When Grandpa Ragequit Tried to KO Me

 I'm over here, just vibin', enjoying my takoyaki, right? When outta NOWHERE, this old dude—like, straight up lookin' like he's more vodka than human at this point—catches me mid-takoyaki bite. And apparently, man's thinks I called him a "goblin-lookin' raisin-roadkill." Like, bro, chill. You good?

So, homie's face? Redder than a freakin' tomato about to pop. He stumbles over, slurring like he just forgot how to human, and is like, "Yo! You talkin' 'bout ME, girl?!" He's swayin' and everything, arms flailin' like he's about to summon a hurricane with that attitude.

Now, let's be real for a second. My brain's tryin' to process what I just heard like, Did this man really think I was callin' him a goblin dipped in vinegar? So I'm just like, "Ayo, Grandpa Ragequit, calm down! Who pissed in your prune juice this morning?"

Before I can even blink, Marco—my man from the takoyaki stand—tries to smooth it out. Man's out here doing customer service at 1000%. He's like, "Signore, signore! She wasn't talkin' 'bout you—" But old dude ain't tryna hear none of that. Nah, homie's too deep in his NPC-drunk-mode, brain fully committed to some 'fight the final boss' nonsense.

And outta NOWHERE, Grandpa Ragequit swings at me like he's tryna KO me in Street Fighter. I'm talkin' fist flyin', slow-motion, aiming for my cheek with all the power of a… slightly ticked-off mosquito. And I'm like, bruh. Man's hit me so soft, I'm out here questioning if that was a love tap.

So what do I do? I go full Oscar mode. I'm talkin' full-on dramatic spin, stagger back like I'm takin' a bullet for my country, then flop down to the ground like I'm auditioning for some next-level movie. And as I fall? BAM! One of my takoyaki balls flies up and lands dead in my mouth. Chef's kiss. Perfect form.

I'm like, "Oh no! A CRITICAL HIT! I'm DOWN!" But, y'know, muffled 'cause I'm chowing down on that takoyaki like it's my last meal.

The whole crowd? They're LOSIN' it. Gaspin', whisperin', like they don't know if they just walked into a UFC match or some weird street performance.

So I sit up all casual, rubbin' my cheek like, "Oooh, that one stung... not really," and give a thumbs-up to the invisible camera. "Alright, lesson time, fam. We out here gettin' a live demo on 'How to Handle Your Local Drunk Karen.' First step? Don't fight the rage. Let 'em burn out like toddlers after eatin' too much sugar."

And then I just keep munching on that takoyaki, 'cause priorities, y'know?