Replying to Cinder blocks of death

well as promised i have another story for the boys and girls and everyone in between. remember the pirate, and glimpse of death well this is another true story i felt the need to share.

as the rebirth of consciousness revived my body, i found myself lying in a garden. my face was sore and swollen, i would later find out that one of my friends senselessly beat me into an oblivion over some arbritary agruement. keep in mind he was wearing a giant red clifford outfit while he did it. i got my ass kicked by the friendiest dog on the planet...talk about irony. when i got up the rush of the alchohol went immediatly into my brain. i was shanking in a sea of drunken waves, finding difficulty in creating unison between my feet, gravity and the patch of earth underneath me. I looked up at the house which was responsible for my transformation. it was still glowing and filled with wild youth. although tempting, i knew my night was over and alchohol had won. i headed for my car when i was interupted by loud techno music. music that danced in the night air and ringed in my ears. i looked for the source of this music and was shell shocked when i saw it.
there before me was a man in his late thirties, completely wrapped in tin foil and toilet paper, standing in the middle of the street holding a shopping cart filled with cinder blocks. i was stunned. He also had some sort of rope around him, that connected him to his cart of blocks. The music was coming from a stereo that he had gently placed ontop of the cart.
it was obvious upon first impression that God had given this man some generous protions. he stood six five and was stocked with enormous muscles. even with his ridiculous costume, he was imidating as hell. compared to my skinny frame, he was golith and i was david.
What he did next lit a fiery rage inside me. he began running full speed , only not at me but towards my beloved black 87 4 runner. why he choose mine out of all the others is beyond me. i am not goin to lie to you. My car was kinda of piece of shit and had her fair share of battle wounds but i loved her deeply and did not like to see her get hurt.
when he finally reached my car, his cart put a smashing blow into her side. that was it for me, this mother fucker had it coming to him. i walked up to him and began to yell in his face. a short battle of harsh words was waged, when finally i could take it no longer. i took a deep breath and punched him with all my strength into his hard tinfoiled covered face. the punch was momentarily affective. he shut up and grunted. then he growled at me and i could see his eyes erupt through his mask in a firery passion of anger. his first hit was a direct blow to my ribs. the force of his punch knocked the breath right from me. i stumbled back looking desperately for the air i once knew. I managed to find it and regained my footing. i was awarded one more punch to his body. it was futile at best. it only fueld his raged. he told me that i was fucken dead after that. he lifted me into the air and ripped my shirt off and threw me into the air. i landed hard, and my back slapped the cold october street. i lay there still and in pain and looked up at the tinfoil bandit. he looked me in the eyes and then he picked up a cinderblock from his shoping cart and waved it over his head and told me he was going to smash my head in.
at this point i was no longer filled with rage, the adrenaline surge was long subdued. now i was filled with utter fear. here i was laying in the street with a deranged man over me holding a heavy brick of concrete. i made my prayers and i knew that this crazy fucken bastard might actually smash my brains out. luckly though for my case, some people who were leaving the party happened to notice what was going on. one of my good friends pulled out a pocket knife and waved it at the man. the man told him that after he finished me he was going to beat the shit out of him. the effects of his powerfull voice were immediate. my freind backed away but bravely held his small knife up in defiance. if my friend had been the only kid there. i would probally not be writing this but thankgod my good friend scott came running out of the party. Ussually Scott is not someone u would ever want in a dangerous situation, he is a prankster at best, but like they always say "Life is ironic", and Scott was responsible for my existence. Somehow my friend Scott knew this crazy bastard in tinfoil. apparently his name was Dax.He was a long family friend with a history of mental illness deeply lost within the confines of crystal meth. Scott subdued him and told me to go home. i drove home battered and bruised but still alive.