Which story is better?
“You talk about scary. It wasn’t the time for me to put people down. But that’s my act.”
“A drunk guy–really drunk–makes his way up though the audience . He’s yelling from the back as he’s walking up. And I’m saying stuff back to him, which is pissing him off. The audience is loving it. The stuff I’m saying is about the size of his dick, among other things. I’m playing to the audience, saying the things I think will insult him enough that he’ll go, ‘OK, you win.’ that’s really what they want, to be put in their place. “
The drunk approaches the stage and shouts, “I’M A MARINE! I’M A MARINE!”
“That’s the last thing I want. I’m not a Marine, but if I had had a gun at that moment, I would have taken it out and used it.”
The drunken Marine moves toward the comedian.
Suddenly a man in the audience rises.
“He was a little guy, and I mean a foot shorter than this guy. But he bars the way, stops this guy. I was amazed. And he stopped him without throwing a punch. It was David and Goliath. Unbelievable! The guy takes a swing at him, but this little guy just kind of ducked, and started propelling the drunk out of the room.”
Afterwards the comedian bought his defender a drink, gave him a hug, and praised him to the audience.
“They gave him a standing ovation, this little guy. He was a master sergeant, so he was probably just very clear that he could handle this situation. He handled it. I couldn’t believe it.”
I get a call. There was a problem at his house. He was inside, wouldn’t come out, had been drinking, and obviously has multiple firearms. I know this guy has a high potential for violence. I call in the response team, but I want him to trust me. They agree that the bulk of the tactical team will be in a parking lot a couple blocks away.
So I have the flak vest on and am walking up to his door, thinking to myself, He’s going to shoot me. I was thinking about the time I was married, about my family, my parents, my friends. I was thinking, I can’t believe that I just can’t turn around and go back. I’m going to get shot.
I get up to the door, swallow, turn around and wave to these guys. I knock on the door.
He opens. My heart is pounding. He opens the door and looks totally normal.
“Scott, I’m glad to see you. You’ve got to help me. Come on in.”
Ha. Meanwhile I’ve got my vest on.
He immediately see that and goes, “God, you know, I’m really sorry that you thought I was going to hurt you.”
“Well, you know George, with your temper.” I’m laughing, probably manic, silly at this point.
He’s huge with two sons bigger than he is, college football linemen, who would get in brawls in the front yard.
Driving home afterwards. I was thinking, I don’t think tactical knows who was involved. We didn’t get into trouble with the district. I didn’t get shot. Nobody got hurt.