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by roughboy

I guess my friends consider me a tough guy, although I can also be the nicest guy in the world to those I care about. If you're not one of those elite few, then yeah, I'm a tough guy who doesn't take any crap from anyone. It also pisses me off when anyone treats my friends in a disrespectful manner. I'm the first one who's willing to step in and take control, especially if one of my friends asks me to. So when my buddy Matt was telling me about this guy who was harassing him because he was a jealous idiot and didn't like that Matt was a friend of his girlfriend, I went into that tough guy mode and immediately wanted to go find the guy and beat him up. Matt didn't think that was necessary, until about a week later, when he called me and said, "Buddy, this idiot is threatening me now, he told me to basically disappear from his girlfriend's life because she talks to me too much, and if I know what's 'good for me' I'd better stay away. I'm so pissed I don't what to do. Unless…I take you up of your offer, but I'm still not sure that's the answer."

I told my buddy Matt not to worry about a thing, and to let me handle it. I only wanted to know a couple of things; his name and where he worked. As luck would have it, he was a bartender at a local restaurant, the kind of restaurant that had a bar that seats patrons. I felt the need to have myself a drink there and check this guy out. His name is Ron. It would be easy enough to figure out who Ron is, even if there were more than one guy bartender at the place.

I found a barstool, hopped up onto it and ordered my beer. The bartender's nametag said Ron. That was easy. It wasn't particularly busy when I got there, so I started to engage him in conversation.

Ron was about my height, 6'1"-6'2", and probably weighed in at about 200 lbs. He was a bit jacked in the upper body, his biceps filled out the arms of his tee shirt, but the tightness of the shirt also showed a little belly bulge that pushed the waistband of his pants well below his navel; that was the obvious weak spot in his armor. I continued to play it cool, thinking of how the hell I was going to get this guy alone and teach him a little lesson in how to treat my friend Matt. I thought of following him to see where he'd go after work. When a car commercial came on at the bar TV, I started talking to him about cars and how sweet the car was in the commercial. When he agreed, I told him I had been thinking of buying that same car, and then asked him what he drove. "An old crapped out VW that costs more in repairs a month than what a new car payment would be. I should just get rid of it." I laughed, finished my beer and left.
When I walked out, I did a little walk around the parking lot, then to the back of the building where there were more parking spaces, and sure enough, there it was…the only crappy looking VW on the lot. BINGO. That had to be it. It was pretty damn dark back there, and the lot backed up to a wooded area. The only other thing back there was a dumpster. It was still several hours before closing time, so I drove off and decided to go back later. When I pulled into the lot just before the restaurant closed, I parked as far away as possible while still able to see the all the remaining cars in the lot. One by one they pulled away until only Ron's VW remained. Knowing he'd be the last to leave the bar, I could take care of this now and not have to follow him at all. This opportunity might not come again. I'd have to play it cool. I didn't think a sneak attack was the best tactic; what if Ron carried a weapon for protection? I decided to play drunk. I got out of the car, wandered toward the back of the restaurant and waited for Ron to come out. When I saw him I turned on an act worthy of an Oscar performance.
"Hey man, did you do last call already? I staggered toward him, appearing less threatening with my drunk act.
He looked at me puzzled, but then recognized me. "Hell, yeah, we closed. You left here hours ago, looks like you made a few stops around since then, why are you back here?"
"I came back to get my car, I got a ride out of here, now I can't find it," I said as I stumbled toward him.
Ron lifted his arms to catch me by grabbing my shoulders and started to say, "whoa buddy," as I crouched down quickly and drove my right fist into his unprotected, soft belly. He lurched forward, stunned by the blow and I immediately followed up with an uppercut into the pit of his stomach. As he went down on his knees, I jumped up and planted my foot square into his stomach which completely knocked the wind out of him. I watched him try to get up and while he looked at me with fire in his eyes, half standing, I rushed him and slammed him into the dumpster with a loud thud as his back met with metal. As he blindly tried to wildly swing his arm to punch me, I slammed another fist into his gut, a solid deep punch that must have hurt like hell. Again he lurched forward but I quickly used my free hand to push his chest back up and delivered another forceful uppercut into his stomach, right above the navel. I knew when I first saw him that his gut was his soft spot. His eyes glazed over and he was too stunned and winded to move, so I thought it the perfect time to have a little talk with him. I pushed my fist into his navel, hard, and while he was groaning from the pain, I put my mouth to his ear and said, "Remember something Ronnie boy, anyone can be friends with anyone, and not you or anyone else has anything to say about it, got it?" When he didn't answer, I pulled back my fist and slammed it into his beaten belly. "Ronbo, I think I need an answer from you, or this could go on for a very long time, and frankly, you don't have the stomach for it."
Whether he couldn't speak because he was so winded or just didn't want to, I had no idea. I had given him fair warning. I hit him with a three punch combo, left, right, left; an uppercut into his belly, and straight right into his navel and a concluding left square in the stomach. His knees buckled and he slid down the side of the dumpster into a heap onto the ground. I stood above him and calmly said, "Still didn't get an answer from you, so do I drag you back up for some more, or would you like to answer me?"
Ron lay there clutching his gut, too weak to fight back. A sucker punch in the gut will do that to a guy and I followed it up with lots more. I didn't leave a mark on him either, except for the outline of my fist against his belly, but that won't last long. His stomachache will though, it'll last a good long time.
I decided to humiliate him by talking down to him, like he was a kid being punished. "Now Ron buddy, you know I only beat you up for your own good, to teach you a little lesson in how to treat others, you do understand that, don't you pal? What? I can't hear you, you're groaning too much for me to understand you. Come on, stand up. Let me help you up." As I pulled him up by one arm, he gathered up the strength to swing at me with the other and caught me with a blow to my side. I pushed him up against the dumpster by pressing all my body weight against him and heard a loud 'ummph' as I body slammed him. His shirt came loose from the waistband of his slacks and I saw the redness of his tanned hairy belly. I swung my right fist and planted it into his bare belly. I immediately pushed him up against the dumpster, swung around and elbowed him in his navel. I put my right hand against his throat and pressed my left fist into his gut and with every question emphasized my point by pushing it in deeper. "Do you understand

today's lesson (pressing my fist into his belly)? Will I ever have to teach this to you again (pressing harder)? Will you treat my buddy with respect from now on (using all my body weight as my fist pressed harder into his belly)?"
With a grimace on his face he said, "No more, no more."
"No more what, buddy?" I asked.
"No more gut slams," he pleaded.
"I should take my fist out of your belly? Is that what you're asking? Is it?" I ask as I press my fist deeper into his gut.
"Yeah, yes!" he manages to groan.
I'm not done playing with this guy yet, this is too much fun for me.
"Ask me nicely or my fist is going to touch your spine soon."
All I hear from Ron is a deep groan as my fist presses hard into his beaten belly, but I hear no words coming from his mouth. I quickly release the pressure on his belly from my left fist and immediately slam my right fist into his stomach just above where my left fist had been. Holding him up by the shoulders with both hands, this guy has nothing left, and if I let go he'll just slump to the ground in a heap, but I won't let him….yet. His eyes are completely glazed over, his head is slumped forward practically touching my chest and I whisper in his ear, "Ask me nicely to stop beating you up."
"Stop… beating… me up," he says slowly.
"Good boy, you're getting there. But you didn't say please, now I have to punch you in the stomach." With that I slam a fist into his gut.
"Tell me you're soft in the belly."
"What?" he asks … "you think I'm…" but before he could finish his sentence I punched him in the stomach to show him I mean business. His knees buckled but I pushed him up by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
"Tell me you're soft in the belly, or you get it again, say it!"
"I'm…..soft… the…..(groans from the pain)…..belly," he finally mutters.
"Good boy, I think we're starting to understand each other, my friend," I say in an extremely calm voice. "I didn't hurt you too badly, did I? I ask as I pat his gut with my hand a few times. He just groaned without answering. I continued, "Well Ron buddy, you're going to have a stomachache for a couple of days, and when you wake up tomorrow rubbing this aching gut, I want you to think about what I've told you. As long as you leave my friends alone, we're good. If you don't, we get to have this little meeting again, except next time I bring a buddy with me and you get it twice as bad, got it?"
Ron shook his head in the affirmative, his shoulders still drooping and his head still down. I put my left hand against his chest and brought my right fist back as far as I could and swung it as hard as I could into his navel. His beaten gut offered no resistance whatsoever as he let out a dull groan. I pulled my fist out of his stomach and watched him slide to the ground. He was done. I was done. I walked to my car, called Matt and said, "No worries, your buddy Ron is laying on the ground behind his restaurant with one hell of a stomachache. I don't think you have anything to worry about anymore."
Rob immediately replies, "Ron? Did you just say Ron? The guy I wanted you to beat up is Don, not Ron. I don't even know who Ron is!"
"Aw crap, I beat up the wrong guy, now I have to find Don and do it again."