disgorges ten or so white fratboys who try to abscond and makeout with the two women that our group had been- until now- pulling back to Club Khan (credit Quipster, honorary Asian that he is :-).
On top of that, another faction of five or so black men straddle up behind us and into our impromptu street seduction shenanigans with sniper-like concentration and ninja-like agility to pounce on any stray gazelles.
A Cornholio-in-Red powers into us and the girls, going immediately for an undeserved double kiss as his troops and other forces unerring envelopes our group with almost military like precision on both fronts. The momentum has reversed on a dime and it will sweep us away within moments.
I assess the rapidly changing field of battle before me with the razor sharp, tactical awareness that can only be developed from years of infield experience.
INITIAL TACTICAL ASSESSMENT:
- Outnumbered? By all accounts...
- Surrounded? Absolutely stifling..
- Reinforcements? Way laid...
- Student Morale? Stunned...
The women are pinned. The Cornfeds gloat. Their allies slink. I remember what the sagacious military strategist Sun Tzu once wrote:
- "In difficult ground, press on..."
- On hemmed-in ground, use subterfuge..."
- In death ground, fight." (No, not literally, please!)
I make the call.
FINAL TACTICAL ASSESSMENT:
"We have them exactly where we want them."
Surveying the terrain before me, I rhetorically ask, "Are we REALLY going to let them get away with this?"
Sexual Chocolate raises an eyebrow with the calm and cool of a black Bruce Lee. "OH HELL NO!"
Ten AMOGs in front of us...
Five AMOGs at our rear...
And into the fray we go...
There is no violence. No shoving. No shouting. Just straight up Game against Game. The women are now being dragged away into the gaping maws of the Party Bus.
I lead the way like a general charging with his troops to bring down "The Ultimate Pimp Hand of Fury."
The battle is joined and the battle fronts mutate as we get up close and personal.
Close Quarter AMOGing (CQA) At Its Finest:
All the coaches are swarmed by at least 2 to 1 if not 3 to 1 and so are the students. The ebb and tide of this street wide AMOG Conflict shifts so fast that it almost seems like a chaotic blur to the untrained eye.
We may be outmanned, but between our advanced BLP tactics and the AMOG B.I.T. Destroyers we are not evenly remotely outgunned.
We do not relent in the face of their douche-baggery. And neither do our students... Without them and they hearts full of the FOBBY LION, sheer numbers alone might have taken us down.
Our newly graduated ABC Brothers maneuver with practiced agility. They fence with the knowledge of their new training. They B.I.T. Destroy with some trepidation, but with growing confidence and skill.
And, bless them, they help turn the tide.
The students form an indomitable wall of camraderie:
Like the Great Wall of China but standing at it's greatest peak a mere 5 foot 8 inches, the Cornfed Hordes of over 6 foot tall giants are flummuxed by our smaller but more skilled ABC Brothers.
With all ten of the Fratboyss engaged, Quipster is able to lead away the rescued women.
Sexual Chocolate and I turn to secure our avenue of escape while the students take the rear guard.
Victory is almost certain but then we are once again ambushed but this time from the other side...
We face off against our new foes and I pity them:
A peaceful and bemused Zen-like calm surrounds us. We have years of training and the experience from battlefields around the entire globe.
They press their suit, but one by one we either outmaneuver them or we simply mow them down like trained Samurais of old with absolute uncaring indifference.
The demoted Short Bus retreats in a noxious spurt of fumes. The other faction slinks into the shadows from whence they came.
Our avenue of escape is now secure...
And so are the women.