Wednesday, March 9, 2011

"Morty Faughn Gets His Ass Kicked"

I think all my veins have burst. I am sitting on a tiny Oriental bed in a tiny Oriental room. This bed is creaking like it's going to bust. It wasn't built to hold an American. My skin is bruised dark purple and I look like I fell in some India ink. The footprint of a strong Asian man stings red on my belly. These two tiny women with miniature feet brought in some rice for me to eat and I had to eat it on the floor. At first I was all, Come on, now. But it was actually kind of nice and now I get why my dog Lucifer seems to enjoy it so much. The walls in this room are made of paper. I'm scared to fart because this room will probably collapse.

Two days ago I woke up early to grade tests from my Macroeconomics class. I walked outside around seven to get the paper when this neon-green Honda with all these fins and add-ons and neon lights pulls up. Out pop these two samurai-looking characters with spiky hair and big swords and robes and wooden flip-flops and everything. I say, “Howdy, fellas,” and the next thing I know they throw a robe over my head, tie my hands with a rope or maybe it was one of those finger-traps, toss me in the trunk of their ride, and we start drifting to Tokyo.

I wake up in what I ascertain to be some region of Siam, based on a postcard I saw as a boy of Siam. There are green hills and sheep everywhere, and everyone seems to want to kick my ass.

Next thing I know, I’m wearing this black thong diaper, standing in the middle of a concrete ring near some rice paddies. About five hundred ninjas are standing around the circle and then this Bruce Lee-type character pops out of nowhere. I think he jumped off the roof, which was about five hundred feet off the ground. This is a big change because my plan for that day had been to watch the Rockford Files but it looked more likely that I was about to be beaten by this martial arts guy. He looks invincible and does all these warm-up moves that show off his toned sweaty muscles and then one of the ninjas holds up a big bamboo tree, like an entire big bamboo thing, and he smacks it with his head.

All of a sudden I’m getting hit in the face over and over again. My glasses disappear and I feel my thong diaper ride straight up my crack like it’s got an express ticket to my esophagus. All I see are hazy black blobs of ninjas and this Bruce Lee guy starts kicking me in the belly and I feel yesterday’s roast beef sandwiches smack each other like gunpowder balls. My ding dong is flopping around in the thong like a weasel in a wind tunnel and I try to land a punch but my fist hits his and all of the bones in mine explode on impact. By this point I was hurting pretty bad. One of the ninjas was keeping score and I’m not positive about the scoring system, but I was pretty sure I was losing. I realized that this was some sort of martial arts tournament. A wealthy-looking Asian businessman was watching me get my ass kicked from a real tall chair. Bruce Lee kicks me in the throat over and over and I make this sound like, “Guh” and I thought it was kind of funny but the other guy I guess didn’t because he just kicked me some more until blood came out of my face. I think I passed out then.

I have to fight someone else tomorrow, so I guess I’ll do some pushups tonight so I'll be good and ripped for Jackie Chan or whoever I meet in the concrete ring. I keep trying to figure out why they took me here. My top suspicion is that they meant to take Hairo Wantanabe, my next-door neighbor who is an expert martial artist and has kicked my ass many times for indiscretions regarding leaf disposal. But perhaps they took me because I just look like I could whoop a guy’s ass. I just have that look.

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