Gracie Under Pressure
"Ei! Fat-a man! Is-a me- Christopher."
"Ah! Christopher ma frien'! Its-a been-a long time without the speaking!"
Whenever Irish Chris and I speak on the telephone we both adopt bad Italian accents. Why do we do this? I honestly don't think either of us remember the genesis of this peculiar phone habit. Do we think it's funny, to speak in a cringe-worthy caricature Italian way?
"You-a horrible fat slob of a man! You no call me anymore. Why is-a this? Is your fingers broken in 18 different-a places? Have I done sumethin' to offend you in-a some-a way?"
"It is-a disgraceful on-a my part-a Christopher. I apologise for my insolence, my-a bad, my-a bad."
It doesn't even sound vaguely Italian. Not really. But we have been talking like this for such a long time neither of us can stop doing so. It is our ritual. Cliche-ridden mock Italian conversations that inevitably contain phrases like "'atsa nice meat-a ball!" will forever be part of our rapport.
My friendship with Irish Chris basically revolves around drinking beer, playing pool and insulting each others' mothers...like all good friendships I guess. But lately he's been trying to get me involved in his latest hobby: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
'Look. Look at my 'guns' baby,' he'll say when we eventually catch up, casting away his Luigi persona, 'Feel my arms. They are like steel. Like weapons to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. This is what perfection looks like.'
Although Chris is prone to exaggeration he is noticeably more muscular. Prior to his martial arts training he has stick-thin chicken arms that looked like they would snap in an arm wrestle.
Arm inspection done, he will then ask me to attack him so he can show me a submission hold he learnt that week. Two seconds after I lunge at his neck I'll be on the floor of a pub while onlookers glance our way wearily.
'Now this chokehold...'
'Gugh...ugh...'
'...is pretty hard to break. It IS possible. For maybe a blue belt. But for the run of the mill mugger, played in this instance by you...'
'..Ugh...grugh...disrupting the...guh...blood supply to my...ugh...brain...'
'Huh? Oh, sorry Fatman.'
As I lay wheezing and plotting revenge I get the uneasy feeling that I may need to take up Jiu-Jitsu soon in order to be able to counter his chokeholds and joint-locks. I still feel that, push come to shove, I could take Irish Chris in a fight. Not a fair fight. I'd hit him over the head with a crowbar when he wasn't looking. But who knows how strong he'd be in a years' time? Could I take him then?
"Ah! Christopher ma frien'! Its-a been-a long time without the speaking!"
Whenever Irish Chris and I speak on the telephone we both adopt bad Italian accents. Why do we do this? I honestly don't think either of us remember the genesis of this peculiar phone habit. Do we think it's funny, to speak in a cringe-worthy caricature Italian way?
"You-a horrible fat slob of a man! You no call me anymore. Why is-a this? Is your fingers broken in 18 different-a places? Have I done sumethin' to offend you in-a some-a way?"
"It is-a disgraceful on-a my part-a Christopher. I apologise for my insolence, my-a bad, my-a bad."
It doesn't even sound vaguely Italian. Not really. But we have been talking like this for such a long time neither of us can stop doing so. It is our ritual. Cliche-ridden mock Italian conversations that inevitably contain phrases like "'atsa nice meat-a ball!" will forever be part of our rapport.
My friendship with Irish Chris basically revolves around drinking beer, playing pool and insulting each others' mothers...like all good friendships I guess. But lately he's been trying to get me involved in his latest hobby: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
'Look. Look at my 'guns' baby,' he'll say when we eventually catch up, casting away his Luigi persona, 'Feel my arms. They are like steel. Like weapons to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. This is what perfection looks like.'
Although Chris is prone to exaggeration he is noticeably more muscular. Prior to his martial arts training he has stick-thin chicken arms that looked like they would snap in an arm wrestle.
Arm inspection done, he will then ask me to attack him so he can show me a submission hold he learnt that week. Two seconds after I lunge at his neck I'll be on the floor of a pub while onlookers glance our way wearily.
'Now this chokehold...'
'Gugh...ugh...'
'...is pretty hard to break. It IS possible. For maybe a blue belt. But for the run of the mill mugger, played in this instance by you...'
'..Ugh...grugh...disrupting the...guh...blood supply to my...ugh...brain...'
'Huh? Oh, sorry Fatman.'
As I lay wheezing and plotting revenge I get the uneasy feeling that I may need to take up Jiu-Jitsu soon in order to be able to counter his chokeholds and joint-locks. I still feel that, push come to shove, I could take Irish Chris in a fight. Not a fair fight. I'd hit him over the head with a crowbar when he wasn't looking. But who knows how strong he'd be in a years' time? Could I take him then?
posted by Fatman | 3:06 pm
22 Comments:
Hmm. The gap in your capabilities may already be too large to close. I'd advise you to outwit him with your cunning, Fatman. That's how we handle lions in my part of the world.
BTW did you know Fatman, you can't use PayPal to buy sex toys on eBay? Not even that vagina-tightening gel known as Tighten-Her. Cashier's Check, Money Orde, or Personal Check only.
GB- Or...y'know...buy a gun. Bruce Lee is good but a well placed shot from a Colt Python .357 Magnum revolver could have dropped the guy had he not already croaked from cerebral edema.
Yawn- Yes. We must pound these people into submission. Blow their cars up. Destroy their schools and set fire to their miserable churches where they worship heathen Gods. Pagans, the lot of 'em.
p.s. I get my sex toys second hand. From dumpsters.
Call me a traditionalist, but I've always thought firearms lack the finesse of Crowbar-Fu.
I'd heard of Brazilian Jiu-jitsu before, but I just assumed it was some type of sex move.
Well, I suppose it could still be a type of sex move, depending on how you use it.
You say something like "Yawn is succumbing to inner demons" and I say something like "A man who doesn't exercise his inner demons ceases to be a man." We both have a strong argument here.
The only way to get out of this one, Fatman, is to perceive both the implied and the subliminal message herein:
http://www.youtube.com/v/jM6ojfZa-3E
There will be no multiple choice or True/False section. Only understanding, or lack thereof. Maybe even synthesis, but well, that Bloom guy and his taxonomy are a load of aboriginal caca.
Cunning, shmunning. Kick him in the spicy-a meatballs and run like blazes.
(It might work on that Irish Chris guy, as well.)
Hurry the fuck up and repost Fatman. Or I'm gonna smash a wine bottle through a computer monitor. And cum in your readers' mouths. Namely Gorilla Bananas and Broadzilla. Later I'll teach Captain Smack a lesson in the delicatessin. One that involves rich heavings of mayo. And a slick pickle.
Hey Fatman! Sorry I have been a stranger....the dating mania gripped me again. I promise to be a more frequent visitor if you will post a new entry....
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...
Post something! Quickly!
Forgot what I was gonna say. You know you can order Xanax off the Internet? Also vibrating butt plugs. Post something soon, or all hell could break loose.
Kyknoord-
Commonly asked questions about Crowbar-Fu:
Q. 'What Kung Fu Dat?'( as Judge Dread would say)
A. Crowbar-Fu is an ancient, traditional form of combat developed by two burglars (Ron "The Don" O'Leahrey and Bernard "Iron" McLarkin) who were breaking into a house in Wales in the 60's. The combatants are usually intoxicated and/or high on something. There are 18 different types of hits (called "strikes" by Crowbar-Fu masters) but only three forms of "blocking" (the High block, the Low Block and the "I'm going to get my lawyer on to you you sunumbitch!"-block)
Captain Smack- I've once submitted to a 6" tall Brazilian but I don't like talking about it.
Yawn- Blinking...lights...hurts...eyes.
Broadzilla- My dad taught me that move to escape from tormentors in the eighth grade. I still use it to this day.
Yawn- I take all threats seriously. Although I notice that you'll take out your rage on my readers and not me. So...go crazy! (GB lives in the jungle, Broadzilla lives in Africa somewhere and Captain Smack in omnipresent. Have fun!)
Sassyassy- Hey grrrrl! How are you? No...really. How ARE you? It's been absolutely ages. Me? I'm good. The rash has cleared up, thank God.
Broadzilla- Feel free to email me every once in a while. I'm tying up some loose ends (i.e. hitchhikers who are threatening to talk about the things I did to them while they were drugged) and may need to unleash some Crowbar-Fu on 16-year old runaways for a spell.
Yawn- Dude...I...I...dude. Y'know? Because of the...things. And that. I'll post soon OK? Fuck.
What, it's not enough that you give yawn my home address, now you want me to write to you?
Oh, all right. Wait by your inbox.
Glad that rash I gave ya cleared up *wink*. Oh wait, that wasn't me was it????? Come visit me or read my blog and then you will know how I am doing.
My wife sings Mexican music- in Spanish- while she sticks a bottle in her asshole and ferociously masturbates with shaved carrots. She also has a "Magic Bullet" vibrator intended for use in the anus or on the clit. Have you heard of any abnormal psychiatric diagnoses that might explain such behavior?
Almost forgot to ask you earlier. I worked for the state for a few years and built up a bit of retirement money. Should I take out that money, pay taxes on it, and invest it, or should I leave it where it is until I can roll it over into a 401K or other pension plan?
Oh yeah- when you gonna do a fukkkking post?????
bella - what a funny post! but it has to be said that I often go Northern! Eh tha's greet intit lad? ciao me mukka
A priest and a rabbi were walking down the side walk. On the other side of the street they see a 12 year old boy. The priest says "Lets go fuck him." The rabbi looks for a minute and then says "Out of what?"
you still rule...
Broadzilla- Still waiting by that Inbox....
Sassyassy- Man you've written heaps since I last read ya. So, you and whats-his-name didn't work out huh? Shame.
Yawn- What's abnormal about it? Does...does she let you watch this? She'd be a damn cool wife if she did.
Mermaid of Moorgate- Oh...kay then. Did you put a comment on this site accidentally? And who got the comment that was meant for me?
Yawn- Hyuk hyuk hyuk. OK, OK. So this guy is walking down a street and he sees a big orange thing coming towards him. As he gets closer to it he sees that its actually a man with a big orange head. He walks closer still and sees that he KNOWS the guy. Went to school with him.
"Dennis?"
"Hey Frank."
Pause.
"You...er...you look....um.."
"You want to ask me about my big orange head."
Frank nods his head slowly.
Dennis: Well, you know these situations where guys find magic lamps with a genie in them?
Frank: Uh-huh.
Dennis: I got one of these lamps. Pretty cheap on ebay actually. So, I rub the lamp and out pops a genie who says, "I'll give you three wishes and three wishes only."
Frank: So, your first wish was...
Dennis: To be a billionare.
Frank: Sensible.
Dennis: Indeed. My second wish was to be married to Jessica Alba.
Frank: Oh, yeah. I remember reading about that.
Pause
Dennis: Now...the third wish. That's...that's when things went hideously, hideously wrong.
Pause
Frank: Well....what on Earth did you wish for?
Dennis: A big orange head.
Delorum Rex- Cheers man.
I actually laughed at that. Heard something similar before, but it doesn't change the fact that it's funny. Now when you gonna post so you can fuel the fire of buzzards and hangers on with nothing better to do than feed their own egos through posting to other blogs in hopes, in hopes, that someone might see their comment and check out their own blog under the assumption it will alleviate their loneliness?
Later we'll explore failure and ostracism. But loneliness is a good one for now. Marriage enlonelinizes people.
Hey Fatman--yeah, me n whats-his-name parted ways. On a bright note...come visit my blog & help celebrate Deep Cleavage Friday...spread the word.
Just an FYI, it's Deep Cleavage Friday in the Yawning Anus too....spread THAT word!
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