The Brazillian Beach Thugs Phucked with the Wrong American
Picture it. Rio, 2005. (Said like Sophia from the Golden Girls). Its a warm, sunny morning, and I am laying on the Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro, enjoying a good book. Next thing I knew, a guy was asking me for the time. I told him I didn’t know, but he persisted. I replied that I didn’t have a watch, yet he continued. I thought to myself, my portuguese isn’t that bad. Why isn’t he understanding me. Then, I decided to look over my other shoulder, and I saw another beach thug running off with my backpack. I thought to myself, I’ll be damned if that little shit steals my backpack. So, I jumped up from my beach towel and sprinted after him. Picture a tall, white, barefoot, American in nothing but a speedo sprinting down the sidewalk. The teenager had jumped on his bike by this time, but I was still in hot pursuit. When I’m pissed, I can run damn quick. There were many people around, all observing this scene. I yelled "Me roba!", and a Brazillian man joined me in pursuit of the teenager. We managed to catch and tackle him off his bike. The boy got cut up, I retrieved my backpack, and the Brazillian man rode off with the teenagers bike after I thanked him for his assistance. That boy fucked with wrong American. The boy left pissed off, while I left with a feeling of pride.
About twenty minutes later, I saw the boy return with two friends and I saw them pointing at me. I decided that it was time to put my pride aside and move to the Impanema Beach, lest there be another incident. I spent the next three hours on a picturesque walk along the entire length of the Impanema and Leblon beaches.
