Back in the day at Ocean Club in Honolulu (formerly Studebaker’s, if you are that old… and I am), it was one of those crowded nights. One of those nights when too many people crammed themselves into a small club to get their minds off of being crammed in too tightly onto a small island. I stepped outside to inhale some air devoid of sweat and Drakkar.
I sat on the low wall across the club’s entrance, eavesdropping on the world’s worst lothario bragging about his analingus prowess. As he droned on incessantly, I began to seriously doubt his ability to bring joy to anybody using his mouth.
My near slumber was brought to a crashing halt as a tall white guy (6’10”?) came barreling out of the Ocean Club’s doors, followed in hot pursuit by a bouncer. The look of fear on Tall Guy’s face was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I’ve jumped out of planes and off of buildings and been to Afghanistan while the Taliban lobbed mortars at the base. Scared looks on people’s faces I’ve seen. None were like this guy’s visage. You never get to see the guy’s face in the eminently horrible One Guy, One Jar viral video, (No. I will not link it here. Do your own dirty work.) but I imagine they had much the same mix of shock, horror and instant regret.
The bouncer was saying something to the guy, probably something bouncerly, such as, “Please remove yourself from our premises, as we do not condone violence as a solution to any problem.” I couldn’t hear him because his words were lost to the shouting of the tall white guy.
“DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THAT GUY!!??” he screamed.
More bouncerly soft talk followed. Probably, “Sir, positive outcomes will prevail if we all calm down here.”
“JESUS! DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THAT GUY!!??” Tall Guy reiterated.
At that moment, a stern, if perplexed looking, Samoan fellow came walking quickly out of the doors, blood pouring down his face from an unseen split in his scalp. Abdullah The Butcher or New Jack would have turned away squeamishly. And this guy was wide with muscle. Enormously wide. He was How-Does-He-Buy-Clothes wide. He was They-Probably-Sew-Tarps-Onto-Him-Daily wide. But perhaps only five-foot-five, which meant Tall Guy had a good foot-and-a-half on him. Still, when Samoan Guy came out steadily, like an M1 Abrams tank, Tall Guy shrieked a Wilhelm Scream and ran behind the bouncer (who was also much shorter than Tall Guy). It was all very Cat vs Cucumber.
Samoan Guy walked up to Tall Guy and asked, “Hey, why you hit me on da head wif da bottle for?”
To which Tall Guy repeated to the bouncer, pointing downwards at Samoan Guy, “DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THAT GUY!!??”
Samoan Guy kept inquiring sternly, “Why. You. Hit me. On da head. Wif. Da bottle for?”
Cops soon showed up and ushered Samoan Guy to an ambulance. They also hauled away Tall Guy who was still incredulous about nobody acknowledging the inhuman girth of his adversary. “Come on! He was huge!”
Anyway, now maybe you might understand why Brock Lesnar (allegedly) resorted to steroids or other performance enhancing substances ahead of his fight with Mark Hunt at last week’s UFC 200. Tall Guy clearly outsized Samoan Guy, yet still felt the need to smash a bottle over his head. BTW… how big was that bottle? I imagine one of those novelty giant bottles of liquor the size of the Stanley Cup.
I don’t know how steroids work, and if you’ve seen me you would agree. But I also imagine the size of steroid needle a guy the size of Brock Lesnar would need to use (allegedly), and it’s also as big as the Stanley Cup. When Lesnar said, “We’ll get to the bottom of this [allegation],” he probably meant that you should look at his ass for the needle puncture mark which is surely the size of those old small pox vaccination arm scars. Allegedly.