Aaahh; you probably really don't, but I'll give you a little taste. The first man to ever try to kill me was my newly acquired but short lived step-father when I was 14. He swung a knife at my belly, but I was able to jump back fast enough that I only got scratched. My 16 yr old cousin Ross standing next to me wasn't quite so lucky as Guy kept swinging and tried to gut him. Ross and I and his 17 yr old brother Joe were there moving our belongings out of the house the day after Mom had figured out that he was drinking again and he decided to take his mad out on me.

Managed to grab the knife away from him by impaling my hand on the blade. Got a hammer and knocked him out, then trussed him up hog style with a rope and drug him out onto the parking slab in the August sun. Got Ross to a small clinic nearby where his 8" abdomen slice was cleaned and stitched and the knife pulled out of my hand, my scratch and hand puncture were cleaned, stitched, and bandaged.

I got out first and returned to the house where I found Guy trying to worm his way off of the slab to some shade. A grown man trying to inch his way across a concrete slab while hog tied wasn't such a terrible thing to see. Grabbed the end of the rope and drug him back to the slab where I kept him till the Sheriff showed up. He and the Sheriff were good old drinking buddies so things were a little tense there for a bit. His first assumption was that we had attacked and assaulted his buddy, so he cuffed me and threw me into the back of his cruiser then began cutting Guy loose, all the while cussing and threatening me.

Luckily for me, my mother showed up about that point after checking on Ross at the clinic, and for a 5' 11/2", 110 lb, red headed, Ozark hill-billy gal, she had absolutely no fear. As she berated the Sheriff, explaining that she'd be glad to take him to the clinic where he could see what his good buddy had done to Ross, she reached in the back seat of the car and yanked me out by, just so happened to be the wounded hand, and saw the blood still on my hand bandage and on my shirt front from my scratch and realized for the first time that I'd been wounded as well, she quieted way down then and turned to look at that Sheriff. I didn't know what a blanched complexion was until I saw that Sheriff begin backing up and Guy limping the other way around the other side of the cruiser. Hell, she had me scared by that point.

She beat herself up pretty badly during the next couple of years. She'd been widowed some 8yrs before that with me and 4 younger brothers and all of us on our own. Guy had wormed his way inside her guard, promising to stop his drinking and build her a new house. He did have the house mostly finished over those 3 mos or so, but he was back on the peach vodka. He was the kind of permanent drunk that you couldn't actually tell how drunk he was till he sobered up. There were no more men in her life till her death a few years later.

Of course, there were no charges or repercussions for Guy though I heard he had some recurring headaches and blurred vision in one eye, but he didn't make it much longer after that. He was found about 6 mos later pretty toasted up in his house fire. They were pretty sure he'd knocked over an old electric heater in his bedroom while stumbling around drunk one evening, but by the time the volunteer fire dept. got there, the house was pretty much burnt down to the ground.

But that's enough about that beginning of accumulating the world's inflicted scars. She can be a mean, heartless bitch sometimes.

I do hear that Kanye likes fish sticks.