack beach bum tattoo. It's this distended fat gut thing, which draws your eyes to his bellybutton and vaguely reminds you of a dirty asshole. There's not a single aesthetically pleasing aspect of it. Yet, he got it. And kept bragging how most ppl can't get tattoos at sixteen. But his mom spoils his ass because she's Arabic and he's an only son, so she paid for his idiot ink. And his Lexus SUV.
Whatever. His ride fit 6 ppl besides him, so he was golden. His parents never gave him shit about curfew either, so I knew he wouldn't flake out midway thru the party and leave us stranded without a ride. He was always trying to be down with the homies. All it took was feeding him a few shots right off the bat and he'd sit on a couch all night talking about how wasted he was.
Aside from him, we had this dude called Talib. He was a hardcore ghetto Israeli mfer. Now, usually, you don't think of Jews as hardcore or ghetto. But Tariq wasn't Jewish. He was muslim. A Muslim from Israel is a bitter, angry, realpolitik kind of guy. That's just how their environment grows them. He came to the US when he was 11, and learned English listening to Tupac, Warren G, and DMX tapes. He smoked so much he already sounded like an old man. And he never got out of the habit of spitting on the ground. This mfer, in the middle of class, he'd just fucking hock one on the ground. Carpeted floor and everything. He would not give a shit. The teacher would always look at him like WTF and tell him to clean it up, at which point he'd just sort of grind the phlegm into the floor with his shoe. She'd send him to the office, but they gave him a break most of the time because they could tell he was mad fobby.
For some reason, Latino girls loved this motherfucker. Not sure why. Maybe coz he was buff. He was pretty shredded, especially for 15. And he had facial hair and everything, a real Romeo looking mfer. He had Arabic tattoos too. All over his forearms and neck. Lines from the Qur’an. He didn’t ever talk about his faith, or seem to be very pious, but what do I know? A man’s faith is between him and his God. But yeah, this dude was always swimming in pussy. Hairsprayed, hoop-earringed, drawn eyebrows, cholo ass girls, but that shit was a line out the damned door.
SO why was he coming to the party? Coz he had an older brother. Let’s call him Hakim. Hakim was twenty-one and sort of worked at a hookah lounge/café. But I never saw this lazy motherfucker do a damned thing whenever I stopped by to pick up some hummus and a shawerma and shoot the shit with Talib. He’d just sit outside, at an iron cast table, in a plastic white chair, smoking hookah and yammering away in Arabic to a bunch of other dudes who didn’t seem to do anything.
Now Hakim was kind of an ugly mfer. He didn’t pull bitches like Talib did. No matter how hard he tried to be gangster. But he could fight. Crazy as hell. He’d take hard punches straight to the face and just walk right on through. And he had a thing for younger girls. Like fourteen-fifteen. Probably because older girls could tell he was a deadbeat hash-head who hung around outside clubs on teen night trying to catch jailbait.
But he had a car. And he hounded Talib for days when I mentioned in passing that I was going to the party. He could smell the young meat and wouldn’t miss it for the world. So, along with the Lexus SUV, we had in our convoy a ghetto ass beat up old black Camaro with a bumper about to fall off.
The third car was a sleek ass burgundy Escalade, driven by this scrawny Indian dude named Amar. Amar came from a wealthy family. His dad was a heart doctor. His mom was a homemaker. He was the oldest son and only had two younger twin sisters who went to middle school with my little brother and had big crushes on him. Aman was a year older than me, Sami was too, and looked kind of goofy. He had bugged out eyes and a hook nose on a tiny face and a tiny body. He was like a brown-skinned Hindu goblin. If that goblin listened to Snoop Dog every damned day that is. This guy had thick ass gold earrings, one on each ear, that gave him this rogueish pirate look, and a big ass gold chain around his neck with AMAN in glittery 14K letters.
He talked like Snoop Dogg too. A slow drawl, kind of high pitched, with a weird hyena sort of laugh every now and then. Guy was a total pothead. Guy hit the bong every chance he could get. Got good grades in school. Always straight A’s. But as soon as you get this guy out of the classroom and into his black Escalade, it was 20 inch subs blowing out the back, shotguns and hotboxes, and a small collection of handguns stashed all over the damned car. He had a .22, a .45, and a 9mil. He’d always polish em and hold em using a cloth and sniff em telling me they were his babies. I sort of didn’t give a fuck, but figured if I ever needed a piece he would be a useful guy to talk to.
I liked Aman though. He might have been skinny and totally worthless in a fight, but he was funny as hell, I never got bored of looking at his bugged out facial expressions, and for some reason girls took a shine to him. He was very self-assured and confident, despite his strange looks and short height. He had this disgusting fucking habit though. He’d always come by while I was chilling in the cut, stand real close to me, and be like, “Hey, hey playboy, you know what I been doing?”
Of course I’d say, “What?”
Then he’d lift his skinny brown fingers right up under my nose, waving it back and forth, and go “Poking the pinnnnnnnnk!! Can you smell what dis Rock is cooking????” Which was fucking horrid, because who knew what skankbag he’d been fingerbanging? I sure as hell didn’t want to sniff the old ass tuna he’d been catching. And Aman was a sick motherfucker. I wouldn’t put it past him to stick a finger in a girl’s ass and try to get me to sniff the poo. But he was an alright dude. He brought two girls and 3 of our other friends with him: This giant ass Black-Hawaiian-Japanese dude, this short, really horny Viet guy, and a white boy named Brian.
Brian was a tall guy. Like 6’2” already in 10th grade. He had long ass strawberry blonde hair like a surfer guy, big broad shoulders, 18 inch guns for arms, and for some strange reason, this motherfucker loved cheerleading. Now, I’m not saying he liked cheerleaders. We all loved those skirt-wearing sluts. No, this motherfucker WAS a cheerleader. He lifted the girls up and shit, doing stunts and all that. I have no clue why. He’d always just say it’s what he liked to do and left it at that. But we gave him shit for it all damned day.
Brian could fight though. HUGE hands on this guy. Made fists the size of cannon balls. And he didn’t have no squeamishness about violence. There was no bitch side to this casper. He had a quiet rage in him. A gentle giant for the most part, but sometimes, something would tick him off, and he’d go all red-faced and then the jackhammers would come out. I couldn’t tell you exactly what his map looked like, but when people walked into his shit-zones things were guaranteed pop off.
It’s probably because his dad died when he was in middle school. Dude was a race car driver. Real cool. Looked a lot like Brian. But he got in an accident and they had to give him a ton of blood transfusions. Turns out, one of the packets of blood was tainted with HIV. Back then, HIV was pretty damned new. There weren’t the treatments for it like people have now. So his dad died. And he didn’t like telling nobody about it, because back then everyone thought only gays and prostitutes got HIV.
His mom had taken it hard too. I didn’t know if she had HIV. I never asked. But it always sort of hovered in the back of my mind when I went over to his house. Was worried I might catch it, you know? Didn’t stop me from being Brian’s friend though. His mom was a total alcoholic though. She routinely tried to hit on Brian’s friends that came over. And sometimes she’d just walk out to the lawn outside and scream her head off, or start giving a speech in gibberish. Brian would sort of duck his head and get all red-faced when that happened, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Only that she was outside in lingerie might be sort of embarrassing. You could tell his mom used to be a total hottie. But she’d gained weight and the alcohol was taking its toll, so now she just looked sad.
It’s probably exhausting to read all this, and I didn’t realize it’d go on this long without even mentioning the fight, but it’s hard to explain why and what people did without some of the background info.
Right, so on to the last car. The last car was driven by this white-Filipino dude named London. London was another big guy, similar in stature to Brian, dark-skinned with kind of a Curious George sort of face. Real monkey-headed motherfucker. Not very good looking. Huge hands and feet. His favorite line to girls was “You know what big hands mean!” And then he’d take his big ass paws and try to palm the girl’s face.
He wasn’t too popular with the girls. Sort of similar to Hakim. Ran the same sort of game. But since he was 15, it wasn’t quite as bad that he went for 13-14 yr olds. He was the size of a full-grown man though. Good at fighting. Islander people always seem to be pretty savage in my experience, and London was no exception. He liked to fight and did it with a smile on his face. I met him only 2 years ago, in middle school. When he first got there, he was trying to be real chummy with everyone, smiling and clowning around, which I found annoying. So I threw his ass against the lockers, held him down with an elbow, and told him I’d fuck him in the mouth if he kept opening it. It made a strong first impression.
After about half a year though, some of my friends kept insisting he was a cool guy so I told them it was okay to bring him around. He had mellowed out by then, wasn’t trying so damned hard, and when we got caught up in a fight a few days later he jumped in without any hesitation, so he was alright in my book. Still, something about him always got under my nerves. He had this big broad smile, but it wasn’t friendly. It was more of a leer, like he was imagining rubbing his dick on you. And he came off as a pedo, even at sixteen.
He was also one of those dudes who was all about the girls. He didn’t like to kick it with the homies. Whenever we were chilling, he’d always be on some “Let’s go to the club, let’s go to the mall, let’s holla at some bitches,” shit. Constant. It was annoying. But he was handy in a fight and I liked his younger brother, who was a year younger than us and a lot more charismatic, so I didn’t make a big shit out of it. He also had a car. A Toyota SUV, forget the model. It was some generic shit. His dad was a car salesman so he got a sweetheart deal on it. Big though, could fit lots of people. He brought this younger girl with him, along with a few of our other friends. I think the girl’s name was Katie. She was a wee bit on the chub side, not fat but thick legged. She got an A for effort though. Wore the tiniest white miniskirt you could imagine and a black thong underneath. Class out the ears.
Before I forget too, I should probably describe myself. I’m 5’8”, Chinese, and weigh 165 lbs. I started lifting in 7th grade. By the 10th grade, I was lifting 255 max bench and curling 65s no problem. I did plyometrics and German volume training, was on a protein diet, with weekend carb cycling. I had a personal trainer that came over twice a week and a $35,000 Cybex and free-weight gym in my house.
My parents were really well off so they tended to indulge us kids monetarily. They were real strict with the corporal punishment when we were younger, but started to soften up over time. I guess they felt bad.
When I was in elementary school, my mom threw a steel brush at me and it tore my face up pretty bad. When I went to school, which was a private preparatory, they immediately called Child Services who came to my house and started asking all of us questions. After that, for a year, the cops would pull me into an office once a week and tell me to take off my clothes. They’d take pictures of me and document each of my bruises etc, to make sure I wasn’t being abused at home. It wasn’t fun to say the least.
I also got put in anger management classes. I should probably give a quick summary of my violent history. In kindergarten, I broke a kid’s nose by placing a wooden block in front of the tricycle he was riding. My logic was that I wanted to ride the tricycle, and he’d been using it double the amount of time he was supposed to, so he was in the wrong and should be punished. Our teacher had this strange sharing policy for toys. You were only allowed to use a toy for half of recess. The second half, you were supposed to surrender it and let another kid use it. But he didn’t. When I told him he was breaking the rules, he told me to shut up. So I did and solved it in my own way. I honestly didn’t understand why the teacher got so upset.
In first grade, I broke a kid’s arm by pulling his leg while he was trying to climb up a high slide. I did so because he cut me in line, and when I complained, he called me a chink. In second grade, I shoved a kid’s head in a locker and then kicked him in the nuts repeatedly. I think he said something about my Chinese lunch being dog meat. In fourth grade, that Child Services thing happened, so after that school year was over my mom pulled me out of that school and sent me to another one because she was pissed about the whole thing. I got in a fight that year to help my older brother. The guy he was fighting had him trapped in a headlock, so I came up from behind and stabbed the guy with a branch I’d found on the floor. I got suspended two weeks for that.
In fifth grade, while on a Boy Scouts camping trip, I led the troop in demolishing a jeep, which was being restored by a guy who lived in the area. (We didn’t know. It looked like an abandoned wreck to us). I also beat up a kid and threw him in a trash can that year, and then kicked the trash can in around his head so he couldn’t get out and almost suffocated. I got kicked out of Duke’s TIP program because of that. I did it because I was dating the girl he liked at the time. So to “get back at me” he spread cookie crumbs all over my fucking bed when I was in class. Unfortunately, the guy was a moron because the day before he’d made a big stink about how his grandma had just sent him home-baked chocolate chip cookies. Guess what kind of fucking crumbs were on my bed? That’s right. Chocolate fucking chip.
For some reason, he seemed to think I wouldn’t do anything about it. I don’t know why. Maybe where he comes from, people can just shit all over each other and the other guy will take it. Not in my world though. So I put him where he belonged, in the fucking trash. TIP called my mother, telling her I was an animal and completely unfit for their program, and that she would have to come pick me up right away. Since we lived in Florida, and the program was at some college on the east coast, I forget where, I don’t think it was Duke though, that proved to be a huge inconvenience and I got an earful the whole way home. We also didn’t get a refund for the ridic amount of money they had spent to send me there. A couple thousand at least. I got in because I scored a 1260 on my SAT in 5th grade. All the kids there were like that. Most were smarter though. There was some third grader with a veiny forehead who was already doing Calculus.
I was just happy because while at camp I fingered a girl for the first time, this brunette white girl named Blaire. She had sweet cheeks and a nice smile and a soft sort of personality. No clue why she liked me, but she did quite a lot, so things moved along pretty quick. She was the girl that cookie guy liked, so I guess in the end I made out alright with my TIP experience.
In sixth grade, my mom had enough of driving all of us boys around to different private schools and decided to enroll us in public school. You see, me and my big brother were major fuck ups, so we got expelled from 4-5 schools apiece. Problem is, the schools we got expelled from weren’t the same. So my mom was scrambling all over town in our Range Rover at 5:30 AM in the morning, trying to get us all where we needed to go. She was pissed to say the least. Every other morning started with her scream hysterically or beating one of us in the face. A lot of times, she didn’t even have the energy for that, so she’d delegate the punishment and have us hit each other, which I took to with glee. I get to smack my big bro in the grill for free? Hell yes!
After I went to public school, that’s when shit really spun out of control. I’d been in private school all my life. I was Chinese, supppper advanced academically, yet was habituated to extreme violence. I didn’t take well to “the system,” to say the least. I should probably mention here that my father used to be a gangster in Taiwan. He was in Bamboo United. He got sent to the States when he was in his early twenties by his father, to study at UMD-CP, because gramps was worried my dad would go down the wrong path. The straw that broke the camel’s back was one time when my dad and his friends got in a random gang fight. They used to ride around on motorcycles and hack up rival gang members with katanas back then. Anyhow, one of his friends took a katana straight to the arm. They could see the bone, and blood was all over the place, so they rushed him to the hospital.
The doctors refused to treat him, because he was obviously a gangster, and they didn’t want the trouble. They also didn’t have beds available or so they claimed. In response, my dad and his friends started beating up other patients and tossing them out of beds. The MPs got called in, and there was a stand-off with assault rifles and katanas in the middle of the ward, and it turned into a huge clusterfuck because my dad’s dad was a retired government official who used to be a very high rank, and a lot of his friends were the sons of generals and politicians as well, and the MPs knew that so they were hesitant to do anything rash but they couldn’t very well let a gang rampage through a prestigious hospital in the middle of Taipei either. (For some reason, Taiwanese guys are either super studious or in gangs. There isn’t much middle ground. And the KMT had and still has a lot of gangsters in their ranks. Many of their sons naturally were gangsters too. Most of them are politicians and businessmen now. I see them now and again when I go to Taiwan.)
Long story short, after that he got shipped off to the USA, met my mom, got married, had kids, and moved to Florida, where one of them was now engaging in brawls of one sort or another on a weekly basis because nobody gave him any respect. Middle school was where I assembled my crew, beat up all the other ones, mostly black kids because they came from the real bad neighborhoods and thought they were gangster, and founded a new dynasty. See, all the black kids grouped together into two rival gangs based on their neighborhood, while everyone else was sort of just a hodgepodge.
There weren’t enough Muslim kids to form their own gangs. There sure as hell weren’t enough Asians. There were like ten total in a middle school of 1,200 kids. The Latino kids were spread out between Cubans, Brazilians, PRs, and then there were a few random Colombians, Peruvians, Dominicans etc. The Cubans stuck to their own, same with the PRs, and Brazilians, but none of them mattered much because there were way less of them than the black kids. Plus the Brazilians just sat around all day wearing soccer jerseys, asking girls for BJs, and failing at their classes. Not really an assertive bunch. And despite being the majority, 95% of the white boys were pussies. The other 5% played football or baseball and were too scared of getting injured to fight. They were too focused on trying to get a scholarship at a big college one day.
I stepped into that vacuum, recruiting the best fighters from each of the smaller groups, and formed us into a sort of super-gang, UN-style. I did this for the most part by beating each of them up. They became my friends after losing. By the end of 7th grade, I’d tore through quite a number of them, so the rest just fell in line. Never got in a fight with Brian, Talib, or Xavier though. Although, Xavier and I came close to it when we first met. There was some slutty girl I couldn’t stand and she tried to instigate a fight between us by giving Xavier BJs and telling him I called her a hoe in class. Which is true, but I saw what was going on and took him aside one day when he was bulldogging me, and told him real diplomatically that I had a knife stashed somewhere in the hallway in case he tried anything, but that a real man knows better than to fight over a bitch. He agreed and after that we slowly became friends. By the end of eight grade, we were really tight, and had helped each other out in half a dozen fights.
So, to fiiiiinally get back to the party, we showed up in a big ass convoy of what, four-five cars? OK, that’s right. Lexus, Camaro, Escalade, Toyota. Sorry if this shit is all over the place. I’m sort of recollecting as I go.
We go into the party, and it’s pretty legit. There’s three kegs in the bathtub. A bunch of bottles of Captain Morgan’s, Bacardi 151, and some cheap ass Seagram’s whiskey. Black lights everywhere. Skanky girls in miniskirts and short shorts just strewn all over the place, a lot of them with thongs riding high on their hips. London and Hakim got excited as fuck.
A lot of dudes too, though. Apparently, the house was owned by a Cambodian guy and a TON of his cousins had come thru. Down here in Florida, the Cambodians are allll related. There’s like 40-50 of the mfers. They all went to diff schools, but outside of school they rolled deep as fuck. Guns, knives, always on them. And they were old heads. A lot of them lied on their papers when they immigrated to the US. There were thirty-two year old fucking Cambo guys, pretending to be 16 yrs old so they could get a high school diploma. But they were dark and Asian and fucking weird looking to the caspers, so nobody even noticed. You got any idea how weird it is to meet a guy in class, talk to him, and in passing he mentions he was born in 1969? IN THE FUCKING SIXTIES.
Anyhow, they were okay. I wasn’t real fond of them, because I kind of looked down on how dysfunctional they were and they all seemed to be going nowhere fast. Most of them worked as delivery boys for their parents’ Chinese restaurants (LOL), worked as mechanics at a body shop, or slanged. But there was no beef. Or at least at the time there wasn’t. They didn’t seem too happy about us rolling in with a totally fucked guy:girl ratio though. It’s considered good form to bring as much pussy as you’re going to take from the party. We had some playboy mfers in our crew, so a lot of us were going to get play, but all the girls we brought already belonged to one of our guys. So it was all take no give. They didn’t like that.
Plus, the reason we were here in the first place, was because of Xavier, who was meeting the cousin of the guy who owned the house. So not only were we not bringing bitches, one of our dudes was banging their cousin. A non-Asian dude. They didn’t like that. They liked me though, coz I was Asian, and they respected my rep. Plus, I didn’t touch Cambo or Viet girls. They weren’t to my taste. I liked white girls at the time. Not anymore.
In my city, Viets and Cambos all mixed together. Chinese and Korean were vastly outnumbered. Hardly any of us. And most Chinese/Koreans were real quiet kids. Went to church or piano lessons and didn’t cause any trouble. I was very much an exception. A lot of the Viets and Cambos banged though. They liked to drop acid and roll E and everybody put it in the air. Their hoes were mostly Viet and Latino. The Cambo girls were fam, so that was off limits. They didn’t like seeing their own blood out there skanking it up with other guys, but Cambo girls don’t seem to be as submissive as the E. Asians. A lot of them got rowdy, fought, drank, threw guns in the air, and were just as gangster as their male counterparts. And they sure as hell didn’t care if their cousin saw them take a strange guy to a room.
It took about an hour for us to really settle in. Everyone had a drink and a joint and most of us were chilling on a couch with an arm over a girl’s shoulders, just talking or making out mostly. Viets and Cambos weren’t my thing, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t friendly or opposed to sharing a joint. Some of my friends weren’t getting play though. Sami wasn’t, coz he’s Sami. Brian wasn’t coz he’s wonderbread as fuck and the Asian girls weren’t really feeling that. He looked way too surfer too. Which is a shame, coz Brian looooved short girls. The shorter the better. He likes to toss em around the room and turn em upside down and shit. It’s a cheerleader thing I think. And Asian girls are really midget. But they weren’t feeling it. So he just drank and goofed off. Aman had his own girl so he just chilled and cracked jokes. Talib was getting into it with a Viet girl and they looked like they were heading to a backroom pretty soon. Xavier was doing his thing, slow playing it on account of all the cousins around. London was trying to run game, but not succeeding, and Hakim was getting a bit surly because nothing was happening for him either. The rest of the guys kind of clustered around Brian or me, looking a little shy while trying to play it cool.
I was talking to some Viet girl named Lin with a tongue piercing, a neck tattoo, and blonde highlights in her hair. She was kind of hot, to be honest, in a SE Asian hooker kind of way. Long, skinny legs, strappy high heels, and pouty lips with dark eyeliner. Wasn’t my thing at the time, I was sort of talking to a cheerleader, but as the night wore on I was feeling her more and definitely would have been down for some play.
But that’s when shit went south. We started hearing screaming from outside and some of the Cambo guys went out to see what was going on. A moment later, there was more shouting, guys this time, and we heard the sound of fighting. Fists connecting and shit. That’s when I got up and went over to have a look at the window. Outside, three of the Cambo guys were kicking the shit out of this Latino dude, while one of their girl cousins was kneeling in the grass crying. Apparently, the girl and guy had gotten in an argument and he’d punched her in the mouth. Ridiculously stupid, if you ask me. Who the fuck goes to a girl’s house party, where her fam is at, and hits her in the mouth?
We all laughed and cheered em on and came outside to have a golf clap moment while they pummeled the dude, and eventually the girls broke it up after the dude had been mashed pretty good. One of his eyes was swollen shut and he was bloodied up and stumbling real bad. We just watched while he slowly limped over to his car, got in, and sat there bleeding and breathing heavy. Then he turned the engine and left.
The guys stood around outside, smoking blunts and talking about what happened, while the girls hovered around their wounded sister and comforted her. The guy who got beat up was her boyfriend, but she’d caught him cheating and confronted him about it. His solution was to hit her. The Cambo guys declared he was a persona non grata and with the problem resolved everyone went back in. Until a whole bunch of new cars started showing up an hour or so later.
It was about 2:30 AM at this point, and a lot of us were baked and sleepy. But a bunch of Latino dudes jumped out of the cars, wearing sweatpants, wifebeaters, and old kicks, cursing and throwing random shit at the house. We took one look at their clothes and knew that motherfucker had called his whole crew out to fight. Down here, nobody wears sweatpants unless they’re working out, painting a fence, or are headed for a fight. Usually, they’d be rocking Phat Farm or Ecko Jeans, do rags, and some oversized ENYCE shirts. But wife beaters and sweat pants? Only one thing they could be looking for.
Now, this wasn’t necessarily my fight. Nor my crew’s. But we had drank and smoked quite a bit of the Cambo’s shit. Some of us had fucked their bitches. It just seemed wrong to sneak out the back and run for the hills. So, without much of a discussion, I got up and headed for the front with the Cambos. Xavier saw me walking, so he came along, and after that it was pretty much a chain effect.
There were about fifteen or so Latino dudes, which was a respectable number. Since it was 2:30 AM, very likely he’d called them all just as they were coming out the clubs. Some of them were big guys, shaved heads, tattoos, older looking. One of them looked straight out of prison, blue eyed and pale, Cuban as fuck, with huge arms. But all of them looked like they could fight. They didn’t bring no clowns with em.
On our side, we had about thirty Asian guys and I had brought 14 of my crew in total, but 7 of my guys were useless in a fight. It was really only Talib, me, Xavier, Brian, London, the Black-Hawaiian dude, I’ll call him Yoshi, and Hakim.
Among the thirty Asian guys, a third were flat out wannabes. Tiny, weak, and useless. Out of the other twenty, there were maybe five that had it in ‘em. You got to remember. These guys were all hanging out together because they were fam. My crew was a core of guys who came together because we were buck wild savages who flat out loved to fight along with a peripheral group that we found useful or funny in some way or another. So our ratio of can-fight to can’ts was a lot higher than normal.
All the Cambos would TRY to fight, but most of them would just get beat the fuck up. The five who could fight were some mean motherfuckers though. Older dudes, who had seen some real funky shit in their motherland. I was pretty sure any of them could hand me my ass no problem.
But, here we all were, spread out on the lawn and along the street. Shit talk went both ways. The Cambo guys wanted to start things up again solely on the basis of their cousin getting punched and this asshole having the balls to come back here with his crew. The Latino guys were pissed their boy got stomped out and wanted to represent. But they also weren’t too keen on wading through a thousand Asian motherfuckers reinforced with a number of big ass dudes. I’m pretty sure that Latino dude called them all up saying he got jumped by a bunch of little Chinks. No shame in losing 10v1. I doubt he mentioned anything about swoll ass Chinese, white, Filipino, or Black-Hawaiians.
So, everyone just shit talked. A few of us headed over to the cars though and started unpacking our gear just in case. Bats and knives mostly. Aman was all ready to wave a piece around, but we told him not to be a dumbass. Nobody else was showing heat, so why the fuck would we? Plus, we were at a fucking house. They could easily just run away and call the cops saying someone had pulled a gun on them. We kept the clappers where they were.
That sort of set the Latino guys off though. They all jumped back in their cars and started pulling out toys of their own. Knives, bats, chains, pipes. One dude had a hockey stick. Another had fucking nunchucks lol.
We all started mean mugging and the talk died down, because nobody really wanted to get into it now. Not with all this gear out in the open. You kind of lose some of that heat when you imagine getting clocked with a baseball bat. At the same time, when you’re holding a weapon in your hand, there’s a greater sense of confidence. You feel like you got an edge. So you’re not as hyped up to start shit, but you’re not gonna hesitate if shit does pop off. I mean, honestly, when you hold a bat, first instinct you have is to swing it right? That’s how we all feel. When we got a weapon, we want to use that shit. We’re just looking for a reason to.
Then some crazy asshole goes over and just fucking kicks the bumper off Hakim’s car. His had the bad luck of being parked across the street, where the Latinos had all pulled up, so we would all have to cross over to stop the guy. And that’s what Hakim did. His car might be a broke down piece of shit, but it was HIS piece of shit. He fucking went off. Started cursing loud as fuck in heavily accented English and bumrushed the guy with a baseball bat in his hands.
We weren’t about to just stand there and watch him and Talib get shanked by a dozen Spics, so the rest of us went too. The guy who was kicking his car got kind of scared and tried to back up onto a neighbor’s lawn but Hakim wasn’t having none of that. He fucking cranked it back and just smashed this dude in the shoulder with the bat. Guy went rolling across the floor and Hakim kept bashing him with the bat. He started screaming bloody murder and then I didn’t get to see anymore because I had problems of my own.
I had a bat as well. I vastly prefer that shit to knives because it’s got a lot longer reach, it’s a lot easier to do damage with it and NOT lose hold of it, and for the most part the damage isn’t anything crazy. A busted rib or jaw, nobody’s going to call the cops. A fucking shank in the throat is a murder. And that shit is serious.
But some of these stupid Latino motherfuckers were waving switchblades around and trying to stab people. They weren’t any good with it though. You could tell they didn’t know their shit. My dad had taught me how to use knives, just like he taught me how to hold a meat cleaver to chop up a duck. It was just something I should learn.
He also taught me a lot of ways to counter a knife. Pick up a bar stool and whack someone in the wrist when they try to stab you. Keep distance and use a jacket to bind his arm. If you don’t have a jacket, take your shirt off, put a shoe or a salt shaker or an ash tray in it, and fucking swing that at his knife hand. In the absolute worst case scenario, rush in close and grab his elbow so he can’t get any power behind a thrust. Shit like that. Anyhow, not a fan of knives. You need to be really good to use them effectively, and that’s some Navy Seals shit. An effective knife wielder kills people. Way too fucking extreme for a typical fight.
These guys were idiots, though. Big dudes, muscular, but they were waving these knives around all crazy style. All show, no dough. Talib, Xavier, and me laid into them with bats and a lot of them lost their knives. The nunchuk guy was a total joke. Waved it around a few times and then got knocked the fuck out by two Cambo dudes who just took hits to the face, walked right through it, and smashed him in the mouth with fists.
Their jail looking dude was their best fighter. Yoshi and Xavier tried to take him on together. Yoshi was tall, big, but kind of soft. He looked a lot more intimidating than he actually was. But he could take a lot of hits and that’s what he did, getting straight up pummeled while Xavier skirted around and laid in big hits from the sides. The Latino dude could take it too though, and him and Yoshi were both red-faced and pulped up with welts on their faces and smashed noses by the end of it. Talib closed that one out though, coming from the side and just WHOMPING that dude in ribs when he reached out to grab Yoshi’s dreads. His arms were extended and his feet planted, while he was trying to throw Yoshi to the ground, so he took it full in the ribs and just started screeching in pain. Later, we heard he had a collapsed lung and two broken ribs. Had to wear a tube for a week or some shit while the lung slowly reinflated.
London got a gash on his arm and side from a butterfly knife and Brian’s shirt sleeves somehow got torn off and someone pulled a bloody chunk of his long hair out lol. Other than Yoshi, Hakim got the worst of it because he charged ahead of everybody else. Somebody had kicked him in the face and broken his nose while he was rolling around on the ground with the other guy. He didn’t care though. He was laughing like a maniac while swinging wildly. Hakim was the type of guy who laughed at pain right up until the point it makes him pass out. Berserker mfer.
I actually didn’t even get touched. I waited for others to get occupied and then came in from the side and laid in big hits. Just moved around from fight to fight, tipping it in our favor. Anytime someone came at me, I’d back up and throw short, defensive swings at their arms. They’d realize I wasn’t an easy target and back away. Then I’d just look around for the next place to lay in damage.
By the end, we’d won, with only four of our guys busted up. One of the Cambos took a nasty cut on the forehead, which was bleeding A LOT, like his face was covered in blood and it looked fucking horrid with a flap of skin hanging off, but he insisted it was nothing and just ran into the house and put a big ass cotton gauze over it with a loop of tape around his whole damned head. Yoshi was kind of fucked up. London and Brian a little tore up. And Hakim. Other than that, we were totally okay.
The Latinos had 6 guys really fucked up, the guy who’d kicked Hakim’s bumper was unconscious, lying in the grass, the big guy Talib, Xavier, and Brian had fought was gurgling in pain while hiding inside one of their cars, they had another dude who’s whole left side of his face was scraped off. I think he took a bad fall on the asphalt or something. Another guy was holding his hand close to his side, real awkwardly like it was broken. There was another guy with a twisted ankle and a busted nose and mouth leaning against the side of a car, looking like he was about to cry. And the last guy was unconscious, lying in the back seat of a car, dragged there by his friends. Me and London had caught him as he tried to run away and took turns kicking him in the face. One of them had caught him in the jaw and it was lights out after that.
The fight ended with them pretty much just running the fuck back to their cars. We let them go, because we had fucked up guys of our own and I mean what else were we going to do? Bash their car windows in and keep beating them? So we just let them go, which they did without much of a fuss, driving off fast as fuck with screeching tires and all, while we collected our hurt guys and brought em inside. The girls were pissed as FUCK, screaming at us for being dumbasses, and all sorts of other insulting shit, but you could tell they were just scared and upset because they ran around trying to get people ice and water and Neosporin and shit as soon as we were back inside.
I sat down in a corner of the living room and just fucking breathed. I didn’t get hit or hurt or anything, but still, when the adrenaline fades you get hit by this huge wave of nausea. I was light-headed as fuck, and I vomited into a bathroom sink, then just sat there for a while until the dizziness passed. Yoshi didn’t want to go the hospital. He just kept smoking weed. Hakim kept waving us off too, even though his nose looked nasty as fuck. He’s got that big Arabic schnozz, and that shit looked fucked six ways to Sunday all bloody and bent and shit, but he just rubbed some alcohol on that bih and tapped it gingerly now and then while breathing real loud through his mouth.
The neighbors had heard it too and a lot of lights had come on all up and down the block. This was a shitty neighborhood, but people still didn’t like that sort of thing, especially at 2AM. Someone definitely had called the cops, so as soon as we made sure everyone was okay and no crazy injuries, we got back in the cars and took off.
All in all, from the start of the fight where Hakim rushed them to the end where we ran back into the house, I’d say it was 4 minutes, maybe 5 max. To put that into perspective, the whole fight lasted a little less time than it takes for the first warp-ins of a 4gate.
We called each other on our cell phones once in the cars, and as everybody calmed down down, we laughed about it and started recounting who we’d hit and how. Also, everybody was hungry as FUCK, so we drove over to a Steak and Shake on the other side of town. Only Aman didn’t go with us, coz the girls were pissed off and tired and traumatized. So he dropped all of them off at their homes in his SUV, and the rest of us ate burgers and pancakes and scrambled eggs while laughing our asses off.
Sami and the other guys who didn’t fight kept trying to make up shit how they were there and helped in some way, which was annoying as fuck, but we were in a good mood and they were giving us rides, so we let it slide. Hakim was probably the angriest one, bitching about his bumper, but at least he’d wrecked the guy who did it. Talib kept telling him the car was a piece of shit anyway, so in the end Sami had to give him a ride home coz Hakim took off on his own after he finished his burger without paying. Sort of as a fuck you to his brother for saying his car was shit.
And that was pretty much the end of the night for me. I went home, sat in my tub for about half an hour while letting the hot water run, and then dragged my ass to bed.
. 
