Mr. Karawte Man If You Please!

Mr. Homeless Man

Hey there homeless man!
Bet you wish you had A\C!
Sadly, so do I



Alright I know I said I was going to do the crack chronicles all week, and I promise I will get to them, but I have to tell you all about Mr. Karawte Man.



I am a first degree black belt in karate. There are good things and bad things with that statement:



Good: If I get into an altercation with someone, I am fairly confident I can get out of the situation without getting hurt too bad. I can probably defeat 2, maybe 3 assailants if they do not know karate, or at least disable them enough so I can get away.



Bad: Everyone assumes I spend my entire day on high alert for ninjas and terrorist street fighters, and thusly cannot understand how when they sneak up on me and rabbit punch me in the back of my fucking skull how I did not deflect that. People wishing to prove themselves also target me in some maligned plan to become a UFC fighter.



Mr. Karawte Man is pretty much the person I am talking about in the bad part. We teach some self defense classes, tai chi and the like, and this guy is almost always there, never participating, all but pissing his pants in anticipation for the Q & A session after the class, so he can come up with some scenario so outlandish he should pitch this shit to a movie director and make some money. If any readers are movie directors, I have some ideas on a completely unrelated note.



Picture a hillbilly, sometimes even wearing the requisite overalls, kind of balding, usually wearing a trucker cap, with a southern accent and always drags out the last syllable of each word in a kind of questioning tone, like he thinks you're pulling his leg. I will post some of the actual questions he asked, my thought response, and what I have had to tell him. 1. Will be his question. 2. Will be my thought. 3. will be what I said:



1. "What' s say you're in your car, Mr. Karawte maan, and someone pops up in the back seat and puts a .357 magnum to the back of your head and tells you to drive. How do you get out of that, Mr. Karawte man if you please?" (When he says "Mr. Karawte Man", his head kind of jiggles from side to side)

2. You are a fucking Mongoloid.

3. "Then you better do what he says or you will die."



~Note~ When I concede that there is no karate move to deflect a fired bullet/ nuclear weapon/ M1 Abrams tank, he always points at me and goes "Ha!" like he got me.



1. "Say you're tied up and a gang comes in the room and they all have baseball bats and they are going to beat you to death. How do you get out of that, Mr. Karawte Man if you please?"

2. Where the hell is this asshole hanging out that he is getting in these situations?

3. "You die."

1. "What say you are completely alone in the middle of a concrete bunker, Mr. Karawte Man if you please, you're tied naked to a concrete wall with fire ants all over your body, there are 4 men 20 feet away firing an automatic gatling gun at your testicles. How do you deflect those, Mr. Karawte Maan if you please?"

1. "What say aliens come from the outer space, and fire their laser beams at you and gitcha. How do you fight off the entire Borg army, Mr. Karawte Man if you pleeeeaaaase?"

The last two are not real questions, but with some of the incredibly stupid scenarios he has come up with they are also not out of the realm. He HAS asked about fighting off: Bears, groups of 3 or more people, a shark and various celebrities, usually I would assume whatever he saw in the newspaper while he was sitting on the bus on his way up to the class, trying fruitlessly to bite his own ear off.

He also enjoys when my instructor tells me to show him how to get out of some of these situations, like the gun to the back of the head and the more believable ones, because he at that point starts kind of moaning like "Uh oh I am going up againsta a black belt, wait'll the other hillbilly rednecks hear about this here!"

Mr. Karawte Man, I hope you die on the toilet. THen get shot by a gatling gun fired by an alien yak monster that is intent on harvesting your smelly ballsac for spaceship fuel.

More crack chronicles tomorrow.