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When I was attending UT, Austin, about to go into the Army, my roomate and I went out for ice cream.

Brad had a REAL NICE restored Camaro and like to tool around Sorority Row to show it off.

After the obligatory cruise around 3-letter lane we pulled into 7-eleven.

Some GB were hanging out in front giving us the stink-eye while ogling the Camaro.

When we came out one was sitting in the drivers seat acting like he was crossing the finish line at Daytona while his buddies laughed.

Brad was not a big guy, but he paid for the Camaro in cash earned from picking up square bales all summer. Back then it was a nickel a bale and it took 16 hour days all summer long to get that car. Brad was honed.

And Brad was a Redneck Hick from far East Texas whose mom was issued a chip for his shoulder when the ultrasound tech said "Boy".

When he saw the GB in his car he just exploded in rage, ran to the car, slammed them out of the way, and reached his whole body into the driver's side window.

Brad was underwater for a second, his butt wiggling, struggling like a noodler with a 300 pound catfish, then he emerged with Mario Andretti lifted over his head like a bale of hay.

Whom he promptly slammed into the pavement. He then picked Mario up again and slammed him to the ground. And again.

All the air went out of the GBers.

The police showed up.

And we never saw them again.