Sit down and take a deep breath. Get some tissues, because this story will cause you to jizz with enough force to break open the Colorado Dam.
While the experience is still fresh, before criticism and the chattering monkey mind distort it, while I still ride the adrenaline high and feel as if I could bite the kneecaps off an army of draculas, I will recount to you the am.
Background: I am 150#, nearsighted, bookish, anemic, etc.
This morning, I was involved in a boring arguement with my neighbor concerning the disposition of a number of obnoxious drum and bass songs (that is, right next to my head and loud). In retrospect these were the drumz (and bazz) that called the warriors to battle for the final time. I am standing in my doorway, arguing with my neighbor. He is two hundred something pounds, tatted, bald, etc. In other words, if there's an advertisement in the back of black belt which contains the words "CAN YOUR MARTIAL ART PREPARE YOU FOR A RAPECHOKE BY THIS GUY?", his picture immediately follows.
We are on a narrow wooden walkway at the top of a flight of stairs.
Using my pointing at something else entire as a pretext, he throws the SUCKER PUNCH (sucker punch is tm Tony Blauer, all rights reserved, etc.).
It knocks my glasses to the ground, where I would later learn a lens was knocked out of it's mounting. I have theorized that the Virgin Mary herself descended from heaven at that moment and erected a shield of Pure Qi to protect my face. Whatever it was, I BARELY FELT IT.
I am 100% serious. It felt like a light slap at most. Maybe his meat arms hit me with enough force to send my genius locii so far towards the back of my head that it rebounded off my skull. Whatever happened, my immediate thought was "I've taken harder shots in training".
As he loads for a second shot, I order my dog inside (good boy), advance and SHOOT THE DOUBLE. What follows shatters so many preconceptions, our paradigms will never be the same again.
He sprawls and puts on a crappy guillotine. I continue driving, trying to pick up the leg, briefly succeeding but having to apply some fancy footwork to avoid a glass and concrete sculpture.
A few seconds I struggle still under his sprawl before picking the leg up, and completely unintentionally, driving him straight the fuck into his window, his back shattering it. I believe the bug screen protected him, but nevertheless, I change direction as his door opens, driving him inside through the doorway. At this point i've pushed him a good fifteen feet and I see his girlfriend coming from behind me, talking the kind of moronic, adrenaline drenched patois you find yourself speaking during a fight.
Knowing that his girlfriend will hit me from behind with something if I don't let go and that if I keep driving into the house, his roommates may jump me, I push him back so he (I think) stumbles into the kitchen.
We exchange words about the shattered window, and the bald man returns with what I believe was a wooden halloween skull-on-a-stake or possibly a tiki sculpture.
He strikes a downward blow over my head shattering the ornament (?). This hurts more than his punch, yet still less than the average blow in training.
Insane with adrenaline and my own, spontaneously generated Qi shield, I continue to advance, telling him what a bad fighter and overall human being in my best sneering, nasal monotone. He BACKS OFF AND HEADS INSIDE, where the door is closed in my face.
And that's it, and the olnly mark I have from the experience is a lump on the head from the wooden thing. I SHOULD be out cold right now, yet I feel no pain.
Now class, examine the shattered either/or dichotomy in view of the author's cyberqueer narrative.
In other words, the following things proved to be entirely false:
1:On the street, the sucker punch is king.
2: On the street, weapons are king
3: On the street, your attacker will not know how to grapple, so go ahead and keep practicing your drunken haymaker defenses
4: The act of grappling makes you incapable of even conceiving of being attacked by another person.
5: On the street, don't shoot a traditional double, you'll shatter your kneecaps.
6: Don't copy that floppy.
The following proved unexpectedly true:
1: Clinch based takedowns need work. That entire buisiness with the fifteen feet of driving was unnecesary and could have been avoided
2: Sport grappling will save your ass.
3: Shooting a takedown immediately nullifies all striking and should be done at every opportunity.
4: Aliveness consists of timing, energy and motion.
While the experience is still fresh, before criticism and the chattering monkey mind distort it, while I still ride the adrenaline high and feel as if I could bite the kneecaps off an army of draculas, I will recount to you the am.
Background: I am 150#, nearsighted, bookish, anemic, etc.
This morning, I was involved in a boring arguement with my neighbor concerning the disposition of a number of obnoxious drum and bass songs (that is, right next to my head and loud). In retrospect these were the drumz (and bazz) that called the warriors to battle for the final time. I am standing in my doorway, arguing with my neighbor. He is two hundred something pounds, tatted, bald, etc. In other words, if there's an advertisement in the back of black belt which contains the words "CAN YOUR MARTIAL ART PREPARE YOU FOR A RAPECHOKE BY THIS GUY?", his picture immediately follows.
We are on a narrow wooden walkway at the top of a flight of stairs.
Using my pointing at something else entire as a pretext, he throws the SUCKER PUNCH (sucker punch is tm Tony Blauer, all rights reserved, etc.).
It knocks my glasses to the ground, where I would later learn a lens was knocked out of it's mounting. I have theorized that the Virgin Mary herself descended from heaven at that moment and erected a shield of Pure Qi to protect my face. Whatever it was, I BARELY FELT IT.
I am 100% serious. It felt like a light slap at most. Maybe his meat arms hit me with enough force to send my genius locii so far towards the back of my head that it rebounded off my skull. Whatever happened, my immediate thought was "I've taken harder shots in training".
As he loads for a second shot, I order my dog inside (good boy), advance and SHOOT THE DOUBLE. What follows shatters so many preconceptions, our paradigms will never be the same again.
He sprawls and puts on a crappy guillotine. I continue driving, trying to pick up the leg, briefly succeeding but having to apply some fancy footwork to avoid a glass and concrete sculpture.
A few seconds I struggle still under his sprawl before picking the leg up, and completely unintentionally, driving him straight the fuck into his window, his back shattering it. I believe the bug screen protected him, but nevertheless, I change direction as his door opens, driving him inside through the doorway. At this point i've pushed him a good fifteen feet and I see his girlfriend coming from behind me, talking the kind of moronic, adrenaline drenched patois you find yourself speaking during a fight.
Knowing that his girlfriend will hit me from behind with something if I don't let go and that if I keep driving into the house, his roommates may jump me, I push him back so he (I think) stumbles into the kitchen.
We exchange words about the shattered window, and the bald man returns with what I believe was a wooden halloween skull-on-a-stake or possibly a tiki sculpture.
He strikes a downward blow over my head shattering the ornament (?). This hurts more than his punch, yet still less than the average blow in training.
Insane with adrenaline and my own, spontaneously generated Qi shield, I continue to advance, telling him what a bad fighter and overall human being in my best sneering, nasal monotone. He BACKS OFF AND HEADS INSIDE, where the door is closed in my face.
And that's it, and the olnly mark I have from the experience is a lump on the head from the wooden thing. I SHOULD be out cold right now, yet I feel no pain.
Now class, examine the shattered either/or dichotomy in view of the author's cyberqueer narrative.
In other words, the following things proved to be entirely false:
1:On the street, the sucker punch is king.
2: On the street, weapons are king
3: On the street, your attacker will not know how to grapple, so go ahead and keep practicing your drunken haymaker defenses
4: The act of grappling makes you incapable of even conceiving of being attacked by another person.
5: On the street, don't shoot a traditional double, you'll shatter your kneecaps.
6: Don't copy that floppy.
The following proved unexpectedly true:
1: Clinch based takedowns need work. That entire buisiness with the fifteen feet of driving was unnecesary and could have been avoided
2: Sport grappling will save your ass.
3: Shooting a takedown immediately nullifies all striking and should be done at every opportunity.
4: Aliveness consists of timing, energy and motion.
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