As a man of the mind, many people believe that when it comes to the pugilistic arts they can wipe the floor with me as if I were some kind of mop or maybe a dishcloth that's been so previously soiled you don't mind using it to soak up some spilled chicken blood, your urine from the previous evening's festivities or dabbing the drool from the jowls of your aged and incontinent three-legged dog before throwing said cloth on the dung heap (if you don't have a dung heap check with your neighbours to see if you can use theirs-most modern homes come with a dung heap these days). For instance, just recently as I was combing the alleyway behind my local doughnut shop where they discard the doubly day-old doughnuts in the dumpster, a situation where one must be fast-thinking and fleet of foot to beat the hungry crows and shopping cart pushing derelicts to score the pot-of-dough at the end of the oil and antifreeze pooled rainbow where the dumpster bin wheels tend to rest (fortunately the derelicts suffer from sore and hideously-swollen feet plus their shopping carts, overloaded with everything from hubcaps to dismantled mannequin bodies, slows them down considerably giving me the advantage whereas the crows are a whole different story), a group of ne'er-do-wells in matching soiled tracksuits and alopecia haircuts heckled me with all manner of derisive commentary as I sought to snag myself a few bags from the day-old day-old doughnut treasure chest. Perhaps it was my tweed overcoat or eyeglasses held together with masking tape that gave me away as man of culture and good breeding, one who has collected academic accolades as if they were gift baskets such as one might receive after a double hernia operation and is flown willy-nilly around the globe to give commanding talks and lectures on topics as varied as the effects of Tiddlywinks on the placement of suburban American strip mall shopping cart return stalls or the movements of jellyfish (specifically the Australian Box Jellyfish) as a template for winning competition arm wrestling tournaments. Either way, these hooligans misjudged me as I was able to swiftly halt them in their tracks using my own soon-to-be-patented Haltiwanger method of self defense. That I defecated in my pants was actually of the utmost importance as it is one of my signature moves that, when combined with the "gesticulating flipper-slap hands of death," attacks not only the enemy's body but also their senses with the ability to render them from unconscious to simply disgusted. Nevertheless, they'll be running for the hills faster than you can spell diarrhea out loud to a group of octogenarians wearing hearing aids by the side of a busy highway.
|The gas-passing posture pictured here, as demonstrated by Lyle Blemwolf of the Institute for Intestinal Integrity, is almost perfect but plaid pants would make this rear-end attack all the more effective and deadly.|
SPOT THE MISTAKES!
GIVE UP YET? OF COURSE YOU HAVE. I KNEW YOU WOULD.
- Grab an Elmer the Safety Elephant poster off the wall and roll it quickly into a tight funnel shape. "I have had great success with this poster theme," states Skeezus Malchingo, head librarian at the Poison Oak Ridge library. "Thugs really seem to recoil from Elmer's knowing smile and his mighty trunk that can hold a traffic cone up in the air with nary an effort and once you roll the poster up they're really intimidated." But any poster will do as long as it's no smaller than 16"x20" and doesn't featuring cartoon snails wearing bifocals and running shoes.
- Begin grunting while loosening your tie or rolling down your pantyhose. This will let the interloper know you are ready for trouble by making animal noises and adjusting your restrictive clothing, warning them that fists of fury and feet of fungus are soon to follow. If you don't happen to suffer from foot fungus you can simply tape a mushroom to your forehead (fortunately the library is full of various adhesive materials for this), so that the criminal knows that there will be some form of a fungal element to deal with and answer to. Just as kung-fu practitioners never go into battle without nunchucks and throwing stars, so should you add mushrooms and efficient gas-passing plaid pants to your list of essential Haltiwanger defense weaponry.
- Brandish the rolled up poster in a threatening manner while mumbling the names of characters from Jacqueline Susann novels. The mumbling is quite important here in that curiosity will get the better of the attacker, causing them to lean forward to hear what you are saying, thus letting their guard down whereupon you can smack them soundly with the poster. I've chosen Jacqueline Susann for this scenario because what depraved soul isn't attracted to Valley of the Dolls or The Love Machine. The combination of Elmer the Safety Elephant and Jacqueline Susann at the same time has proven to be a winning combination for self defense success.
- The attacker, after this, should be on the defensive, which is your time to strike with even sounder blows than those inflicted with the rolled-up poster. This is also the time, should you be fortunate enough to be suffering from both nerves and an unsettled stomach, to let the diarrhea flow, letting it run down your pant legs and having it pool on the floor around you until it forms something akin to a moat or pond depending on your output. You can add some urine if you wish. Few would dare to cross it, thus increasing your advantage and from this vantage point, you can do considerable damage whether you choose to use the "gesticulating flipper-slap hands of death," or something I like to call the "garlic press," which is what the name implies but think testicles instead of garlic and the press is simulated with your hands encased in novelty oven mitts. Personally I like the ones made to look like lobster claws but many of my students have had equal success with mitts resembling cats, sharks and even moose. You know the old saying, "strike while the iron is hot." Well I like to say "strike while the diarrhea is hot," if the fiend doesn't flee first of course. You'll be saving not only yourself and the librarian, but also the countless children and adults who enjoy the sanctity of the book borrowing system and its welcoming and stimulating environment. And the only price is a little carpet cleaning in the children's section of the library, a place that is no stranger to poop or pee in the first place. Except this poop and pee just saved the library a whole lot of trouble and heartache.
|Yerta guides her "bad doggie" towards the imaginary excrement for a good nose-rubbing while Volga rolls the "broken wheelbarrow" into the barn for the rats to nest in.|
"I am not Casper Milquetoast nor am I Casper the Friendly Ghost. I fear no man or giant with my powers shrouded in secrecy. Tears of pain will rain down upon my enemies and I am one tough hombre that makes self-defense look easy, my hands packed with the power of TNT. Forget your hoi polloi, I'm no squeaky dog toy but you'll be squeaking for deliverance from your misery once my fists of fury pummel you until so much artichoke dip. I am a dynamic muscle that will play peek-a-boo with your bowels and turn your Adam's Apple into applesauce. Send your dry-cleaning to Melvin Goldstein. Tell him Glimpy sent you. He'll know what you mean and he can get the bloodstains out of most everything. Don't forget to rehydrate. Ha, ha, catch my drift. Thank-you and goodnight."
Once you've repeated this a few times and stared deeply into your dummy's eyes you should be beginning your entry into a partial hypnotic state. It's now time to converse with the dummy to complete the process. Here's a sample dialogue. Feel free to improvise when working with your own dummy head.
Glimpy: I went to see my psychiatrist today.
Me: Really, I didn't know you were seeing a shrink.
Glimpy: Yes, he said I have some real issues.
Glimpy: I said issues, not tissues, you dummy. Why don't you try talking with your mouth open for a change. And on the subject of tissues, you better stop masturbating before you put the Kleenex factory out of business.
Me: Hey, if you had a body instead of being just a blabbering head, maybe you'd understand my position.
Glimpy: I don't think anybody could understand your position. In fact, isn't that how you lost your first wife?
Me: Don't push your luck or you just might find yourself face down in a dumpster.
Glimpy: Well, at least I'd get a decent meal for a change.
Me: Forget that. What did the psychiatrist say?
Glimpy: He recommended I double my martini intake.
Me: Don't you think that might be too much too drink?
Glimpy: Hey, I have to look at your ugly mug everyday. Maybe I should triple my intake?
Me: Where would you put it? You have no stomach.
Glimpy: I have to stomach you, don't I. Anyway, I like the booze to go straight to my head and when you're all head, where else is it gonna go?
Me: Say, who is this psychiatrist anyway?
Glimpy: Doc Pussel.
Me: He's no psychiatrist. He's the bartender down the street.
Glimpy: Yeah, but he makes a drink called the "Shrink" that'll have you confessing everything. Including that goat you married in Las Vegas last week.
Me: That was no goat, that was my wife.
Glimpy: Don't play dumb with a dummy. I can hear the bleating all the way from the basement when you two have sex. It's like someone's dragging a string of tin cans through the alleyway.
Me: Ah, go soak your head.
Glimpy: Don't mind if I do. In a shot glass preferably. In fact, you better make it a double.
Applause. Lights dim. Some midgets come out and chase monkeys on bicycles around the stage. Fruit salad for everyone.
|My best friend and confidante, Glimpy Hydrate, sharing a laugh before I set out to kick some hooligan ass.|
|They may look innocent to you but these wieners are natural magnets for attracting evildoers from anywhere in the city. By noon there will be a whole lot of evil going down around this hot dog cart. You've been warned.|