I recently stumbled across a video from the International Taekwondo Federation (ITF) 2007 World Championships and while it wasn’t nearly the Bloodsport-esque death match i was expecting, it did spark this thought…what would my life be like if I had religiously studied martial arts since childhood? The quick and dirty answer to that question is this: pain.
I’m aware that the primary principal behind all forms of martial arts is to use it for “good” instead of “evil.” Which essentially means to use it as a last resort to protect yourself or others and never as the antagonist. I might have to agree to disagree on that one sensei. Or at the very list, find a handful of loopholes because knowing that I have the ability to unleash the unholy fury that is thousands of years of Asian ass-whooping at the drop of a dime is going to be difficult to contain.
Ok ok, I wouldn’t kick EVERYONE’S ass but here are 3 scenarios that might have ninja-like results:
Scenario 1: I run into a group of individuals of which each one of them has wronged me in some way, shape or form at least once over the last 28 years of my life. Which can be anything from sleeping with an ex-girlfriend to not being invited to a party which I felt I should have been invited to.
Result: I will be rearranging the furniture in my living to make space for my new shrine of human sacrifice comprised solely of human skulls and spinal cords a la Predator 2.
Scenario 2: I’m at a bar and a drunk iBanker spills his Appletini on me without an apology.
Result: Said iBanker will be eating every meal intravenously because his throat will be in a mason jar on my dresser.
Scenario 3: I stub my toe in my apartment.
Result: My roommate, who was not home at the time, has a closed-casket funeral while I board a plane to Hong Kong with long-time mentor Frank Dux to compete in the Kumite Martial Arts Tournament never set foot on American soil again.
The reality of the situation is that I even suck at Street Fighter.
I came across this poor man’s Bart Simpson outside of Macys last week. He seemed harmless at first as he taking pictures with kids/people, waving and generally being a quasi-likable idiot UNTIL he reached into his bag of torment. Now don’t ask me how he managed to fashion a glass dildo into a bb gun but he did and he used it and he was an amazing shot.
The fact that he only targeted the eldery was puzzling to me.
I came across this little motivational tidbit via Twitter: “Choose to live an extraordinary life day in and day out. Then describe it word by word.”
Well fellow blogger, ‘extraordinary’ is a very relative term now isn’t it? I can’t deny that spending Saturday night drinking champagne from the armpit of Bar Rafaeli while she makes plans to massage your feet for the better part of Sunday is in fact an extraordinary weekend to most men I know. But watching a 36 hour marathon of Steel Magnolias as I mold a life-sized replica of Sally Field out of cookie dough while crying is also an extraordinary weekend…to me. The point of all this is that I like crying.
That's a good cookie.
Hungover so, some reason for but still I eat would trash this from holeass-like garbage can.
Served meal a best on a corner street.
I was taking a leisurely stroll thru the East Village this past weekend and came across this amazing street bike. I’ve never been a fan per se, but how could I not stop and admire a classic? The fact that this was just SITTING on the sidewalk unguarded had me floored, but on top of that IT HAD A “FOR SALE” SIGN ON IT!! Are.You.Kidding.Me? I didn’t even have to ask about the price of this “diamond in the rough” because I knew right off the bat that it was a complete and utter piece of crap. I’m pretty sure Jack Lalanne died on this bike, because If you look closely at the seat you can still see the shit stains from his postmortem bowl movement.
Weight belt and arthritis required to ride this ride.
Jack Lalanne, may he rest in the push-up position.
Is one of those words that sounds unassuming but when you get right down to it, it isn’t nice at all. No matter what context it’s used in, the intent is never truly complimentary. For instance, I received this piece of feedback from an acquaintance on this blog the other day:
“Interesting blog you have by the way! Intense, to be sure, and very very funny. Topical, and things one thinks but doesn’t often say (or say enough). 
. I liked it!”
I’m going to now breakdown each sentence as interpreted by me, the author of punchingllamas.com:
First Sentence: “Interesting blog you have by the way!”
Translation: “In case you weren’t aware, everything you’ve written is literary trash.”
Second Sentence: “Intense, to be sure, and very very funny.”
Translation: “You’re a sick fuck and I almost threw up in my mouth.”
Third Sentence: “Topical, and things one thinks but doesn’t often say (or say enough).”
Translation: “Why in God’s name are you even talking about this kind of shit?!”
Fourth Sentence: “:).”
Translation: “I’m old and still believe emoticons make backhanded compliments seem more complimentary than backhanded.”
Fifth Sentence: “I liked it!”
Translation: “We’ll never be speaking again.”
The lesson here is simple, only trust the opinion of someone who is equally or more funny than you are. You may also take every opinion and tear it a new asshole. Whatever floats your boat.
YOU BETTER PRAY TO THE GOD OF SKINNY PUNKS
Given the recent influx of free time on my hands, I feel it necessary to share with you ten revelations I’ve come to over the last two weeks:
1. A man is never too “cool” for a footjob.
2. If you’ve stubbed your toe twice in the same day then there’s a good chance you’ve got AIDS.
3. Old woman are easier to rob during the day.
4. Old men are NOT easier to rob during the day.
5. The cleaning lady in the building across the street from me talks on the phone while she cleans and not once has she taken her shirt off (in real life).
6. I watch MSNBC 60% of the day but retain absolutely no political knowledge worth using in adult conversation.
7. Talking to mom more than 3 times before the business day ends is not healthy.
8. Job recruiters are not your friends and should not be spoken to as such.
9. Crying alone is better than crying on the phone with a cell phone provider’s customer service associate.
10. Stealing quarters from your roommate to get street meat for lunch is nothing to feel bad about (he’s a jew).
I mean those arches are...look at those arches.
I had a feeling this was going to happen. A self fulfilling prophecy some call it. All my life I’ve wanted to be a comedian but didn’t fully understand the commitment it was going to take to become successful. I’m a funny guy, just write that shit down and hit the stage. Once I get past the stage fright thing I’ll be a laugh making machine!! Not quite. And throughout this dreamworld of comedic glory I was living in, I would ridicule those that have seemingly traveled down the stereotypical path of a struggling artist; sitting in a coffee during the middle of the day feverishly typing away on their Mac’s churning out the next great American comedy. And here I am, sitting in Jack’s coffee shop on my fucking Mac writing a blog post for the Punching Llamas faithful. I have become (more of) what I feared most, a complete and utter jerk-off.
But enough of this sob story. I’m supposed to make you laugh and god dammit that’s what I’m gonna to do. The funny thing about having more free time on your hands is that you absolutely do not use it wisely (follow up post on this tomorrow). You’ve got to really dig deep and say “Hey, hey llama. How bout a lil somethin….ya know, for the effort?” So that’s what I did. Ya know what I found? Well first I found out that I find myself eerily attracted to ugly, non-English speaking moms that come to get coffee. Sometimes I like to throw up and cry after sex so I think that’s where it stems from. Secondly, and more importantly, that I’m here for you. So I will grind away with the rest of the latté drinking, pea-coat wearing, daddy-doesn’t love me anymore starving artists out there for your enjoyment. And of course to solicit sex from married immigrants. Legal or illegal, my lust shows no borders.
Meet my new buddy Thomas. Tom likes hiking, homemade granola & re-runs of "To Catch a Predator."
I am currently selling an old router on craigslist and hadn’t had as much as a nibble until I found this little treasure in my inbox this morning.
John writes…
“Hey i have a question. In my house i don’t have a desktop i only have a
laptop and a phone .how do i connect the router”
My response…
Well John, if I were you I’d pick up the telephone (that you clearly have) give good ol Time Warner Cable a call. Once they pick up, first inform them that you are calling from a phone that is in fact yours. Thennnn, let them know you’re a fuckin idiot and couldn’t be further from having the internet or being properly equipped for a wireless router. If they don’t recommend that you go to a library and immediately begin the process of not being stupid then do it regardless.
-Jason
Ahhh Charles Darwin, where are you?? I’m sure you’re up there somewhere happily eating sea turtle crap in Heaven but we really could use you down here, things are getting out of control. In theory, natural selection makes perfect sense. Why shouldn’t the strongest and or smartest creatures persevere? In fact, with every other species on the planet that concept is being applied and applied with no argument from it’s members. Sure some lives are lost, but it’s all part of the plan.
Where did we go wrong? Somewhere down the line one weakling took it upon himself to tell his younger weakling that everything will be fine. From that point on, every insecure feeble human being began passed this message along and a society of losers was born.
Here’s how I think that first conversation went:
Papa Weakling: “Yes Johnny, you CAN win. Try to forget that you’ve been getting your balls kicked in for the last 14 years by all the bigger boys in school, it happened to me too.”
Johnny Weakling: “But Dad, my balls hurt.”
Papa Weakling: ” I know son, mine do too. In fact the mailmen laced into me a little after noon when he finished with your mom and I just stopped crying (clock reads 5:14 pm). But there is hope.”
Johnny Weakling: “There is?”
Papa Weakling: “Yes son. It’s called lying, cheating and stealing. Here let me teach you…”
Now I’m no historian but I’m 98% positive the above conversation is completely (in)accurate. The fact of the matter is that we have to live with these people every single day of our lives and they’re not going anywhere anytime soon, but to quote a famous pussy: “Yes Johnny, you CAN win.” Lying, cheating and stealing can only get you so far in life before you have to answer for yourself. So unless it becomes socially acceptable to eat people weaker than you, I’ll be here…waiting.
Darwin 1, Man 0.
The full video is here but be forewarned, it’s a bit graphic but so is his stupidity.
http://www.abolitionist.com/reprogramming/maneaters.mp4
