Walking into a St. Louis Bar + wearing a 49'ers Jersey = Fun

     I roll up on my pale steel horse, a nineteen-seventy nine modified Harley Ironhead that rumbles nicely beneath me. Before me stands a little bar called Crossbones on Broadway. There's a row of bikes out front and it seems fairly empty otherwise. Perfect. I'm alone tonight, but I want to make a nice first impression for a few residents of St. Louis, Missouri.

     "I won't be long, sweetheart," I say to the beautiful hunk of steel as I shut her off. Off comes my helmet and I dismount my bike. I check the plates of the other bikes as I pass them and, yes, local tags. Even better. I'm wearing a very special jersey beneath this jacket, just for them.

     As I step into the bar, the wonderful aroma of stale vomit, piss, and a hint of blood hit my nostrils. Oh this is getting better and better by the second. Two tall bikers by the pool table, a fat slob wearing his colors at the bar, and three more huddled around the TV watching some replay about a football game I couldn't give two fucks about.

     I zip open my jacket, revealing a Jersey I bought purely for this ocassion. A red and black Kaepernick number 7 San Francisco 49'ers jersey, in the heart of Ram country. Like I even know who the fuck Kaepernick is, right? The two at the pool table immediately stiffen.  I shoot a smile. Tonight is going to be a damn good night.

     “I heard the Rams thought St. Louis sucked so much dick that they are heading out of town,” I say openly to everyone within ear shot. The bartender is pulling out a ball bat. Good. I won't get shot tonight. The two toughs at the pool table move in. I don't register words anymore, knowing what they are going to do before they do.

     I move swiftly, bashing them both with my helmet and knocking them to the floor. The three that were at the TV come at me, one smashing his beer bottle. Idiot. One gets a kick to the balls. The other a swing from my helmet, and bottle boy gets caught at the wrist in mid stab. I crack him with the helmet and follow up with a thrust kick straight into his ribs. I felt the bone give as the man went to the floor with a wheezing breath.

     Oh what's that? A chair hits me across the back. I spin around and Oh look it's the old fat fuck readying for a second swing. I block the chair shot with the helmet and jump, give him a Muay Thai knee to the jaw. The bartender stopped halfway behind the bar and was scrambling for his cell phone. I rush in at the bar, leap up, and deliver a drop kick over the counter that sends him right into his perfect, pyramid stacks of booze.

     “You ain't fucking calling shit, motherfucker!” I shout at him as I roll off the bar. Stepping around, I see his phone still in hand and stomp the piss out of both. The man howls, rolling and holding those broken fingers.

     Noticing the cameras in the bar, I turn and see the back office door. I kick that fucker in and go inside. There's an antique desktop computer with an old CRT monitor that shows everything going on in the bar. I don't hesitate, I unscrew the side panel, yank it off, and then I rip the hot harddrive out with my gloved hand, doing untold damage to the data inside.

     Seeing a microwave nearby, I toss it in and turn that motherfucker on. Sparks shoot out of it a few minutes later with the harddrive exploding inside of it. As I leave the office, one of the bikers comes at me with a knife. At this point, I'm bored. I dodge his clumsy stab, grab his wrist, yank the knife from it and break his hand all in one go. With the man still screaming, I stab the knife through his hand and into the bartop.

     “Fuck you, motherfucker,” I tell him just before bashing the piss out of him with my helmet.

     Mayhem, chaos, and destruction? I think my work is done here. I exit the bar, quickly hop on my bike, and fire her up with a jump on the kickstart. I get my helmet on and ride off into the night. I do believe in the distance, police sirens were heard, but by the time they get to the bar, I'm long gone and all they've got is a story about some long haired asshole whupping their asses in a 49'ers jersey.

     That's how The Pale Horse rolls... That, my friends, is Jack Nomad. Missouri State Wrestling's latest acquisition....