Back when I was 19, I was 6'-2", 185 pounds, in the Navy, and in pretty good shape. One day, a friend and I went to go get tattooed by a man who was known as Royboy. Royboy passed away several years ago due to some health issues, but at the time I got my tattoo from him he was pretty famous as a tattoo artist. He also kept tigers as pets.
Royboy did my tattoo while one of his associates did my friend’s. He finished with mine first so I went to the waiting area to wait for my friend. I picked up a magazine and became engrossed in an article. As I was reading, I became aware of a smell. It smelled like an animal. I put my magazine down only to be confronted by an adult tiger.
I had never seen one up close, but now one was standing right in front of me. This thing was huge. His head was enormous. His paws were the size of dinner plates, and when he opened his giant mouth, the 3 inch long fangs were the only things my mind let me focus on. Royboy had brought him out for me to see: initially, I thought that was pretty cool.
Then, suddenly, the tiger reached up with one paw, grabbed my leg, and violently jerked me out of my chair. Once I was on the floor, he began batting me around with his paws like a housecat playing with a mouse. I was getting battered back and forth and there was nothing I could do about it. Then, he began playfully biting me—the situation was no longer cool. Even though it was play, those big teeth and powerful jaws were a serious danger. Royboy jumped in, pulled the tiger off me, and put him back away.
To that tiger I was just a rag doll he was playing with, hardly putting much effort into the game, and if I’d wanted to stop him there wasn't anything I could have done about it. Had that cat decided to kill me, I wouldn't have had the time to realize just how fucked I was.
An unarmed man doesn't stand a chance against a tiger. They are much too powerful, fast, and unimpressed by any sort of fighting style you may have.
Co
No comments:
Post a Comment