Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Son of A Douche

So my dumbass dad's still trekking about tiki huts in the jungle. He called and wanted me to let you all know he was okay. God. He said something about strapping coconuts to his legs or whatever, and I guess Oskar thought Leroy's dreads were new ribbons and took a few swipes. Dad says him and Leroy are now chilling in some hot springs, having a "session." What losers. God, do you know how many saunas dad's dragged me into? Like seeing a bunch of old dicks hanging loose is gonna do anything for my "macho knowledge." And if Uncle Tong bounces his tits at me again, I swear, I'm gonna kick that dude in the face. I can do it, too; after all, my dad's always going on about how limber I am.

"The son of a champ!" he likes to say. Such bullshit. Bianca, that suck-up priss, made him a champ belt in home ec. Guess who was in charge of lugging that piece of sparkly shit around the house. Dad said it was for my training, but I know he was pretending I was some stupidass fan dogging his footsteps. Plus, he kept checking out his reflection in the buckle. Real handy, that, a walking mirror. So lame. I wish he'd pull a tendon and never do karate again. I know that sounds harsh, but fuck man. How'd you like it if your dad kept throwing fake punches at you, stopping an inch from your nose? He giggles like a fucking girl, by the way. Or if you woke up and your dad was at the foot of your bed, doing the splits in a jockstrap? This shit's just not normal. And forget about going out in public. God, stop flexing. You're old, do the decent thing. Stop, drop, die. Or at least leave me the hell alone.

Teacher-parent conferences are coming up. Please dad, for the love of god, stop trying to flirt with my teachers. It's pathetic. Talking in French and bench-pressing them above your head, do you know how embarrassing that shit is? God, I wish you weren't such a fucking chump. Champ.

Monday, June 13, 2005

A Champ Goes on Vacation

In three hours, I will be a first class citizen on my own airplane. Well, with other passengers, because I am a generous person. But I hope this time I get my own TV, or there will be some unhappy fools on the ground. No joke. I am going to visit my acting adviser Leroy. He is in the jungle, and so the mountain (cat) goes to the jungle to find him. I am also bringing Oskar and Duchamp, because it is time for them to learn their culture.

I must finish packing and ripping up shorts for more camouflage. I return in a week with many adventures. Goodbye, my fans!

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

A Champ and the Miracle of Life

Today I have the day off, and I am grateful. Kristoph has been getting too big for his pants. He ignores his training, he cuts class, and he even shouted at his mama! She was only trying to put him in his pajamas. Is he too "grown up" for fudge cookies now, too? It is not wise to spoil such a boy, so yesterday I sit him down. I sit him down and I say to him, the boy who sprang from the passionate heat of my loins and Gladys', this boy who is now a big bull stamping his pastures, I say, "Look, son. I love you very much. But you shape up, or I will punch you in the nutsack." I would too. It has always been a move so full of emotion for me. It is the move that gave me my international superstardom and got me out alive from a group of angry pygmies in the Amazon. (So squishy, like blueberries. No fun.) If I must, it will also be the legacy I give to my boy. See if he make the trouble for us then, and shame our strong name. (It is European and has a lot of heritage, like millions of years, just like Rome.)

But enough "shoptalk." I want to tell you all about a very special thing. No, it is not Kumite. No, it is not my new oil, though that is very fine indeed--I have switched from virgins to a very interesting group of scientists in Antarctica, who collect fats from imperious penguins. They give it more flavor. I believe in supporting modern technology. Here is a tip: if you pay now, by helping them, they will help you later when you want your body frozen and given to your great-great grandchildren as a birthday present! I lose track. So my very special thing is actually a pet my youngest son brought home. What interesting work! It is really amazing.

It is Sea Monkeys. Do not be fooled, they do not swing from happy trees. These are little, no, the TINIEST little sea creatures! They have antenna, and they love to play and swim. I see them waving hello when they swim by the big glass circles. It is wonderful. They each have a family group, just like us, and sometimes the boys fight to win the ladies' attention. So imagine all of us, if we were very small, living in the water! That is exactly what they are like. But the best part is, they have MANY LIVES. More than Duchamp and Oskar, anyhow, poor kitties. I did not believe either, but the young one showed me the book of care and instructions, and it says if they die, you put in more water and poof! They come back alive!!! I am amazed. I am in awe. How stupid the government does not know, and how stupid the scientists who do not study these golden swimmers. If only we had their technology, maybe my belly could be as ripped as Gladys'. Sometimes I store some candies and gums on the edges of her muscle, they stick out a lot and it is like a walking shelf. And also with arms. And a face. Of course.

Anyhow, I must go help take care of my new friends. I am going to order them some vitamins and play crystals, so they can surf on them and become strong. The pictures in the book are so helpful! I only hope those fathers never have to claw their sons' balls. Ach. Well, I have needed more training for my reflexes. First the order, then some time with the ropes! I think Gladys can man the trees.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

A Short Story, by A Champ

I'm sorry I was gone so long, but I was busy with my daughter's dance team. They are competing in two (also, 2, clever, eh?) weeks, and I will have those girls legs' stretched up and out like twelve fooking rulers toward the beautiful sky. What? It is Dance High Kicks Division, you dirty bums. You are not gentlemen! But I will confess to you, all the legs so flexible remind me of another beautiful time when I was a young international superstar and knocking boots with millions of classy ladies. Well, all the legs except Bianca's, because I respect God and I respect family values. It is a mess when people's papas are their freres and grandpapas and aunties in one, and it makes the family tree into a small, puny bush, and that is not the way of a true champ. I laugh at wimps!

But now I go back to the pretty picture of pretty me and pretty ladies. So. I am not very proud, but a long time ago, I was heavy in the, how you say? Blow. Mama coca. I was young, new meat in the business, and here I was getting beautiful women with mountains of cocaine. What could I do? Me, such a simple boy. So I took the blow, many lines, lines, lines, lines like the ones for my movies at the movies, many lines. I cannot begin to say. Yah, I was a real jitter bug. My good friend Dolph Lundgren even started to call me Mister Snow-Cone. I do not think that is a manly name. I did not like it. I do not believe in turning boys into girls, unless they are pansies or very interested in disguises to fool silly people.

Maybe I take the coke a little too much. One time, Gladys caught me with a special lady friend, Wynter Wonderland. Ah, such magnificent bosoms! What were we doing? Well, I know I have billions of lady fans, and I am a gentleman, so I will just say she was my powder donut. Anyways, Gladys, the champ of my heart, was much of the anger and she threw me through the window. But the world loved me very much and saved my life. It was only the first floor!

I had to get 77 stitches. I was real mad, but now I understand Gladys was a woman in a desperate situation, and desperate women in situations turn caca crazy, n'est pas? Also, I had a movie to do. They gave me many painkillers, and I do not remember very much. I could not feel my face! Gladys gave me a cup that never falls down for my drinks, but my head was very heavy. Lucky for me, we were only doing the talking parts, which are boring. I had to cry, and I had Gladys punch me in the face. I could not feel anything, but from my eyes came two rivers! It reminded me of summer fishing with my father in the old country. So the movie was okay, and I learned a lot. Since I could not use my face to say important things, the director taught me something called "body language." Now I know a lot of moves you can do, without kicks, to let other people know what you want!

Ah, me. I shake my head at how young I was.