One fine late summer’s evening, we had decided to promote an event called First Contact. The venue was called the Ottawa Athletic Centre, and while I only got to see a small part of it, the portion of the facilities we had contracted for our use were quite nice. The event was thrown in partnership with several people – with varying degrees of sketchiness. Leading the sketch parade was Rob, in his mid 30’s, and the proprieter of a local duct cleaning establishment. Rob was the partner of my best friend, and since at this point my involvement in parties was strictly financial and manpower, we weren't well acquainted.. Little did I know how important a role his questionable pedigree would play in keeping everyone out of the hospital.

The evening progressed, and everyone was having a good time. Relatively early in the night, around 1 am, we ejected someone from the party for openly dealing pills. Our policy at the time was anyone blatantly selling drugs got the boot. After making the typical dealer threats, pleas and excuses, the individual in question took his attitude elsewhere, and the incident was closed – or so we thought.

Less than an hour later, we were graced with a visit from Hulk Hogan. That’s right – a towering, 6 foot 6, bleached blonde behemoth with a spray-on tan, yellow bandana, and yellow belly shirt exposing the words FUCK THE LAW tattooed on his stomach. You could say he was the spitting image of the former WWF champion. You could also say he was a Hells Angel, and that he was pissed off.

He wasn’t alone. In tow was the same 90 pound thug whom we had unceremoniously banished. The local drug trade in that part of Ontario was pretty much controlled by the Hells Angels, and they of course employed a small army of scrawny wannabe dealer kids to infiltrate the local party and club scene. Either frightened by the consequences of disappointing his boss, or miffed by the way he had been treated, this particular weasel had run crying home and brought back reinforcements.

For all of his menacing appearance, the Hulkster, or FUCK THE LAW as he was known was polite, and to the point. He informed us of his desire for us to re-admit his business associate, and his plan to “kick in all the windows” of the elaborate glass front of our venue if we refused.