Samurai Slowdown

I'm pretty sure that there was a PKast in the works, but sometimes things have a way of spinning out of control, or well below control, if you follow me. We're a capricious bunch, this crew, and occasionally we act more like the Mighty Soju Slothful Rangers than actual contributors.

Guilty as charged.

A couple of our misguided rabble have kids, while some of us are depressed by the fact that we're getting shorter as time flies by our eyes. A couple of us are raging, closet alcoholics that seethe with incessant animosity toward the Beijing Olympics, because we haven't anything else to rally behind at the moment. Others are just alcoholics. We're busy, okay?

All this decadent avoidance of meaningful contributions need not imply a lack of commitment, quite the contrary: we're so dedicated to imparting knowledge upon our growing fanbase, that we dare not indulge in drivel.

For example, I had this dream last night, one that should be mentioned solely for the sake of artistic reinforcement. In this tumultuous fantasy, I was back at the first house that my parents ever owned, up atop a hill named, ironically enough, Hillside Drive. It wasn't a particularly large house, but it easily served the purposes of two adults and three children (with room to spare). Anyway, during this dream I had reverted to the age of sixteen (just because that's the kind of thing you inherently know within the framework of any given mental concoction), and I was going into my parents' bedroom to get a safety pin from the sewing machine contained within but, as luck would have it, my mother was there, underneath the covers.

Now, you may have guessed as to where this story is headed, but you're wrong (this time). I stumbled upon something far worse than any Freudian tragedy of angst-ridded youth; not only was my mother in bed, but she had been getting it on with none other than Mr. Han, the villain from Enter the Dragon. No, Han didn't have the fake hand attached, nor did have have some manner of dildo attachment; it was merely a stump, plain and simple, but he was frolicking with my very own mother. At this point, I made a vocal objection which consisted of something akin to 'Get your extra ordinary hand off of my mother, you son of a bitch!' to which my mother replied that everything was okay. I was not distracted by mother's plea, and would have none of these shenanigans.

Han's response was to call upon Bolo, the scariest thug this side of Hong Kong. Pleasantries aside, Bolo (pictured above, beside Bruce Lee) really scared the shit out of me when I was much younger. Objectively, I understand that in accordance with the film, Han was a much deadlier opponent, but nonetheless, Bolo frightened me as a kid, and wouldn't you know it, Bolo busted out from the bedroom closet to mop the floor with me. It wasn't the older Bolo from later films such as Bloodsport (even though he could be in a wheelchair and still manage to kick my ass) but the same Bolo presented in the classic Lee film.

Call it cowardice, call it tactical retreat, I got the fuck out of there, ran into the adjacent bathroom, and locked the door. As Bolo began to punch his way through the flimsy obstacle, I pulled open the drawers to find something useful. Oddly enough, the drawers were filled to the brim with kitchen utensils, which wasn't so bad, as I located several knives of varying sizes. Utilizing these instruments of culinary excellence, I managed to stab his exposed hands and arms. This action managed to slow him down a bit, but much like the scene from the aforementioned film, in which some unfortunate cronies kick the Chinese juggernaut, this only served to piss him off immensely. Using what little time I had, whilst Bolo screamed and bared his teeth in quick succession, I climbed out the bathroom window into the backyard. At that point, I ran as quickly as I could, but ran into a bunch of mulberry trees and became entangled by the juicy fruit. Then I awoke and wondered if any mulberries were available in Korea.

Dreamy stuff, literally.

Speaking of phantasma, am I the only person that adores this song, beyond teenage girls and dainty Europeans? I told myself that I would refrain from referencing anything Australian in this, or the next, post, but I just couldn't help it. I may be a bit tipsy, mind you, and I'm not the biggest fan of Minogue by any means, but I won't apologize for my adulation of the song. Make that the Fever album in its entirety.

At this point, I hesitate to regurgitate that as a kid I had a bit of a crush on Virginia Hey (also known as the Warrior Woman) from Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. Fuck. I just did it again.

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George Miller

P.S. Psychedelic Solicitation