Some folks just don’t want to be saved from themselves. Some folks just want the freedom to be stupid.
The other night, in a pub over on the mainland, a bunch of biker booze bags were holding high carnival by loudly celebrating one thing or another--perhaps a new break-through in brain surgery, perhaps some advance in rocket science, perhaps Nate “Hammerhead” Sharkey’s parole and release from prison. Anyway, after several hours of such revelry one of their number drunkenly announced that he was “outta here.” Now, since this individual, aptly named Bryan “Boozin” Boozan, was in no condition to stand upright and blink at the same time, much less drive a big Harley on dark streets, the idiots’s pals snatched his keys and refused to give ‘em up. In theory, right move; in practice, wrong reaction.
For some reason, the subject of this well-intended altruism took umbrage not with his friends, but with the poor pub which had served him only too well. In a wild rage, the blotto biker unleashed a one-man demolition derby upon the contents of the establishment. Chairs, tables and pool cues were broken against the bar and floor and reduced to match sticks; beer bottles, glass mugs and pool balls were hurled into mirrors, windows, light fixtures, and whisky bottles. When the brave bar tender unwisely tried to micro-manage the situation, she was smote by a flying beer bottle for her efforts. When the blue lights finally arrived, Boozan the Barbarian had pretty much destroyed the saloon single-handedly.
Somehow in the pandemonium, Boozan managed to recover his keys and made a wobbly getaway. When the cops ran him down after a one-mile chase they found the drunk arguing with some poor devil in a driveway. Nearby lay the wrecked motorcycle. Boozed-up Boozan (sorry . . . just couldn’t resist one more) was cuffed, charged with a year’s worth of offenses and carted off to the calaboose.