Right, so....

Well, here goes. So, it's my freshman year, and I'm at Phil Tschechaniuk's birthday party. Jesse Lakose, James McCormick, and I were walking around the block, and were close to 19th street. A small, brown car passed by, blasting rap. A second later, a convertible also went flying down the street. I jogged to the middle of the street, and raised up on my toes, 'cuz I thought there was a hot girl in the convertible (there was, by the way). So anyways, by the time we get across the street, the small brown car has turned around and come back towards us. It parks about twenty feet away, and suddenly, these HUGE black guys start getting out, one after the other. If I wasn't about to wet myself, I'd have started humming the circus theme, 'cuz it was like a clown car. I mean, little brown piece of crap, seven or eight big guys and their girls. So one of them walks up to me and starts yelling in my face, asking if I want to fight. Well, hey, mama didn't raise no fool, so I calmly apologize. He spits in my face and says, "Yeah, that's right, muthaf---er." Oh, man... They all pile back into the car, and the clown theme starts going through my head again. They drive off, back into the night, leaving me horribly, horribly confused. Of course, that's like most of my life.