The Roadhouse Chronicles is the story of me moving to an oil rich area of the U.S. in the hopes of getting a high paying job to pay my father back a large amount of money after a bar fight ended with me facing Felony Assault. Read parts 1-4 here.
First, I want to apologize for not responding to the comments on my posts. I actually type them up at work from my iPhone, and send them to THC over Whatsapp. I generally do this when I’m on a slow shift. That’s also why they’re riddled with typos and errors.
Usual Disclaimer: The following post should be considered a work of fiction, no illegal activities of any kind were actually done by myself and I definitely did not beat the fuck out of some would be bully on my only night off.
I was getting worn down. My schedule was to wake up around 1:30pm, maybe brew some coffee, shower and then head to work. Deal with all sorts of shit for about 12 hours, then get home around 3:30 am and fall asleep by 4:30am, just to do it all over again.
Non existent. I hadn’t hit the gym in months. Luckily even though I was in sub standard fitness. The paint job still looked good.
Weather? Abysmal. It wasn’t uncommon to hit 30 below zero. Gloomy, flat ass, snow covered land. I hated it.
Jack, the General Manager, went back home for a couple weeks to take care of some family/personal affairs, which left me as the head honcho in charge.
Some girl named Lacey that used to strip was trying to start an escort service and was coming into the club in an effort to recruit girls. Naturally, she was banned for it but for some reason, couldn’t understand that she was forbidden from entering.
She came in one night and I approached her and told her she wasn’t allowed to be there. Indignant and self righteous, she demanded to know why. “Because we don’t promote prostitution here”.
Because I had taken her off guard, she stammered a bit but eventually left without too much fuss.
A few nights later, she came back in. This time she was intent on duking it out.
Again, I approached her and told her she had to go. The following conversation took place:
Lacey: Well I’m here with them so I’m not leaving.
Fisto: They can stay if they want but you are trespassing.
Lacey: I’m not leaving! Tell me why I’m banned!
Fisto: You are leaving and I don’t have to tell you anything. All you need to know is that you need to leave.
Lacey: I’m not leaving until you tell my why!!
Fisto: It doesn’t work like that Lacey, you are leaving.
Lacey: *ignores me and goes back to talking to someone*
Fisto: Lacey we can do this the easy way or the hard way.
Lacey: What’s the hard way??
Fisto: We will remove you just like anyone else.
Lacey: I’ll call the cops! You can’t put your hands on a woman!
Fisto: YOU DON’T HAVE SPECIAL RIGHTS, I CAN THROW YOUR FAT ASS OUT JUST LIKE ANYONE ELSE.
At this point her “boyfriend” told her “Let’s just go” and I could tell she was on the fence about whether to pursue this course of action where she caused a big goddamn scene.
Keep in mind this girl is the exact type of woman that we all rail about in the “manosphere”. Fat, entitled, sees men as her servants, and actually thinks she has special rights. Every word dripping with self righteous indignation.
I was very conscious of the fact that manhandling a woman in this place would be bad for business but I would have loved it if I could given her a dose of reality.
Luckily she left after more impotent posturing. But really, we NEVER call the cops. It’s bad for business and it’s a black mark with the city if the cops have to come because WE call them.
Another occurrence that would sometimes take place, is these girls would start dancing for a guy and would rack up a pretty sizable bill and then would refuse to pay. These girls would come to me even though they know better about doing that. I’d roll my eyes and say “You know you’re supposed to get your money up front”.
Then I’d go speak to the guy. Normally, I could just “man to man” talk to these guys and they would reluctantly walk over to the ATM and pull out the money. Then I’d bring it back to the girl and tell her “You better tip the bouncers”.
Sometimes, I’d have to get threatening and say “Buddy, you’re paying the girl one way or another.”
In either case, it’s basically strong arm robbery and I hate having to put myself in that position.
(Take note guys, if you’re ever in this position, and some bitch racks up a big bill telling you that you owe 300 bucks or whatever and you don’t have the money, as long as you don’t mind getting banned, tell everyone to shove it up their ass and that you’re leaving.)
Then there was just the general throwing of drunken idiots out and of course, more entitled bitches coming in.
I remember I was tending the bar one night and some fat girl with short dyed purple hair came up and said “Hey it’s my birthday, I’d like a shot of Patron and Grey Goose and Redbull”.
So I tell her happy birthday and I bring this girl her drinks telling her “14 dollars please.”
She then looks up and says “But it’s my birthday! Don’t I at least get a free shot??”
“Happy birthday, no that will be 14 dollars”.
Then as if on cue, some BETA faggot steps in and says “I’ll take care of it”.
Things like that just make me fume. I wanted to say “Look dickhead, not only did you just reinforce her shitty attitude but you just told her it’s ok to be a fat, unattractive, banshee”.
Imagine stuff like this, all day, everyday. And I’m not even talking about the girls bitching about you to whoever will listen, bitching to you about whatever their problems are or something some other girl did. Bitching about you again because you didn’t just jump up and do whatever they wanted you to etc etc. (still, beats the hell out of working out in the oil fields roughnecking. No thanks)
My one night off
I was with my Asian Waitress, Sandie. We went to dinner and I had not had anything to drink at this point in about 5 weeks, I felt pretty good even though exercise was basically non existent.
I had a pretty decent steak and decided I’d earned a few beers. I ordered a Blue Label Chimay and that turned into about 6 which had me feeling pretty buzzed and loose.
I hadn’t been drinking in a while and it felt good to unwind. We decided to go by the club and make sure everything was ok.
I ordered an Organic Chocolate Stout beer, I really like those things, and was just bullshitting around when probably the biggest Mexican I’ve seen (Minus an old friend of mine who’s a heavyweight boxer) started mad dogging me.
This guy just thought I was some asshole in the bar and started talking shit to me with my girl right beside me.
It ended with him calling me a “pretty boy”.
I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but “pretty boy” is not one of them.
My response was to bitch slap him across the face.
He threw a punch that I slipped and immediately our guys were all over it and separated the two of us.
I just said “Let the guy stay but tell him to stay away from me”.
Everything was cool for about 20 minutes when all of a sudden I felt a blow to the side of my head as I was facing out from the bar.
The guy had apparently reached over two other dudes to hit me.
Before I could even turn, two of the bouncers I’m friends with was dragging this guy out the back of the club.
I yelled “Keep him right there”!
I was seeing red. I’d lost my normal composure.
I walked out into the snow in my dress shoes and squared off with this guy. He had his hands up and I was almost licking my lips at teaching him a lesson.
I threw a hard left hook and almost fell over with the momentum and slipping with my shoes.
I was drunk. I heard him laugh.
I shook my head and got back into a good stance. He tried to close the distance with me, I think he might have wrestled before by the way he moved.
What a coincidence, I wrestled too. I was on the U.S. National Team.
I did a quick duck under and executed a picture perfect suplex that would get high praise and he landed so hard I heard his feet smash into the ground next to his ears.
We rolled out with me in knee mount and I beat this guy into unconsciousness with hammer fists. His buddies from behind my bouncers yelled they were calling the cops and I jumped off of him in a near rage.
I left him bleeding in the snow for his buddies and went into the back door. Because of the nature of the fight taking place just off the property, I hadn’t put the club in jeopardy but I knew the cops were still coming so hid in the dressing room with my waitress and the dancers naked and almost dripping in arousal.
The bouncers from outside were telling the ones inside what had happened and were really pumped up. One stuck his head in and said “Fisto, the cops just showed up, don’t move.”
I could hear the cops going in and out looking for me and my girl was noticeably worried. I pulled her in for a kiss and felt her melt against me. I don’t know why they didn’t look in the dressing room, maybe because they assumed only women were allowed.
Finally, the cops were satisfied that I had left (I still think those guys had no idea I worked there) and we got up.
All the girls were looking at me in a different light from before. My girl sensed it and was glued to me.
Aware of all the stares, I nonchalantly left for home where I banged the hell out of Sandie.
Afterwards I realized how stupid I was for getting into that situation. There I was in the most miserable place I had been in recent memory other than the Army in order to pay my father back the 28,000 dollars I owed him, and here I was again almost getting arrested FOR THE EXACT SAME REASON.
I felt ashamed. Even though I did what I thought was right, I did what was stupid instead of what was best for me.
This gave me a very uneasy feeling about the impending drug deals I had planned with the Moonrock Molly (purest form of MDMA available)
Up until this point, I was mainly selling a few here and a few there. It was consistent though and I was able to count on these sales. This left me feeling a little uneasy however because the longer I had them, the more likely I would be caught with them. I wanted to offload them and be done with the whole business. The trouble being, these things aren’t cheap so having a big wad of cash was hard to find.
Around then was when a guy I saw at the club only a few times mentioned to me in that “I’m cool and you’re cool and I heard you might have something and if you do I want 25” kind of talk. Some red flags went off.
25 isn’t exactly a lot but it isn’t exactly small either. It was the biggest amount I was asked for at once up until this point.
I asked around about him and no one seemed to remember seeing him before.
He came in again the next day and not so subtlety revisited the same line of questioning.
I feigned regret at not being able to hook him up but said that I wasn’t able to help him out. The only guy I knew that had something was out for weeks now. Sorry buddy, it’s not something I really partake in a lot.
He left and the cold sweat was only forgotten after I had to deal with more strippers bitching about one another and something about the take out/delivery menus being missing.
Days went by, I made money, I deposited it into my account making sure to keep it under 6k at a time. I’d send Dad 5k every couple of weeks. It felt good to make progress on that. I think he sort of wrote the money I owed him off as being gone.
Then one day I was talking to Jack and I found out that the guy who runs a pizza place was moving a lot of coke (a lot for around this area). I’d bullshitted with this guy on several occasions and when I saw him next, I told him about what I had.
He didn’t confirm anything but he did buy one. Said “I’ll try anything once”.
A few more days past by and he came in again. “How many of those can you get”?
How many did you want?
How many you got?
There are a couple biker gangs in the region, there are a lot of roughnecks with money to burn that want to get fucked up, there are rumors this guy will sell anything from coke to marijuana and put it in a pizza box out of his own store.
I don’t know how he did it, I don’t want to know. All I do know, is that I’m living in the Dominican Republic for the foreseeable future, and I’m perfectly happy with that.