“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
This was a dumpy, middle-aged woman, presumably the mother of the young boy I had in a half-Nelson. We were standing in the dairy aisle of my local grocery store.
“Giving this brat a long-overdue lesson in manners,” I replied, landing another sharp blow across the back of the child’s head. Then, to the boy: “That’ll teach you to call attention to my girth, you little shit!”
Next thing I know I’m being dragged away by a squad of cops and booked on some trumped up child endangerment charges. My attorney will quickly deal with that nonsense, but you can bet that kid will never forget the feel of my fist on his noggin. Especially when you consider how fat I am.