fuck you harlem

true story peeps.
I am drunk. its 5 am.
I was returning home from my local pub, walking through the streets of harlem, when not 2 FUCKING BLOCKS from my apartment, two assholes decide its time to fuck with the skinny white kid.
They kick a empty soda can to my feet. I notice it but ignore it. i am only 2 blocks to my place and tired as fuck. Maybe on some other day i would give 2 shits, but right now im just concerned with passing the fuck out.
anyway, the can lands at my feet, i step over it
one, a portly hispanic says, "HEy! you almost stepped on my can."
i ignore him and his friend and he reiterates.
I continue.
this time, they kick the can and it hits me in the back of the head.
fucking the last bit of soda spills down my neck and soaks my shirt.
in a distinctly Scottish accent (when i try to intimidate people while intoxicated i take on the persona of a scottish lad named Jesse) i say "OYE! FUCKTARTS. you messed with the wrong fucking Fuck tonight"
i dont know whether it was the beer or how early it was but i swear to you i let out the loudest, most primordial scream ive ever been able to muster and started running at these two clowns, keys in hand, ready to gouge out a fucking eye.
At first, the dynamic dou, stand their ground ready to throw down but about halfway through my mad man sprint they realize i am in no mood to fuck around. Upon such realizations they turn around and split up
"IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIn, YOU FUCKING CUNTS"* still in my distinct scottish accent*
After a night full of drinking pints and with my last sprint, after teh two vanish from sight, i throw up onto the pavement, turn around and walk back the 2 blocks to my apartment.
Fuck you harlem.
dont mess with my heritage.