Last Night I Nearly Got Offed By A Meth-Head.

Last night, after Crocodiles' Casbah show, Charles, myself and our friend Matt went to get food. We went to this pretty well-known taco shop in a totally safe area of San Diego. The thing with San Diego is, unfortunately, that it's crawling with speed addicts. I'm not sure if it still is or not, but SD used to be the meth capitol of the world. Anyway, after finishing our food, we started walking to Matt's car to get copies of his band's new album. As we exited the building, we passed this scumbag hitting on a girl. Nothing too unusual. But as we were standing by Matt's car talking, I noticed said scumbag standing across the parking lot staring at us. I made eye-contact with him and he extended his arm and began doing that Roman Emperor thumbs up-thumbs down thing that emperor's did to decide a gladiator's fate. I guess he decided "thumbs down" because he walked over super fast and erratically. When he got to us, he directed all this weird sped-up rage at me. Have you ever seen prison interviews with Charles Manson? This guy was talking like that, totally bonkers. "Xylophone zebra crucifixion paperback! Why is your fixation fixated against my eyes?!" Totally weird shit. He was standing opposite me, breathing super heavy and talking all this random nonsense hyper-fast, like the Micro Machine guy. It wouldn't have been so intimidating if he wasn't so big. The guy was a monster. I'm 6 foot tall and he was definitely taller than me, and looked like he spent all his extra hours lifting weights. He was super agitated. His neck looked like a big, thick erect penis. Veins bulged everywhere. He incessantly pounded his fist into his open palm. Even though he was talking nonsense, the general jist seemed to be him making up his mind whether to murder me or not. We were all trying to calm him down. Matt kept saying, "We're cool, man, we're cool, man." It was like a peace mantra. He rejected Matt's attempt to shake his hand. I kept repeating, "We don't have a problem, man. Every thing's cool, man." My limbs felt numb. In slow motion, he took a really wide swing and connected. It took me a second to determine what had happened. Had I been punched? Or worse, stabbed? Turns out, he only hit me with a bag of food he had stolen from another customer. I was relieved to have beans in my hair, rather than blood. Someone from the restaurant came out and yelled that they had called the police. He said something along the lines of, "If the cops are coming, I'll kill you; then run." He ended up just crossing the street and sitting at a bus stop, where he continued to yell weird shit at us. What an odd situation. Here's a theatrical re-enactment of the events: