Fighting an Ex-Marine

I decided to join the ranks of professional boxing. After watching the Hatton vs. Pacquiao fight, I was so impressed that I thought I needed to be a part of it. I spent a full week dancing around my apartment on my toes, cloaked in loose boxer shorts and stripper boots. My man boobs were flying around, it made me feel fierce, determined, and oddly turned on.

My first task was to choose a nickname. All the greats have a nickname: Cassius "Muhammad Ali" Clay, George "The Griller" Foreman, Mike "Captain Insane-o" Tyson, etc. I came up with Gabe "Harry Truman" Culberg.

I hired a promoter/trainer, Jackie Garabond, some Jewish guy from Naples, Florida. He promised me a world of hurt and glory and he just wanted 40% of my profit. It sounded like a good deal. He arranged a fight with Gary "The Ex-Marine" Anderson. I guess he was in the military. The ding-ding sounded and I got a good look at my opponent. He was a huge mofo. He had tattoos all over his arms and neck. He was foaming at the mouth. I was peeing in my pants. I was so scared. Immediately I knew this was the wrong choice. I should have never quit my job as a ice cream salesman. I was KO'd in the first round, in the first 10 seconds to be exact. I now have 4 teeth left and a broken collar bone. Was it worth it? Hell no.

As for Jackie Garabond...well, as soon as the ding-ding sounded, he grabbed my wallet and ran out of the building. What a sucker - there was nothing in my wallet except for a coupon to Mel's ice cream parlor. Jackie Garabond is lactose intolerant.