Warning: You are about to see man get knocked out... hard.
He enters stage right, bare-chested and glistening beneath the two AM halogen glow of a streetlight. The location of his shirt is a mystery. Perhaps he never even had one.
Our brave warrior's foe is approximately the size of a grain barn. A huge, bald grain barn in cargo shorts and Converse. He sways half-jokingly, anticipating our protagonist's feints and lunges. A crowd begins to gather, curious rubberneckers still uncertain over the severity of the conflict unfolding.
"Get 'em," the cameraman cries as our kebab shop brawler makes his lunge, a lunge that brushes the cold, empty space between the black night and the grain barn's chin.
This won't end well.
This doesn't end well.
The grain barn brings down his biblical wrath. A swarm of locusts. A tidal wave. He punches our shirtless friend very, very hard in the face. And then he puts him in an arm lock... just, you know, in case he recovers from having his entire being shunted out the back of his head in some sort of existential reckoning. Just in case.
This, this is why you don't start a fight with a bouncer. Even if they do say, "Sorry lads, need more girls with you."