When you tell them you are a seventh level Crunkmaster, they laugh and shove you down hard, over turning a table on the way. You are so drunk and drugged up you don't feel pain, just a giddy giggle inducing sudden swift roar to the floor. You keep getting back up. Soon an team of evil bouncers are giving you a whole club nights worth of abuse. Punching. Group kicking you when you're down. It's like trying to kick Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic Four to death -- you are so relaxed your body is like a spongy rubber! You are fine, just a little dirty from being kicked from one end of the club to the other, and then thrown out into the alley landing on a puddle of urine soaked vomit. That was going too far. You would have let it go with a "WHHHAT?". But they pushed it too far. You are still fucked up as hell. That dose of Mad 3 still working on you, having only been swallowed four days ago. You're on that three day come down from the powerful hallucinogen.
You get up, brush yourself off. You kick the back door hard, and it crumbles inwards, rocketing end off end, smashing into the dancers. The bouncers are on their way. You greet them with two middle fingers. They are actually glad to see you. So far you have only stood your ground and refused to leave without throwing any punches. So they think this time they shall break your wrists and ribs and piss on you in the dark alley outside. It will be fun.
But it isn't fun for them. In fact, even the camera's were too slow to get a clear view of what went down. You flew into maniac action. Seven bouncers were broken down into bones and strips, and the club goers wound up wearing the bouncers, puking all over each other as you grabbed a couple bottles from the bar and left laughing.
They shouldn't have fucked with the King of Crunk. Let this be a lesson to the others!