I do not pick fights with females. I value my life.

I tend to be, sometimes, only occasionally, just a little bit, confrontational. I know how to throw down and I will throw myself into the fray of every and any fight. As long as it’s with men.

I gotta tell you, women scare me. If a woman tells me she wants to beat me, I will prostrate before her on my knees, beg for surrender and kiss her feet. Because let me tell you something.

When it comes to fights, women become possessed by an external force that turns them into efficient pain delivery machines. Fighting with a man is predictable. Verbally and physically. Arms and fists and all that, they lack no imagination. But a woman will kill you with a fingernail, a shoe, hair pins that appear out of nowhere, she’ll rip your own damn hair out, drag you across-you get the drift.

Women are unpredictable, and when they’re mad, lordy, they are MAD. Even if the other woman is in the wrong, I will earnestly beg her forgiveness and offer her my handbag as a gesture of my sincerest apologies.

Please don’t kill me.

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