Throwing knives: How often do they come up in literature?

Throwing knives–knives you throw for sport–have a role in my novel The Man Who Asked to Be Killed. 

I was surprised to find throwing knives in a 2013 post “Two Asians and a Hag” on the blog Speak Loser, Speak by Nicholas Kanaar, but the url now (Oct. 2017) seems to have changed hands and not to be of the nature that it was. I’m reproducing the post below because it’s the kind of guys-go-out-and-get-into-mischief account that I like and because I was surprised to find throwing knives in it and maybe because I’m too old to be anything but curiously intrigued.



Every once in a while we all have those nights that seem to get away from us rather quickly. Like going out for “one drink” at midnight and then finding yourself being released from prison twelve hours later with the nickname of “Sly and the Pink Pecker” given to you by your cellmates. Other times aren’t so drastic, but shocking just the same. For instance, not too long ago I went out with two of my friends on a warm Friday night. In order to sustain peace in their lives, I’ll give these two knuckleheads nicknames: the first I’ll call Richard Simmons (Dick Simms for short), and the other I’ll call Maximus (a knick name chosen by our waitress on a previous adventure).

We assembled at one bar and quickly swallowed some tequila in anticipation of heading to another establishment ten minutes away. However, before we left the first bar, Dick Simms, Maximus, and I (Sly and the Pink Pecker) met a complicated women that we ended up politely calling “The Hag.” She had an impatient foot for dancing and rather strong opinions against fast food. We humored her for as long as we could before we could feel our collective I.Q. dropping as each slurred word farted from her mouth. As we got up to leave, The Hag also jumped up and grabbed my waist. Before I knew what was happening I was slow dancing with her to the song “Don’t Know Much” by Lind Ronstadt and Aaron Neville. Surprisingly, it was the first time in my life that I had been “dance raped.” I escaped her desperate grasp after the song was over, thanked her for the dance and bolted for the door. (Side note: I’m assuming everyone else at the bar was probably clapping after my dance performance, but I couldn’t hang around to accept the applause like I usually do. I had to leave that woman behind to dwell in the corrupt memories of my past.)

Without going into too much detail, by the time we arrived at our final destination for the evening, our minds were pickled and our hearts were on fire. We thrilled to be with each other and two of us were excited about the cute waitress who kept delivering us Jell-O shots along with her pretty smile. I had made the mistake of spotting two gorgeous Asian girls and pointing them out to Maximus. He told me I should go talk to them, but in all honesty: I was having too much fun to be afraid. I justified it in my mind by also noticing the swarm of desperate dudes who kept tucking away their boners as they attempted to make small talk with the exotic hotties. The whole situation got diverted when the front door of the bar opened up and waddling in was none other than The Hag from our previous stop. Our abrupt departure from her was sure to make for one awkward confrontation. So we did what most men do in times of uneasiness: we lowered our heads and ordered more booze.

It wasn’t long before The Hag spotted us sitting there with our hands over our faces and came over to resume the exchange. Oh what a happy surprise. Dick Fabulous and I quickly engaged in conversation leaving Maximus one on one with The Hag. Just like me, Maximus is one handsome son of a bitch, and The Hag had great vision, so she started bringing the conversation to a heavy level. And that was when I heard Maximus shout to anyone in earshot that he was in fact gay with Dick Fabulous. Not only does The Hag have a problem with fast food, but apparently she has a problem with homosexuality as well. The small talk with Maximus was then over, and she turned her attention towards me who seemed just as surprised about the claim of man love as she was.

This is when I lost control of the night. When not even Jell-O shots and funny nicknames could save me.

“I just don’t understand how, you know sexually, a man could be with another man,” The Hag said, “It’s like they’re too lazy for standards or somethin’.” She lit up a cigarette and looked towards me for approval.

“Well, trust me, even straight men don’t have a lot of standards.” I said.

She asked what I meant and I told her my honest criteria of what it takes for me to fornicate with a woman (1. Be a woman, 2. Have a pulse.). Apparently, for whatever reason, she got upset with my comment.

This is when the The Hag called me, Sly and the Pink Pecker, a cunt.

At the same bloody time, Maximus decided that me not talking to the Asian girls was unacceptable, and that action must be made. As I sat there and listened to The Hag’s very impressive vulgar description of me, Maximus screamed “excuse me!” to the whole bar silencing everyone except for The Hag.

“You two ladies sitting over there, yes you, my friend here has been wanting to talk with you all night, will you put him out of his misery and speak with him?” Maximus said with all the confidence his nickname holds. I was completely, entirely, without a doubt, mortified. The two girls didn’t say anything but just sat there and looked at me.

“…just a stupid cunt with no morals!” continued The Hag as I stood up and made my way over to the pretty girls who weren’t smiling. The only reason why I did go over there in the first place is because most of the bar was waiting for me to make some kind of move. Everyone knew one of two things was going to happen: either I would start crying, or I would complete the cycle of embarrassment and speak with the girls.

I chose to keep the big ball of flames rolling.

As soon as I sat down next to the girls, I could tell it was going to be bad. And it was. Before I could even say a word they broke out with: “You are just a little bitch, aren’t you?” The girls proceeded to lecture me on how unattractive it was for a man to have his friend hit on a woman for him. I tried to ensure them that it wasn’t the case, and that I was just as surprised as they were about the sudden announcement. But they didn’t buy it, and instead persisted to call me a “little bitch” for the next three minutes. Finally, when they took a break to breathe, I said: “well, this has been fun, I hope you ladies have a great night.” And then, for the second time that night, I bolted for the door.

I hid in the parking lot waiting for Maximus and Dicky Fab Fab to cash out their tabs so we could leave that bar forever. Maximus finally came out and just started screaming “I’m sorry!” even though he didn’t see me, he wanted me to hear.

Later that night back at Maximus’ house we laughed at the situation and how weird things got. We took out Maximus’ throwing knives to pierce a log in his back yard, because, you know, what better thing to do after you’ve been drinking for four hours than to play with weapons? That night turned sour when I found a way to piss off every woman around me, the young and the old, the beauty and the hideous, but what a night it was. The thing I learned is that sometimes things don’t always worked out the way you expected. But as long as you have some friends there to laugh about it when it’s all said and done, well then who cares? Instead of being afraid of rejection, just make fun of it.

All of those women went home that night, either alone or with a strange man, and I went to Maximus’ house to laugh and carry on.

And to heave a throwing knife into a bush (unfortunately, this is not a metaphor).

Here is another picture of us three that night:


 The illustration done by Ben Matherly, check out his page at: Or email him at for all of you graphic design needs! Erection!


This entry was posted in blogs, humor, The Man Who Asked to Be Killed and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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