Fun with a Pit Bull

 

They tell this story in small-town taverns down along the Iowa border.  Here’d how it goes:

Ginger came back from Afghanistan pretty fucked-up.  After getting free from the Marine corps, Ginger declared that he was trans and became a woman.  (Some people said that the VA paid for the surgery.)  Ginger had been an unsightly burly dude with a soft, smooth face and didn’t look much better as a woman.  She kept an ornery pit-bull also named Ginger.  When Ginger strolled around town, the dog was with her – people were prone to making cruel remarks but not when the dog was at her heel.  She carried a big walking stick that she used to beat her dog off other pooches that the bitch was prone to attack.

One day, Ginger came into the local tap with her fat, grumpy dog on a leash beside her.  A guy from the City was visiting a cousin in town and had bellied up to the bar.  He had a big mouth and said: “If I had a dog that ugly, I’d shave his ass and teach him to walk backward.”  

“Excuse me,” Ginger said.  People were always surprised that her voice was so low.

“No offense,” the city guy said.  “Nice dog.  If I hurt your feelings, you could crack me ten times over the head with your walking stick.  But, then, you’d have to give me your dog free and clear.”

“Is that a joke?” Ginger asked.

“No, I’m serious,” the city guy replied.  He took a deep drink from his mug of beer.

“Well, maybe, we can do business,” Ginger said.  “Let me pop you over the head with my walking stick and if you can stand five blows, I’ll give you the dog right here and now.”

“Five knocks to the head,” the city dweller said.  “I don’t know.”

“Well, how about three?”

The city fellow was pretty drunk and not feeling any pain as the saying goes.  

“Three and it’s a deal,” Ginger replied.

“You’re making a promise to me?” the city-dweller said.

“Sure, but if you think this is too shady, we can have a contract drawn up.”

Ginger saw that a paralegal who worked at the law firm in town was sitting at the end of bar.

Ginger and the city guy went to the paralegal and he wrote up an agreement on a napkin.

The writing was as follows:

This note provides that the undersigned will give her dog, Ginger, to the bearer on the condition that the bearer agrees to pay for the dog by accepting three strokes from the walking stick that the undersigned is even now wielding.

Ginger dated the napkin and signed it.  Then, she handed the napkin to the city dweller.  His hand trembled a little when he took the napkin and perused it.  “So your name is Ginger too?” the man from the Metro asked.  “That it is,” Ginger said.  “Nice to make your acquaintance,” the city fellow said.  They shook hands.

Ginger bought the man another beer and they drank together.

“Well, I guess we should get to work,” Ginger said.

She told the man to lay across a table.  “I’m gonna belt you on the butt,” Ginger said.  “If I clubbed you over the head, I’d bust your skull and, then, we’d both be in trouble.”

“At your service,” the man from the City said.  He leaned over the table.

Ginger wound up like a major-league pitcher and slammed the stick against the man’s hind parts.  He let out a yelp and said: “That’ll leave a mark for sure.”

He stood up and ordered a round for the two of them.  When they finished the beer, the man said: “Please sir, can I have another?”

“Sir?” Ginger said.

“No offense meant,” the man said.

“No offense taken,” Ginger replied.

She swung the walking stick behind her head like Tiger Wood teeing off and, then, smashed it into the city man’s rear-end.

He moaned and said: “That put a real dent in me.”

The pit bull was alarmed and, tilting her snout to the air, howled mournfully.

Ginger ordered another round.  “Let’s get this over with,” the city dweller said.

“No,” Ginger replied.  “That last stroke has made me powerfully thirsty.  I need another beer.”

They drank their beer.  The city man thought that the dog was as good as his.  He stooped over to scratch the dog on her chin.  She nipped at his fingers.

“Let’s do it,” the man from the metro said.

“I don’t think so,” Ginger replied.  “This whole thing is too upsetting to me.  I’m not going to administer the third stroke.”

“But that’s a breach of contact,” the city dweller said.

He put the napkin on the table in front of the paralegal.  “It says that you get the dog if Ginger hits you three times with her stick,” paralegal said.  “But I don’t see anything that requires her to administer the stroke.”

And, so, if I have this correctly, the man from the Metro is still waiting for the third blow from the stick and his pit bull. 

After Hebel