Sunday, November 29, 2009

Karate Man Dojos

Karate (karot-tay) is an ancient martial art; man is an ancient martial warrior; dojo is an ancient Japanese word. On their own, each evokes fear in the throats of one’s enemies; yet combined these elements unleash the raw power of a thousand focused monkeys.

Sensei Tang has been a Karate Man since the 1970s. As pioneers Bruce Lee, Sonny Chiba and black guys with Afros moved west to Hollywood, Tang went against convention, moving east to Okinawa. Here he learned the secret striking ways of Okinawa’s notorious Monkey-Cobra Gangs. Then, in 1980, Tang returned home fully trained, exploding onto the American scene at Karate-con.

Karate-con is the world’s premier full contact Karate Championships held each year in Colorado. Over six brutal days, Tang’s lethal strikes liquefied the internal organs of his opponents. With skill and precision, Sensei Tang killed four men in the ring and a cougar that happened to encounter him outside his motel. Tang then ate the whole cougar, entrails and all, to instill fear into his final opponent. Who was this opponent? None other than a hitherto unknown Chuck Norris.

The world title battle against Master Sensei Chuck Norris lasted eight long hours. Thunderstorms threw lightning and the earth’s plates shifted as each competitor harnessed and unfurled natures forces upon the other. So much blood was shed that each competitor required four illegal blood transfusions to continue to the end. Tang eventually won on points, though admittedly Chuck Norris was simultaneously fighting off terminal cancer. It is still known as the classic battle amongst karate men the world around.

In 1981, Sensei Tang retired from competition and set up Karate Man Dojos. Never have the warrior’s key elements been combined into such a lethal fighting force as Karate Man Dojos. Learn to karate chop. Learn to karate strike. Do you want to kill a live bear with your hands? Sensei Tang will not only teach you how, but he’ll put you to the test with regular cage-matches against animals you’ve never even heard of (black belts, only).

2010 will bring about thirty years since the Tang karate-con revolution. And he again has acquired the taste for blood. This year, he plans to mark his dominance by closing the fist of his empty hand upon government. Sensei Tang is now recruiting students for group attack missions. Power will be gained. Honor will be won! Become a Karate Man! Take your place at Karate Man Dojos before a Karate Man finds and takes his Karate stance on you.

Don’t be a pussy! Join today!

Friday, November 27, 2009

Student Squeegeeist, inc.

Summer work? Why not become a Student Squeegeeist!

Do you have the courage to take back the streets from the homeless? Are you tired of seeing hard-earned, tax-free dollars go to the same methamphetamine fuelled squeegee man day after day after day? We certainly are! That’s why this summer, Melbournians everywhere will be getting a clean deal from their local squeegee man... or squeegee woman as it may be.

It’s Student Squeegee (SS), incorporated.

The SS is an honest to goodness mom and pop-style Corporation. We are currently screening candidates across Melbourne and allowing them to get in on the ground floor of this fantastic business venture. For a limited time only, you too can buy into your very own SS franchise!

Each franchisee is supplied with an original SS uniform, water pistol, cleansing solution, squeegee and bum-bag...worn in combination, this is an impressive package that brings honour and a sense of dignity back to the profession of squeegeeing. Each corner is then rented to the highest licensed bidder at an affordable, hourly rate.

Will John Q. Public choose the helpless addict who has lost everything? Or will our clean-cut, big jawed Aussie Students win the day? Once the SS is unleashed on the public, we plan to let good business sense, hard work, and the market sort out who gets this tax-free money. Yet our aggressive marketing campaign combined with help from the local police authorities will likely tip the scale in our franchisee’s favour, ensuring that we keep less qualified squeegeeists off the streets!
But wait, there’s more. Each franchisee’s cleansing solution is lye-based...and recent changes in legislation allowe licensed SS franchisees the right to fend off their territory should any thug try to move in on his or her turf. A little lye in the face will go a long way!

So, if you have what it takes to earn big dollars this summer, which you can then spend on a drug of your choice, like alcohol, then call the SS, inc. today! Operators are standing bye to send you your free franchisee brochure. Call now!

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Your Double Choc Chip Buttercake Destroyed my Family

Dear Mr. Woolworth,

Greetings. Though we have not yet officially made one another’s acquaintance, my loyal frequenting to your residence in Preston affords us a certain familiarity with one another’s intimate habits and idiosyncrasies, the kind usually reserved for family. And as I write to you, I still consider our relationship primarily to be one of brothers as opposed to one of business. My family enjoys daily your fresh baked products, and my eldest son, Wooly, even carries your name! (Christ, Woolworth, my kid was most likely conceived in your parking lot!)

Thus, I assure you, it is following much hesitation and great contemplation that I write to you regarding the Double Choc Chip Buttercake purchased from you on Sunday, November 22, 2009, at 2:16pm.

For $4.97, it certainly did seem to be special! At prices so low, one could be tempted to label the manager “special” (that is retarded, or at least hypo-tarded); for how could a regular gent give his bakehouse items away at these rates and still afford to pay his employees an honourable wage? I was ever so close to the purchase of two of these tasty treats, you devil! But, at 480grams, I carefully calculated, considered and decided against the purchase of a second lest gluttony get my family into further trouble.

You see, Woolworth, we were to be celebrating Lurleen’s release from the detox and rehab unit at Galliamble. Such a festive occasion happens only every few years. Lurleen’s most recent triumph over a powerful, cough syrupy agent certainly warranted the pomp and circumstance of cake. And, your establishment being the one of first choice in our family, I quickly gathered the seven of us into the Ute before shooting over to Preston’s bustling shopping-district store.
Your classic choc buttercake was selected for several reasons:
1-The aforementioned price, perhaps set by retards, or hypo-tards
2-The guarantee which labelled the cake to be” full of choc chip pieces”
3-The nostalgic and titular label of, “Classic,” which is always a selling point in our family
4-The quality assurance stamp... your store in our has been known as the Safe Way
5-Wooly, the favourite kid, chose it

Over the next few hours, while patiently awaiting Lurleen’s probation officer to finish debriefing, we salivated over your bakehouse Double Choc Chip Buttercake, which promised to be classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. We gathered around and little Wooly read aloud the ingredients, savouring in each delicate, vital part of the whole. A debate sparked when mention of the ingredients Emulsifiers 322 Soy Lecithin, Raising Agents 500, 341, 450, and Whipping Agent 471 were questioned. What were they? Chinese, no doubt. Or, if not Chinese, might they have come from some other land of numbers? Did robots rule this magical land, and, if so, was their king a good king? We went on and on like this until the officer dropped Lurleen off, which promptly ended debate and started the family into a side-splitting version of “For he’s a Jolly-Good Fellow,” where we replace certain words to the tune and sing, “For She’s a Jolly Good Alco...let’s hope she doesn’t get high, hey!”

Lurleen blew out a candle and lit a cigarette, and then gave a speech where she pretended to hate us. We calmed her down and Wooly got a knife, several plates, and some forks.

I watched the favoured child, Wooly, attempt to slice the classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. I instructed him to carefully follow the serving size suggestion, whereby he would cut the cake into 1/8ths. TO MY AMAZEMENT, THE CAKE CRUMBLED before my very eyes. I smacked him one and told him to be careful. But, alas, it was of no use. Crumble, crumble, crumble. Furthermore, my less liked children saw the whole debacle unfold. I don’t know where you come from, Woolworth, but I do not consider crumble to be part of anything CLASSIC!

The youngest of my progeny may not have noticed, and, sure, the elders would have had their memory wiped from the sheer shock of the experience. But the majority of us saw the whole affair.

Wooly, greatly ashamed, stormed out of the house and watched a vampire movie. Today he explained that he no longer embraces Christianity; he claims to be a vampire, and his religion is a blood thirsty one. I explained the similarities between that and Jesus’ whole “blood into wine speech”, but Wooly is deaf to reason. I now consider him dead to me.

Lurleen is on the cough syrup again. She’s quite ordinary and mean.

The pressure got to me, too. I am usually the formidable rock of the family. But, I admit, I had a mental lapse and resulted to violence against several appliances around the house. Some of the more clever devices, like the computer and the plasma T.V., have informed the authorities. I now fear that robots may attack at any moment.

There was a time, Woolworth, when your products’ were of a quality and standard unparalleled. They were the protons which we negatively charged electrons orbited around. Your bakehouse products literally held our family together; today, my family is crumbling to pieces because of them...

Sure, I ate the cake... I ate it all by myself before I pummelled the TV. But I did not enjoy it! And though my arteries are still sluggishly pulsating with your product, I plan to find alternatives to my atherosclerotic old ways. Rest assured, I will consider alternatives next time I enter your store (tonight).

Am I angry Woolworth? Hardly. I am, however, greatly disappointed. You can do better. I’ve seen it before. My family has seen it before. Our community has seen it before.

In short, I suggest you do away with the robot king's products and numbers. It is unaustralian.

Until then, Woolworth, kind regards to you and yours, sir.

Mr. Customer

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

An Awkward Exam

It was awkward, alright. There were four of us stripped of our shirts and wearing only footy shorts in the exam room with the teacher.

My partner, Richard, was noticeably nervous. After three years of chiropractic school, we’ve come to accept our exams will be strenuous, but achievable. Each of us reacts differently to high pressure situations, though there are some general signs and symptoms... Spine hunched, breathing shallow and quick, we are ruled by the “Lizard-Brain” during the sympathetic dominance of these fight or flight situations. Richard, however, had had one unique reaction to stress. He had what we chiropractic students call, in scientific terminology, “A Raging Boner.”

It was as though someone replaced his morning vitamin with Viagra. And, to his credit, Richard was blessed by the creator with quite the endowment. I kept going cross-eyed and, as we stood in the middle of the room, I almost wanted to hang a hat on the thing just to keep it under cover.

I went through the usual procedural assessment in front of the teacher. But I had to alter my position in space because of this wily beast. I increased my circumference when I circled to get around him. It was as though someone injured a limb and I didn’t want to exacerbate it.

No one acknowledged the boner. It really was the pink elephant in the room that no one dare speak of...metaphorically speaking.

I instructed Richard to lay on his stomach on our chiropractic bench, and as I palpated his back, I hoped to all hope that he would settle down. Perhaps blood flow would return to parts of his body that would have greatly needed it by now.
Alas, when he turned over to lay on his back, the creature was off to the side. Though you could no longer hang a hat on the thing, it was still a cantankerous creature noticeably protruding over top the right hip. I sighed a little bit of relief. Then, when I saw my next test question, I got nervous.

I will need to digress for a moment to explain how slap-stick it got in the last few minutes of my exam. There are certain techniques chiropractic employs for patients who require low-force treatment: the elderly, the frail, the acutely painful patients. One of these techniques is known as “Blocks” or “Wedges”. These are highly effective in realigning the often twisted hips and pelvis. These blocks look like larger versions of door stops, covered in foam and material, and they are then placed under the patient’s hips, one per side. With Richard on his back, our teacher wanted me to demonstrate how I would hypothetically place the blocks underneath a patient...but, for the safety of my classmate’s spinal alignment, I was instructed to lay the blocks on top of this patient.

The left block stuck like a magnate to Richard; the right block, however, I fumbled to the ground several times over after my vain effort to lay on a rounded, moving surface. In front of the teacher, gritting my teeth and squinting my eyes, I again slowly lay the wedge on Richard’s chubby penis. The block quickly toppled to the ground like a failed Jenga move. Again I tried, and again and then again, fumbling the block before I looked helplessly at the teacher.

Richard broke the silence and said to the teacher, “I think he’s a little nervous.”

I am not sure if he meant me or his penis.