Sorry guys. I'm breaking rule one of Fight Club. Not only did I discuss this on The RockShow this morning, I decided to make it into an article with audio clips from the show in case you didn't catch it.

In 2006, a group of 40 or so studded-belt wearing, hip bone-exposing, plug-having, cigarette-smoking, music-obsessed teenagers decided it would be a great idea to sneak out once a week, meet in a designated location, beat the crap out of each other, and then return home to our loving parents and pretend nothing had ever happened. Thus, "Fight Night" was born.

I asked one of the founding members who shall remain anonymous (it rhymes with Marlos Caldonado) to give a brief statement:

"We were all a tight-knit family of broken kids full of angst but ready for any kind of excitement or risk so long as we did it together," he said. "We just loved having fun with each other and we all trusted each other so much that we could beat the s**t out of each other and still hug each other into the next morning."

Enough years have passed that I'm no longer terribly afraid of the repercussions that may come from our folks finding out that we used to gather in random public parks to whoop on each other. If I remember correctly, I only went to them to creep on all the boys I had crushes on. We would usually make it through three or four fights before the police showed up and we scattered like roaches. I don't know if I ever intended on actually fighting anyone until just moments before it happened.

My best friend beat me up in front of all the cool kids. Bad.

I'm not a dainty girl. I'm 6-feet tall and have broad shoulders and huge hands, giving the illusion that I might do some damage. My best friend was notorious for putting fear in any other girls around that thought they might want to step to her. I saw her dominate fight after fight, and one night, blinded by stupidity, I decided it was my turn to fight her.

I guess I thought maybe she would go easy on me. I mean, best friends, right? Wrong. I couldn't hit her a single time the entire fight. The best I could do was grab one of her boobs, in turn ripping my own shirt that she had borrowed from me earlier in the evening.

Afterward, instead of making me feel like a total loser, my friends gassed me up, saying how tough I was to be able to take such a terrible beating. I limped to my car, sat down in the driver's seat, turned on the overhead light, and assessed the damage. Moments later, my best friend sat down in the passenger seat next to me. We were silent for a moment until she quietly said,

"Hey dude...are we still cool?"

"Yeah, man." I replied. "Let's go party."

Listen below to an audio clip of this story from The RockShow this morning.

Side note: This tale was typed out and brought back to life while listening to a mix of Circa Survive, The Blood Brothers, and The Mars Volta. If you know, then you know.

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