Height Trumps Hate

(My younger brother has come to town to visit me. I take him to the bar I work at for a few drinks and to meet my friends there. A regular customer who has been hitting on me for months comes in and sees us sitting together in one of the booths.)

Customer: *tries to look down my shirt* “Huh, and I thought after all this time you were a f***ing lesbian. Or is this f** your beard?”

Me: “I’m not working tonight. Go bother someone else.”

(The customer slides into the booth next to me, and tries to put his arm around my shoulders.)

Customer: “Why don’t you send your f** boyfriend off to get some beer and we can have a nice talk?”

(Note that my brother has been sitting slouched in the booth, concealing his size.)

Brother: “Why don’t you take your hands off of her and f*** off?”

(The customer springs out of the booth and stands near my brother in a really stupid looking ‘karate’ pose.)

Customer: “Why don’t you make me, you f***ing f**?! Huh?! Why don’t you make me?”

Brother: “Okay…”

(As he starts to slowly get out of the booth, the customer realizes his mistake. The customer is maybe 5’8″, while my brother looms over a foot taller than him at 6’9″. My brother grabs him by collar and belt and throws him out.)

Brother: “And it’s Sergeant, not f**, if you don’t mind!”

(I love my little brother.)