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KUNG FU FLIPSIDE WEST EGG THEATRE.

[No shit. That is the title of this piece, which I wrote while I was supposed to be answering phones for an architectural firm back in 1994. I don't recall why I wrote this, and I can't account for the terrible grammar (which i've left intact), inconsistent use of martial arts styles and inaccuracies in their countries of origin, and racially insensitive tone. But I will offer this little bit of trivia: the original document was written in a 'meeting memo' template, which was a trick I often pulled while writing fiction on the job. By typing the whole piece into a memo template, including a strict obedience to the template's outline format for points and subpoints, I was usually able to avoid detection while looking extraordinarily busy. This piece is not my proudest moment, but I'm feeling nostalgic so please indulge this one last time.]

I am mean karate man tough guy. That's me. I want Asian punk cool to roll off me like gado gado, spicy peanut style. I will be moo shu cool, I know. I just know. Picture me with the potent transluscence of 'Hai-Karate' burning, singing unreachable arias behind each disco-loving, all-knowing, bullet-dodging ear. I would be so cool the sons and daughters of the rising sun would baptize me in the most mellow of waters. Yellow river cool. Pan Asian Tiger Style Cool. That's me. That's me.

First things first brother man: David Carradine I will kick your ass!! From a tree drunken monkey style I will swoop down jungle-furious and kick your old-age akido-style beer-gut and heroin problem dive-taking for Chuck Norris iced tea-prostituting lost on the way-B-list actor ass!!! You: shake withered craggy hands at your future--"Surf Ninjas Part Two" and premature hair loss - and Me: the follower of strict regime, the ascetic shoeless one hand clapping pebble snatchin' ashen foot bah-hah-hah-ha man, kick wild helicopter spins at the ghosts of uncompensated samurai demigods. Poised between heaven and hell, me kicking wild grain dust at the heavens and leg sweeping the crane kicking devils below. I will drink bread juice out of a snake. Big karate superfoot masterman. Great White Hope. Jackie Chan for President. And me, the Secretary of Ass-Whippings.

(when i was smaller than a bag of potatoes, i wished my dad would get me karate lessons i was so small for my age and i knew what they did to small guys my dad took me to the ymca for lessons with instructor/sensei dan carter of the united states green berets special forces he was tall and sinewy and moved like the jungle's shadow i hated him i hated his ignorance of the code of discipline i dreamed of primitively he was a mean drill instructor the kind of person who stole karate from asia and used it to rip out the throats of poorly trained asian men and sometimes women i think i could only stay for one lesson wanting to leave the whole entire time hearing him bark spit and other wise squeeze out commands moving his body in evil sharp cuts--he was a walking bowie knife i dreamed--to demonstrate his adapted military style of martial arts i waited and waited forever for my father to take me away from sergeant dan carter and i never went back again wishing to myself that i would be an underling a prodigy of tradition greater and older than killer dan sergeant and the war puppies who would inevitably suckle from his rusty razor liquor soaked teats and so i waited.)

HIYYYYYYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

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