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HIYA!

Scared?

This is ‘Part Two’ of my karate tournament recap.

For Part One, click here.

When we last left our hero (me - hellooooo? my blog), we were in this situation:

I had just finished my first bout of sparring by defeating a 7′4″, 350 lb. gargantuan with all-gold teeth, nicknamed ‘The Spine Shredder.’

Some of the above may not be completely accurate.

Regardless, I won my first fight.

With my first win under my belt, it was time for someone else to fight.

Brian.

Brian is another one of the other ‘Super Awesome Karate Dads’ (oooh…great name for a rock band) from my school.

Fully stoked, Brian immediately went up and wasted absolutely no time in getting his ass completely fucking handed to him 3-to-0 by this really tough looking Latino guy.

The Latino guy’s name?

Jesus.

That’s right.

We were fighting Jesus.

Jesus was from a school named ‘Dragon Fury’ (you can’t make this shit up) which is basically the Southern New Hampshire version of Cobra Kai.

They take their shit SERIOUSLY.

So Brian goes up against Jesus and Jesus - in true ‘I AM YOUR ONE TRUE GOD‘ fashion - attacks him with flying spinning kicks and roundhouse shit and it’s just one fucking giant blur of Jesus parts slamming into Brian’s face and random body parts.

Brian.

Goes.

Down.

Me: “Jesus Christ.”

Jesus: “What?”

So that leaves two winners (me and Jesus) to go head-to-head for first place.

Tale of the tape:

Rodney:
Height: 5′-2″
Weight: 155 lbs.
Specialty: High, fast kicks. High pitched girly screams can shatter glass.

Jesus:
Height: 5′-8″
Weight: 170 lbs.
Specialty: Makes wine out of water, raises the dead, wicked spinning roundhouse kicks.

I’M FUCKED.

The master calls us up:

Master (pointing to where I’m supposed to go): “Rodney.”

As I’m walking up, he calls:

Master: “Jesus.”

All I can think of, walking into the ring, is:

“How the fuck am I supposed to beat Jesus?”

Granted, it was pronounced ‘Hey, Zeus’…

(Jesus…Zeus…HOLY FUCK…is this guy TWO deities in one?!?)

…but this is how my mind works even in the face of impending death.

Regardless, we somehow managed to get the score tied at 2 points apiece, with one more point deciding the winner for first place.

No pressure.

The Master yells “GO” and I try to fake Jesus out - similar to what, I guess, Judas did but without wearing protective headgear - and he comes at me with a kick and then ANOTHER spinning kick.

If I don’t get hit with these Jesus kicks it’s gonna be a miracle.

Wow.

There’s a bit of irony for ya.

Regardless, as his Jesus feet are flailing towards me, I back out of the way…

…and as he lands…

I kick him in the stomach.

BANG.

* cricket

POINT.

MINE.

I win.

I WON?!

I beat Jesus!

Fuck. YEAH.

Unfortunately, this did not sit well with Jesus who stood across the building from me for the rest of the day staring me down with his entourage (apostles?) and shaking his head in disgust.

Wife: “I think Jesus is totally going to kick your ass later.”

Wouldn’t be the first time.

What was weird is that, as I write this, I am totally sick with congestion and fevers and chills and shit.

This came on IMMEDIATELY after my fight with Jesus.

I swear to God that’s true.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, apparently.

But screw him.

I got the bigger trophy.

************************

UPDATE:

I’ve never - EVER - posted a modern day picture of me.

Until RIGHT NOW.

But I’m so proud of what my son and I were able to do (i.e., ‘clean fucking HOUSE’), that I’ve decided to share that with you.

Please bear in mind that I’m sweaty from sparring and have somehow managed a type of ’superman’ jeri-curl thingy on my forehead…because I’m usually way hotter than this.

Oh, yeah…I’m the one on the left.

For more pictures of the tournament, and the hotness that is me, check out my Facebook page - which is accessible via the ‘Touch Me’ link above, or click here.

Moog out.