A matter of life, death or metal jaw
MY DAD has a metal jaw.
Not in some cool, RoboCop kind of way, but because of some nifty emergency surgery after a drunken hook knocked him to the ground and smashed it.
He was working in bottleshop drive-through, the puncher was drunk, and now Dad can't go through an airport metal detector without causing a lockdown (or close to it).
Alcohol-fuelled violence isn't a new thing, nor one that has softened with time.
Dad's surgery was 23 years ago, but on Sunday a woman was worse for wear after an alleged glassing at the RSL.
In court yesterday, there were two cases of drunk women lashing out at police.
The amount of blokes who have rocked up in front of the magistrate saying so-and-so was eyeing of his missus, are countless.
"It was a mistake Your Honour, I'm sorry, I suppose I have to cop the consequences,” they chant.
A bit of alcohol, and all of a sudden a a look becomes a stare, becomes a death-glare, becomes a good enough reason to throw a punch. I suppose we're lucky enough that we've never seen a punch in Warwick that's caused a death.
But there've been scars. And bruises. And no doubt break-ups, broken noses and embarrassing stories.
Walking away is easier said than done, but if it's a matter of life, death or a metal jaw, make the extra effort to keep your fists at bay and save yourself a court date.