Andrew Wrestles a Lesbian.

After a long day at work, I stop by a nearby dive bar for a few lonely drinks.

I didn’t plan on making any friends, or even talking to anyone. Just a couple Long Islands, then I’d drive home and go to bed quietly.

So I’m sitting on the dark end of the bar, getting fuzzy, grungy Nirvana playing overhead. And I can’t help but overhear a ruckus on the opposite end of the tavern.

It’s a group of 20-somethings, all riled up over who knows what. There’s a hot chick, three guys with beards drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon, and an obvious lesbian. The lesbian’s standing up now, beer in hand, hollering about how she could ‘kick anyone’s ass.’

The guys make no effort at arguing with her. One just hollers back “Oh you totally could! You’re buff as hell!”

My vision’s too fuzzy to notice her wide shoulders. Otherwise I would’ve kept quiet.

“I’ll arm wrestle ANYONE in this bar and OWN them hahaha!” lesbian shouts.

The sad lineup at the bar doesn’t say a word, but my drunk mouth does.

“Pfftchh… FINE. Bring it. I’ll arm wreshhtle you.”

The bar turns its gaze at me. Some snicker, others shake their head.

“Oh? We got a pudgy one that wants to get beat,” one of the 20-somethings say, thumbing in my direction.

Lesbian sets her beer down, then leans her neck hard to one side. I could have sworn I heard a crack sound from it. Her face is serious, staring right at me. Whatever’s been bothering this girl her whole life shall be avenged through defeating me.

My body takes me over to a small table with two stools. I sit on one end, and she sits on the other.

I’m still thinking this is a joke, then she rolls up her right sleeve. Her arm wasn’t a normal arm. It was cut from stone. It had bicep veins and forearm veins that glistened in the light. Chiseled, like cold steel.

Great Andrew.

I remove the straw from my Long Island and pound the rest of the drink in one gulp. Then put my own arm up and we lock hands.

The bar crowd is watching, seemingly eager to see this lesbian crush me. This’ll be a good story to tell their friends.

I closed my eyes, and thought about Karate. It’s easy to tear off a tree’s branch. But tearing the trunk in half is impossible for any man to do. Make yourself like the trunk of a tree.

One of the bearded fellows tells us to GO, and the amount of thunderous energy from this girl’s arm was unbelievable. I wasn’t pushing back yet, just holding her there. I kept my eyes closed, imagining my upper body as one large, locked object. 

She’s straining and grunting, veins pulsating otherworldly rage.

Just holding our hands in place was draining me fast. I could feel the lactic acid building up in my arm, shoulder and back. I was running out of time.

Then a strange thought popped into my buzzing head.

This isn’t a woman. This isn’t a man either. This is like Jillian Michaels. Part machine, part nightmare. 

Send Jillian Michaels back to the kitchen.

Her friends are cheering her on “He’s got NOTHIN on you babe! KILL HIM!”
Her face is getting red now, her forearm exploding like a thousand suns.

I thought of everything I hated. Everything I regretted. Every sad moment I wish I could take back but couldn’t. I balled it all up in my chest, and sent it to my arm in one burst. Even my mouth growled.

To my surprise, the back of Lesbian’s hand smacked hard against the wooden table.

I beat her. I won.

The bar was dead silent. Even Billy Idol seemed reduced to a whisper.

I was about to get up and cheer, then I looked at her. She was rubbing her arm, looking horribly sullen in a way I can’t put into words. Her bottom lip quivered. Her friends were watching, and she let them all down.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I reached towards her, but she recoiled back in her stool.

“Don’t be sad. I’m pretty sure I just got a hernia from that. You could still kick my ass, you totally could,” I do my best to console her, with booze on my breath.

“You’re stronger than you look. You work out at all, man?” she says to the floor.

“I do lift… Jimmy John’s subs sometimes.”

“Dude I LOVE Jimmy John’s!” her entire demeanor changes. She smiles a big smile, showing evidence that she was once a pretty girl before turning herself into She-Hulk.

“Hey! Nother round for the crazy guy!” one of her bearded friends shouts.

They all came over and shared a few laughs with me. I joked with them about lesbians beating me up, they bought me three PBRs (which is hipster poison, but I didn’t want to be rude) then I waved them all goodbye.

Even now as I write this two days later, the entire right half of my body still hurts. J