Why me?

I went out on a very rare guys night. There were four of us out at Martha's Inn Tavern. We were having a very pleasant time. When one of my friends went to the bar to get the next round and accidentlly spilled some beer on a guy. I guess the guy was already upset cause he went ballistic right away. I jumped in to try to stop the situation from getting worse. The guy wouldn't have it. He took one look at me and decided I needed a lesson. I don't know why but every 6 foot plus walking wall of muscle thinks it's a good idea to beat the crap out of me. It hasn't happened yet, but it doesn't stop them from trying. Once I knew that he was going to fight and not back off. I did the only thing I could. I attacked, he wasn't expecting it. I think he thought he would pound on me then go on to my friend. I threw an ashtray at his face and when it was over. I fractured his jaw and crushed three fingers on his right hand. It took all night to get over the adrenalin rush. I really hate fighting.