Wednesday, 10 April 2013

The Haltiwanger Method of Self-Defense: Part 1

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. 

Here, the basic mechanics of the "gesticulating flipper slap-hands of death" is illustrated showing all of this lethal move's subtle intricacies. Although this diagram utilizes the arm of an early 19th century fortune-telling automaton (The Magnificent Voltron to be exact), it is completely accurate in the breakdown of a human arm's movements, without of course the "bicep electronic buzzer trigger," (see Nos. 32 & 34), which lets the handler know when the robotic device's triceps ratchets are jammed. Otherwise, expect your arm and hand to work just like this, an efficient killing machine functioning in perfect harmony, and that would make any creature with flippers green with envy (note: some of that green may be due to seaweed or algae as many creatures with flippers are of the aquatic variety but nevertheless, they will be jealous, believe you me).
Now, you may encounter hoodlums and goons such as the ones mentioned above but truly, there are so many different types of thugs out there on the streets and in the alleyways just waiting to get their hands on your money or doughnuts so it's best to be prepared for any situation. With the Haltiwanger Method of Self-Defense you will be ready, able and confident to thwart any of these deadbeats or at least send them back to the hellhole where they were spawned. If that hellhole is filled up well then, they can always find accommodation in one of the many wonderful albeit run-down motels that line the waterfront or outskirts of your city. How does the Haltiwanger Method of Self-Defense train you for these eventualities? Easy. First off, it all begins in the mind, not the body. One must simply think of the human brain as a place where a switchboard operator sits at a busy terminus, a bit beleaguered with all the incoming calls and transfers to the appropriate parties as shown in the diagram below. You can make your switchboard operator male or female, it's really a matter of choice and what you feel most comfortable with but I like to make mine a woman and I've named her Nancy and she looks really good in a cashmere sweater, knee-length skirt, low black pumps and lightly tousled hair. Her favourite foods are calamari, beef jerky and salamander paste and on weekends she likes to go water-skiing and spend time whittling birch branches into carrot-shaped magic wands that she then uses to cast spells on the evil mushroom-people that live inside the walls of her basement apartment.   
Here is the magnificent and mysterious human brain at work. In previous times this image might have depicted a semaphore flag signaller or even a Morse code operator but in this technological age a switchboard operator is more accurate. As one can see, the human brain is a busy place and it's a wonder anyone can do anything like, say, figuring out a crossword puzzle while belching simultaneously let alone "flipper-slapping" an opponent to the ground while barking out the ingredients to an apple strudel recipe (Haltiwanger self-defense move #34).
So, with all these various calls and signals and crossed wires and such, it's a wonder that Nancy can get anything efficiently done but the Haltiwanger Method of self-defense trains your Nancy or Bill or Mildred or Phil to keep the circuits clear when danger is near and only use those signals that are integral to your own protection. Thus, for example, some goon is walking towards you on a darkened street and instead of you musing on whether to use chopped onion in your tuna fish salad that you're going home to make or wondering what colour underwear your secretary wears and whether she walks around the house in them with nothing else on when she gets home from work while idly restringing her badminton racket and heating up some egg rolls in a toaster oven her mother gave her for her birthday even though she has no plum sauce, your brain immediately zeroes in on the imminent predicament heading your way and sends nerve impulses to your various limbs, mobilizing and subtly flexing their tendons and muscles for attack mode. That hooligan will never know what hit him and the few splashes of diarrhea that spatter his pants will offer few clues. Of course it's all fine and good to visualize this outcome but besides brain preparedness you will also need to learn my fighting techniques. Much has been made of the martial arts of the East but sometimes even they fall short on the mean streets of North American cities where horribly depraved thugs demand a different, more gritty style of fighting in which all of the body's forces and fluids are called into play. Let's look at the example below.
Many thanks to Gerta Plonken and Bernard Kugleman for this crime re-enactment. As you can see, besides using my patented backwards arm-thrust while hooking one leg behind the amateur apiarist attacker's own Florsheim-shod foot, the real key to this defense move is Gerta's ability to stare straight ahead, a slight grimace on her face as if she were on a vacation with her husband, say to some romantic Mediterranean location or a magnificent sweeping landscape somewhere in central Saskatchewan and her husband, let's call him Morris, is making her pose for a photo which she really doesn't want to take even though he's begging her, cajoling her, whining almost so as to have a nice photo to show their friends and neighbours and though she's not buying it Gerta reluctantly strikes a pose if only to shut him up and set off to find a gift shop. Her eyes are slightly squinted against an imaginary sun glinting on a wine-dark sea or shimmering off waving stalks of endless wheat, creating a fearsome facial expression that only adds insult to injury when you're farting on this assailant's face after he hits the ground while simultaneously punching him in the scrotum while reciting Alfred Lord Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade in the voice of Peter Lorre (thanks to your well-trained cerebral switchboard operator that has taught you to multitask, even in the most dire situations).
In this series of images, expecting the unexpected and making your mind and body a finely honed reflexive and defensive instrument capable of inflicting immeasurable pain is illustrated in all its profundity. Here a debauched beekeeper in a homemade beekeeping outfit attacks this lovely young woman waiting at a bus stop. Like many deviants he is attracted to her bazoombas and her striking and form-fitting plaid slacks not to mention her general air of innocence. "Oh, when will the #6 bus to Centertown arrive?" she's wondering to herself, seemingly unaware of the demented apiarist creeping up behind her. One cannot even imagine what depraved and vile suggestions he is whispering into her ear as he grasps her ample bosom, his black elasticized socks already causing sweat rings to form around his ankles with the anticipation of the disgusting acts he is soon to carry out upon her voluptuous body as he rubs himself against her enticing polyester and cotton fiber blends. That he wears only shorts beneath his homemade beekeeping robe, a robe ingeniously crafted from an old tarpaulin such as one would use to cover a barbeque or the stacked shingles for a long-overdue roofing project, is a clear indication of the depths of this man's depravity. It's just less fabric that stands between you and his throbbing stinger. Can this situation truly occur, you're asking yourself as you gaze at the evidence presented to you? Well, have no fear or maybe I should say have plenty of fear because this exact incident happened to my landlady not long ago. It's a fact that crazed apiarists scour the city looking for their queen bee, so to speak, to mate with and thus, in their twisted minds, carry on the legacy of the hive. No kung-fu, judo, taekwon-do or karate course could possibly prepare you for this horrifying scenario but it happens dozens of times a day in neighbourhoods just like yours. This situation calls for the Haltiwanger self-defense move #62 (as described above), but if you really want to finish this piece of scum off once he's fallen to the ground, it's best to then sit on his face and break wind (remember, your backwards momentum is already sending you in this direction anyway and so this finishing touch is as natural as brushing one's teeth, combing your grandfather's toupee or breastfeeding a wallaby). If it's an amateur apiarist you're doing battle with, try to direct the passing of your gas through the small opening of his makeshift paper-bag beekeeper's hood for maximum effect. Remember, when breaking wind gas will pass more effectively through plaid pants than solid coloured fabrics due to the airier weave so wear plaid whenever possible to maximize your anal emissions (the Scottish have known this for centuries and utilized plaid's gas-passing efficiency and eventually they just gave up on the whole pants idea and created kilts so that nothing stood between fart and foe, a little known fact that played a large part in stopping the Roman armies from conquering Scotland when they hit Hadrian's Wall). For best gas passing results, not to mention foods to keep you in tip-top training mode, I recommend broccoli and sardines. Everyone raves about beans but although they do add power to the burst they lack the odour to really keep a thug on the ground.
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.
Now, the above example, although unusual, is nowhere out of the ordinary in most North American urban and suburban settings. As is the next scenario pictured below, showing how even a formidable fighting technique like taekwon-do is absolutely useless against a foe who corners you on a tennis court, although this image would try to convince you otherwise. See if you can spot the mistakes and how this attacker will soon get the upper hand on this poor girl, even if she is showing her underpants to distract her assailant. It might work on the tennis pro but not on a seasoned criminal. Once you give up trying to find the faults, which you will because, unlike me, you probably couldn't sense an attacker coming if he had a rotting fish and a satellite dish strapped to his head, I'll explain how this taekwon-do is almost as useless as throwing jello at a charging rhino when it comes to stopping a ski-mask wearing maniac during a morning tennis match when the morning sun casts long shadows and the starlings are pecking each others eyes out over scraps of sweet'n'sour pork and French fries behind Wing's Lucky Buddha restaurant, specializing in Chinese and Canadian cuisine since 1985.    
What's wrong with this picture? Number one, anyone attacking on a tennis court would of course be wearing a white ski-mask and outfit so as to blend in with the other players. No use letting them know you're coming from fifty yards away. Number two, why would the woman being attacked not hit the intruder with her tennis racket instead of her foot unless she simply wants to show off her underpants, which only incites the fiend's lusty urges and gives him additional strength. 
As mentioned in the caption to the above image, no self-respecting fiend would dare attack someone on a tennis court wearing all black. White is the way to go, from ski mask to ninja pants, except after Labor Day by which time the pickings are pretty slim on the tennis courts anyway due to the colder weather so most tennis court attacks (and there are plenty) are carried out during the summer months. The above image seems to show taekwon-do as some sort of easy solution to a very complicated problem but the fact is the adversary's ski mask is no doubt hiding the fact that he has poison darts made from the secretions of vibrantly coloured tree frogs concealed in his mouth that he can spit with all the nonchalance and speed of a watermelon seed which can then lodge in an exposed thigh, eye or nasal cavity, thus making all your high falutin' leg kicking just so much hot air waving around on an already stifling hot tennis court. This leg kick might look good if you're a Rockette but absolutely useless against a tree-frog poison dart spitting deviant. The tennis racket however, is equally adept at clubbing the attacker and deflecting the poisonous tree frog darts which cannot pass through the stringing. In fact, using my Haltiwanger self-defense move #47, the racket, through my special Wang-Chung wrist twitch that simulates either an air guitar being played on the upstroke or the masturbatory movements of a Borneo adult male orangutan in his declining years when not even a burgeoning banana tree can please him, can actually reverse the trajectory of the poisonous darts and send them ricocheting back into the assailant's flesh, rendering them unconscious and eventually, if the tree frog poison does it work, dead. So you can see how this taekwon-do can be misleading, making one believe that a simple kick, maybe a mistimed punch to the groin, a face that's supposed to say you mean business but really just makes you look constipated and a flash of underpants, can stop a villain in their tracks but really, when you're picking poison tree frog darts out of your forehead, eyeballs and buttocks, don't forget that I told you so.
A quick note of caution here. If you or someone you know has been hit by a poison tree frog dart, immediate action is required. Call the tree frog poison hot line and they will dispatch a trained tree frog poison expert in an impressive hazmat suit who will promptly administer the antidote with an injection to the buttocks. If you find being injected in the buttocks embarrassing, the only other option is having the poison sucked directly from your penis hole. If this too bothers you, prepare to die.
Another seemingly unusual situation that is much more common than you think is the villainous attack on the head librarian in the children's section of your local library (as pictured below). Many normal law-abiding citizens suddenly turn to a life of crime when they realize they've accumulated so many library fines that they're unable to pay. Some turn to robbery, some try to sell their bodies to raise the necessary funds and some just go crazy with rage and head to their nearest library branch to mete out their own twisted brand of justice. Or maybe they've just been banned from the library for peeing or masturbating in the stacks but either way, they're a formidable foe to tangle with. Here are a couple of Haltiwanger self-defense suggestions in case you should find yourself in the midst of one of these deadly confrontations and need to come to the aid of the portly and gentle librarian who is in over his or her bulbous head, or for that matter, if you yourself are a librarian, portly or not, just follow these simple instructions for lethal results.
It's not hard to tell who the villain is in this photo. Dressed all in black, this verminous library scofflaw is under the impression he can make mincemeat out of the pudgy and toupee-sporting librarian, but looks can be deceiving and this dumpy four-eyed bookworm is about to show Mr. Bad that messing with book learning can be a deadly experience. Most of these library lowlifes attack in the children's section because of the more open space in which to try out their various sweeping kicks and punches. Obviously they never anticipated meeting Elmer the Safety Elephant in rolled-up poster form nor did they expect a diarrhea defense or an oven-mitted testicle grip from a guy who looks like he lost his virginity to a sock-puppet he dressed up to look like Virginia Woolf.
  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.

Cute doesn't count for much when you're a criminal sprawled on the floor being beaten by a librarian brandishing a rolled-up poster of Elmer the Safety Elephant. Don't be fooled by this smiling face and frolicsome trunk which can whack the bejeezus out of any ne'er do well in seconds flat. Here's a safety tip for all you criminals out there. Don't fuck with Elmer the Safety Elephant. Enough said.
Here's another scenario that occurs more often than you'd care to imagine. Some human skeleton who's had too much sand kicked in his face at the beach and wants to be a tough guy overnight, heads to his local dollar store and buys a kid's toy cowboy gun and hat. He's not fooling anyone, or at least anybody trained in the Haltiwanger method of self-defense although those not so-trained may cower before his cap gun and tiny flat-top cardboard Stetson. Even if it does make him look like a pencil with a well-used eraser on top (I don't mean to sound disdainful for this man was once me but thanks to my Haltiwanger soon-to-be-patented Muscle-Toning and Bodybuilding System that I will reveal in a later post, I went from a scrawny little shrimp that would barely be enough of an appetizer for a hungry albatross to a virile beanpole with an ass-kicking, harem-grooming mustache, in just six weeks). Nevertheless, this kind of dime-store cowboy attack is carried out many times a day on main streets everywhere in Anytown, USA, robbing old-age pensioners of their social security checks and prescription drug medicines and kids and teens are being taken for their Starbucks money, shiny Nikes and commemorative Chuck "The Rifleman" Connors shower caps. These saddle-less scourges of the city are giving westerns a bad name and the chips on their shoulder are bigger than their heads, meatball casseroles or plastic six-shooters for that matter. But don't be mislead by their diminutive demeanor and physical presence for many of them are capable of both peeing and spitting on you (after they've exhausted their cap pistols of course) with uranium-enriched urine and saliva saturated with toxins from the over-consumption of Maraschino cherries on the many banana splits that they consume daily for keeping up the energy they require to feed their insatiable appetites for irrational and misdirected anger. As for the uranium, they suck it out of the shag carpeting in rec-rooms of retired nuclear scientists' homes that they break in to. So, even in their rinky-dink outfits they are still a force to be reckoned with and the image below, as demonstrated by one of my star pupils, Claxton Menudo, illustrates the proper battle stance and approach, hands at the ready to parry any toxic saliva or radioactive urine not to mention the right hand prepared, if need be, for a good nose pull (which will be discussed more thoroughly in the next segment). Notice also the right leg is cocked and ready, not unlike the hammer on a cap-gun six-shooter, to flick out suddenly and disarm the interloper while the left hand is free to grab the bolo tie, pulling the attacker's face close enough to say, "Hey, nice hat but what's wrong with wearing a ten-gallon instead? Unless you're afraid it'll snap your cocktail-sausage of a neck." Honestly, pulling a cow's teat couldn't be any easier.
Here is my best pupil, Claxton Menudo, demonstrating how to take on one of these toy gun wielding urban cowboy beanpoles who in the old days wouldn't have made a strong enough spoke for the wheel of a stagecoach. Claxton favours the ninja-style black pajama outfit rather than plaid pants but he's a pro and if he showed up to the OK Corral in a tulle tutu, chiffon scarf and a pork pie hat only a fool would dare to comment. All I can say, looking at this picture, is that this sagebrush beanpole is in for a rough ride.
As I've mentioned above, the nose pull is a very effective deterrent when engaging in a serious confrontation. Its success relies entirely on the element of surprise and if you are a portly person (much like the librarian mentioned previously), this may be your only recourse in a brewing fight. The key here is to look your opponent in the eye, never wavering or blinking and then begin to babble in ancient Assyrian. If you don't know ancient Assyrian just make something up like "Gazoonga februm moochka bunga pishvabibble," or something to that effect. No one will ever know the difference. As your attacker is puzzling over this quickly reach up and grasp his nose. Presto! Fight's over before its even begun. Tears of pain will flow down his grubby cheeks. If you want to add insult to injury and they don't put up too much of a fuss, lead your attacker by the nose through the town square or city streets yelling for all to hear, "This is what happens to the scum that eats my porridge." Either way your foe will want to shake your hand afterwards in awe of your formidable fighting talents and knowledge of ancient and forgotten languages.
Here, brothers Sid and Murray Milcroft, demonstrate the nose pull and follow-up handshake. Being that they're both portly gentlemen (it runs in their family), the nose pull is the ideal counter-attack for these two, especially because their work in the fish bait industry leads them to deal with some very unsavory types who are prone to violence when, for example, their shipment of earthworms is late.
The fact is the Haltiwanger Method of Self-Defense is a fool-proof system for protecting yourself from the shady elements that have grown all too common in this world these days, lurking in alleyways, next to Slushy machines or popping out of shrubbery lining the railway tracks. For example, a seedy looking beady-eyed tramp (like the one pictured below from a police sketch) accosts you, using his desire for a hot bowl of soup as an excuse to stand in your way. Well, one look at his painted face and devious eyes lets you know that soup isn't the only thing on his mind. Especially when you can feel his grizzly beard right up against your face. That's too close for any hobo unless you're a hobo wife. Here you could try the nose pull but there's a good chance his red prosthetic nose will come off in your hand so I suggest striking him with an old jockstrap you've carefully concealed in your sleeve while simultaneously barking the passenger manifest for the Lusitania. The only soup this beady-eyed tramp will see is whatever bowl of sludge they're serving in jail that evening.
This police sketch was instrumental is apprehending Muk-Muk Primpsmire, whose gaily painted face was a baffling contrast to his dark personality and nefarious activities. He bilked so many people out of so much money it was rumoured he owned the homeless shelter in which he lived. He met his end at a prison rodeo where he was one of the clowns in a barrel during the bull-riding competition. He was gored so many times they named a new rodeo event after him called the Muk-Muk Gore'n'Toss.
How about this. A couple of punks reeking of liquor try to whack you and your friends with mallets while you're innocently making your way to a doily-making competition. Using two of my tried and true Haltiwanger moves, even the ladies can get in on the fun and the action. As illustrated below, Yerta and Volga are demonstrating the "Bad doggie, now I'm going to rub your nose in the poo-poo you left on the broadloom," and the "Broken wheelbarrow by the side of the barn where Old Man Gunther up and died last July." The picture is self-explanatory. All you need is a few karate chops, a mule kick, a little imagination and some good elasticized socks to really pull this off.
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.
Speaking of punks, how often has a wild teenager tried to club you on the head? Pretty often I'd think. With skyrocketing juvenile delinquency rates, you can rest assured a wild teenager is clubbing someone over the head every fifteen minutes or so somewhere on this continent, day and night. During spring break topless co-eds roam the streets clubbing innocent citizens with anything from cricket bats to Sears catalogs, mannequin legs to frozen ham steaks. Although there are some who enjoy this activity and would actually pay good money to a topless co-ed to be whacked repeatedly with frozen meat or mannequin parts, the general consensus by society is this is not behaviour to be condoned or encouraged. If you are to encounter one of these roving bands of crazed teenagers, be they male or female and undoubtedly hopped up on benzedrine and extra-old sharp American cheese, teach them the lesson they should have learned at their daddy's knee with two of my most extreme techniques. Move #48 asks that firstly, you must stand firm against their ruffian ways and when you've got their attention through what I call the "Knuckles of Toughness" stare-down in which you make your eyes resemble knuckles attached to the "iron fists of death" (you need not have tough knuckles but only insinuate that your knuckles are tough in which case a bit of knuckle hair helps and if you don't have that consider some knuckle toupees and as for the "iron fists of death," more about them in Part 2 of Haltiwanger's Method of Self-Defense), insult their lapels before delivering a chopping blow to their Adam's Apple and if you can't find that then throw an apple at their neck. This will surprise them at which point you can throw them off balance with a swift ingrown toenail kick while simultaneously striking the nerve centers in their armpit with what I call the "chicken head wrist," where you make your wrist look like a dumb chicken scratching for seeds in the dirt but the real dummy will be your attacker when they feel the searing pain from your "hand-beak." Some people like to gussy up this move by attaching a fake wattle to their forearm or wrist, easily done with an old beige sock and some adhesive tape. It will have your assailant wanting to lick their wounds if only they could get their tongue to stretch that far under their armpit. The chicken head wrist will swiftly turn any attacker into a turkey; beheaded, plucked, cooked and served up for a wholesome family dinner.  Move #73 is called the "Clutch of Satan's Brother-in-Law, Ed Minchler." All you need to do is convince your assailant you want to dance with them and once you've won their trust, begin dancing and then suddenly throw them over your shoulder when they go to kiss you. Or bite you. Or whatever they're trying to do with their disgusting mouths. It works best when combined with the "Knuckles of Toughness." Just remember to repeat, inside your head of course, "knuckles of toughness don't let me down, knuckles of toughness don't let me down, make them frown, O knuckles of toughness, they will drown in the blood of Mitzi Gaynor and Satan's brother-in-law, Ed Minchler." Why Mitzi Gaynor you wonder? Well, some things are best left a mystery. All I can say is just trust me and the blood of Mitzi Gaynor will work in your favour. If you have any doubts just ask Mitzi's co-star in South Pacific, Rossano Brazzi. Except he's dead. I rest my case.
In the foreground, Yerta strikes with a variation on the "chicken head wrist" called the "regurgitating chicken head," where her hand resembles a chicken vomiting on a forlorn bank of the Assiniboine River, very close to the border between Saskatchewan and Manitoba, just after wheat harvesting season. Via the nerve centers in the armpit where the "regurgitating chicken head wrist" blow is struck, this attacker is quickly incapacitated and pretty much on his way to his own funeral. With two ingrown toenails used in her sliding kick, Yerta is essentially an angel of death at this moment. Notice her eyes. If she didn't blink you'd think she had knuckles inside her head. Knuckles of toughness that is. As for Volga, she's about to deliver this thug back to hell where Satan gleefully awaits him. All he has to remember to say is that Ed Minchler sent him. Care of Volga of course. Maybe that way he'll get off easy and just pull septic tank duty instead of being flayed alive for the Deceased Despots' fundraiser picnic and Pol Pot Celebrity Roast.
Before we move on to Part 2 of my extensive self-defense method, I just want to reiterate the cerebral part of the training and how, in fact, you can vanquish any enemy using only the power of your mind. That's right. Not even an eye blink, lick of the lips or twitch of a limb comes into play when you can harness the hidden power of your "switchboard operator" who lives inside your head (as discussed at the start of this post and I hope by now you've given that "operator" a name and attired them in some smart but casual and loose-fitting clothing for the long hours they put in sitting inside the cramped space of your brain with only old liverwurst sandwiches and flat soda pop for sustenance and energy while ensuring that all the right connections are made). As shown in the illustration below, I have taken some of the ancient meditation techniques along with elements of hypnotic states to create the Haltiwanger Animal Husbandry Deterrent Effect. Through intense concentration and inner mind visualization, anyone can conjure up a farmyard animal that will stand in the path between you and your attacker. Imagine their surprise as they reach for your throat only to find a large bovine blocking their way. Or a gruff goat. Or a frothy-mouthed steed. Or a fatted pig. Even a gaggle of geese. How is this possible, you ask? Read on and I will teach you my secret tricks for creating a stereopticon image using your eyeballs as the transmitting lenses and your brain as the conjurer of this highly-realistic barnyard beast.
In this image a man, known as something of a milquetoast in his community, practices some bovine conjuring. The projection is so realistic that if there were a farmer or Swiss national in the room, they would definitely attempt to milk this apparition. How disappointed they would be when, as they went to grasp a teat, they instead found themselves on the receiving end of a swift kick to the face. 
First, you must put yourself in a deep meditative state and you must do it quickly because an attacking hooligan won't wait. To hasten this process you must hypnotize yourself first before you even leave your house or rooming-house or the cardboard box under the bridge that you call home. It's easier than you think but you will need the head of a ventriloquist's dummy. No body is needed so you should be able to save a little money when you make your purchase from the dummy supply shop. This dummy head will be your primary tool for self-hypnosis along with a little mantra that I call a Wangerism, which you'll need to repeat to yourself until the hypnosis process is complete. You will also need to speak in the voice of the dummy head in a kind of light, bantering dialogue with yourself to keep your subconscious burbling at the brain's surface but not completely overtaking your general awareness of the world around you so that you can still walk around, obey stoplights, fold a stranger's laundry or order a hamburger without onions. I've named my dummy head Glimpy Hydrate and I never leave my room without talking to him first. So, begin by staring into your dummy's eyes. Lose yourself in their deep pools of esoteric knowledge. If anyone can convert a traveling salesman's joke into a Zen koan, the dummy can do it. Soon those eyes will become pools of nothingness as you enter a deep meditative, almost trance-like state. Then, to really hammer the last nail into the coffin in this level of consciousness repeat my Wangerism mantra. You can use slight variations but do not stray too far from these words or you might never find release from the dummy's magnetic forces.

"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.
Me: Tissues?
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.
Now that you've achieved a semi-hypnotic state, it's a piece of cake for you to visualize in your mind a farm animal of your choice. Once its image is set in your brain, push the creature, shove it, slap it on the behind if you have to to get it moving to the front of your head where you can then push it out of your eyes. Presto! Where once there was empty space there is now a domesticated animal standing between you and your assailant. The image is temporary though so be warned that you must move quickly after this whether you're utilizing the "regurgitating chicken head wrist," the "gesticulating flipper slap-hands of death," the "babbling Assyrian," the "knuckles of toughness" the always effective "diarrhea moat" or the "Clutch of Satan's Brother-in-Law, Ed Minchler." Whatever move you choose to use, rest assured you'll earn the respect from any wisenheimer who dares to cross you. Now, with what I've just described you should be ready to defend yourself in any situation but stay tuned for Part 2 of my self-defense method where I will outline some of my more esoteric and unique moves that will help defend against different types of weapons and also crazed guinea pigs (more on this later). And remember, be prepared and always aware for danger lurks everywhere and evil waits for no one except maybe at the hot dog cart if there's a big lineup and the evildoer is really, really hungry.
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.