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The words spun around my aching brain in an endless loopas I marched through the dense heat of the urban brush.Youre too nice a guy Jackson.That may have been true before this morning.But as of 9:17 AM this morning, the moment Fat Headsnightstick rocked my dome, I started to transform into somethingelsesomething primal, something strong, and in manyways, something long overdue.A sleeping giant of buried rage had been awoken.I thought about Tarmok and the rage of the Bull Mongoni.The barbarian within me had taken over, this time for good.I began too feel pity for anyone who dared stand in my wayas I began my dark journey of escape.I am Wes Jackson.I am ignorant in the Hollywood Barbell Club sense of the word.Wes Jackson Lives.