'If I wanted a kiss I woulda called your Mama.'
This is a line said in reference to a personal attack that is either weak, lame, or utterly harmless, both physically and/or psychologically.
So instead of retaliating with an act of violence, as well, an individual can utter this phrase in hopes of humiliating the attacker into shame and therein diffusing the situation.
It rarely works, however, and can mostly lead to further pummelling at the hands of a now quasi-enraged hoodlum.
I had such an experience this weekend, except that I actually DID call their Mama.
Ya see, this drunk dude kinda bobbled into me at a bar I was at. It was late and he had no girls with him at the time and I had like seven. Crowd-of-girl envy type thing.
So this guy comes at me with his hands up a little, his hair matted like a shell across his forehead and wearing pleated khakis. He could have been a member of Vampire Weekend, for all I know, but I'm not familiar with all of their members so I can't be certain.
At any rate, he shoved me pretty hard, and I had to grab ahold of all nine ladies to brace myself from falling. He was stronger than he looked and handsomer than I, so right away, I knew I was in for a heated conflict that probably wouldn't resolve itself over the passage of time. I needed to act now.
I let go of one of the ladies and then she and the other thirteen ladies all huddled up a behind me and looked nervously at one another. They tend to do that, when confronted with a dude on dude bar fight. Enough about them.
I then straightened my shirt and looked the drunkard straight in the eye.
The music at the bar stopped. The barkeep that was wiping out a tall beer glass stopped, too, and looked to see what all the ruckus was about.
That bartender was always doing kooky stuff like that.
The place was silent. Your move, Justin.
I felt for my keys, phone and wallet in my jeans. Sometimes people that shove you or bump you will pick pocket what's on your person. This guy didn't do that, but better to be safe than an idiot without an iphone.
So I step up and tells the drunkard the following line:
'If I wanted a kiss I coulda called your Mama, whom I've been having relations with, unbeknownst to you, for quite some time. She's a helluva woman and how you came from her woman-parts is a mystery to the both of us. We actually chuckled about that this very morning as we were talking. Post-coital, nonetheless.'
He went blank.
And then I pulled out my phone and called his Mama.
'Hey, honey? Yea, it's me, floopie bear...'
He went into a rage unlike any rage I've ever witnessed. But luckily, I didn't hang around to see it all, as I was swept off of my feet by my phalanx of twenty ladies and the rest of the bar.
We sang 'Sweet Caroline' as I was Rudy-style shuttled out into the night.
They didn't let me down until we had finished three-fourths of the Neil Diamond catalogue, which took damn near 6 minutes.
All in all, it was a fun night, and one I won't remember for quite some time, because once I get it into the ol' computes, it's gone from memory.
That's why God invented writing, so that we wouldn't have to remember anything.
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