Punching Tom Hanks: Dropkicking Gorillas and Pummeling Zombified Ex-Presidents---A Guide to Beating Up Anything (24 page)

I guess you’re slightly better than people who say, “Wait for it,” and then deliver some mildly interesting piece of news that is now totally underwhelming due to it having been built up too much. And far better than people who say, “I just threw up in my mouth a little,” with the delivery implying that not only did they coin this expression, but that they may in fact have literally just done what they said they did. You’re not quite as bad as people who yell, “Road trip!” in unison, before embarking on a road trip. I guess you’re better than horse thieves, but worse than cattle rustlers.

You fight this guy in the following manner. However you attack them, you loudly and sarcastically narrate the action, like an insincere sportscaster: “I’m hitting you in the head now! It doesn’t look good for you.” Put the emphasis on the sarcasm. It is misplaced sarcasm, as you will definitely be hitting them, but it adds a nice touch, I think.

Feel free to throw in: “Head hurt much?”; “You’re gonna feel this tomorrow!”; and “Uh, think you’ll need a Band-Aid for this?” (Use the last one only in the event of massive blood loss.)

“Looks like somebody’s fallen down.” That’s what you say at the end of it.

HOW TO BEAT UP YOUR COWORKER

Despite hard evidence to the contrary, not all office workers are the same. They oftentimes vary in hair color, height, and even ideas. That being the case, the techniques you’d use for fighting one would also vary. For the purposes of this article I’ll use my good friend and sometime coworker, who we’ll call “Gerry.” Gerry’s a nice guy, generous to a fault, and a talented writer who’s vouched for me numerous times, leading to my getting several really enjoyable jobs. I have absolutely no reason to think about fighting him.

Which is why, the only way I can ensure my safety and continued existence, IS TO THINK OF EXACTLY THAT. To do ANYTHING LESS, is as good as signing my own death warrant. (I actually had to do this once, years ago, on a trip through the Congo. I just hastily scrawled something illegible and then later claimed it wasn’t my handwriting.
How’d that work out for me,
you ask? Well, I’m still here aren’t I?)

Gerry is fond of trench coats and often looks as if he’s got, minimum, four guns stashed on his person at any time. (I’m guessing … shoulder, waist, inner thigh, and a mini-derringer wrapped in a balloon, safely lodged in his esophagus, connected to a fishing line tied to his molar.) However, like most people, his only actual weapon is a hunting knife he keeps stashed in his bottom desk drawer. My desk, on the occasions on which I’m working with him, is located across an aisle, on the other side of a tiny partition from his. For the purposes of this exercise, that’s where you’ll be launching your attack from. When you yourself befriend a coworker (maybe Gerry) before deciding to turn on him for no reason at all, the details of the seating arrangement may vary slightly.

The plan is to leap over the partition, let loose a war cry, and bring my hatchet down upon him before he can strike back with his blade. (Is your coworker unarmed? If he is, you’ve already stopped reading, won your battle, and are at the pub celebrating. Congrats!) Now, the problem is, even with the element of surprise, the distance between the desks is great enough to give him ample time to look up while instinctively opening his drawer, grabbing his knife, and launching a counterattack. It really is a 50–50 gamble, with no advantage for the instigator. Whoever gets there first, wins … and lives … and arranges burial of the other … and pays an awkward visit to the other’s family and loved ones explaining what happened … Those are sucker’s odds. Here’s how I get those numbers up to a respectable 73–27.

I’m going to spread blackberry jam on the handle of his desk drawer. Sound crazy? And delicious? Read on.

Gerry is a creature of habit, born of pure fighting instinct. When he senses the fluctuation in the atmosphere caused by a slightly dumpy body carving its way through the air toward him, followed by my scream, WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING at the handle he’ll have opened the drawer and grabbed the blade.

However, if, when he reaches out expecting the steely touch of the handle and instead caresses a gooey, sticky, 100 percent natural, organic jam covering (I mean, you wanna do it right), he’ll have no choice but to momentarily break concentration and look over, perplexed. Thus giving me the one-eighteenth of a second advantage I need to end him. It’s like absentmindedly grabbing a glass and drinking from it expecting soda and then briefly recoiling before your mind realizes you’re actually drinking iced tea. Like that, but with violence at the end of it.

Note:
If this is one of those offices where some needy bastard brings his dog in ’cause he can’t stand to be without it for eight hours, extra care must be taken. Check the jam-covering hourly, and if the dog has licked it off, reapply until the time comes to make your move. If need be, cover EVERY handle in the office with jam, to at least keep the dog busy, and delay having to re-jam Gerry’s handle. Or, cut a side deal with the dog, saying, “Lay off the jam for today, dog—just today—and then enjoy jam every day for the next five years, free of charge. That’s right … five DOG YEARS.”

If four-thirty rolls around and you still haven’t made your move, just get out of there and leave it for the next day. No point in staying late just to beat up your coworker. Good hunting!

HOW TO BEAT UP A LION TAMER

Lion taming is easily the most pointless of all human endeavors.

Lion tamers: “Imagine, if you are capable, the once proud lion stepping meekly onto a half barrel set in front of some bleachers …
Impossible,
you say? No longer!… It’s very exciting, no?”

When America collectively said, “I guess,” he answered with, “Not to give anything away, but a festive, too-tiny hat may also be making an appearance on the beast’s head. So … look for that.”

For our purposes we’ll group the lion tamer into two categories: those with a lion, and those without. For most other purposes, feel free to group them however you like. Use everything from dominant hand preference to favorite numbers and colors … even body weight. Do it any way you choose, it really doesn’t concern me at all.

Lion tamers without a lion are easy pickings as their powers are entirely nullified by the absence of a lion. For the most part they’re now just a gaudily attired human holding a wooden stool. Break the tamer’s spirit by shouting the following: “Where’s your lion, lion tamer? Oh that’s right. He left you … just like
everyone
eventually leaves you … What is it you fail to provide those in your life? Love? Understanding? Commercially available lion food?” (He might have tears streaming down his face at this point. If so, kick him in the neck and end things. No tears? Keep reading.) “Don’t bother answering me, lion tamer, for I, too, shall be leaving you … leaving you … unconscious!”

You might not make it through that whole monologue. Most people, upon realizing you’re not just talking to them but, rather, being a huge dick to their face, will just start attacking you. Be ready for this. He might crack his whip toward you, but worry not. You’ll find that the whip, though impressive in fiction, is actually bested in reality by EVERY SINGLE OTHER WEAPON, EVER. Pick up a rock or small children’s toy and huck it at him. Or, wait for the whip to wrap around some other object, like a lamppost. He will put his foot up on the lamppost and pull on it in an attempt to free it. When this happens run toward the post, leap and grab it with both your hands, then spin around it, kicking the lion tamer in the face.

The lion tamer with lion is a tougher foe. For one, he’s demonstrated the ability to make a commitment to another living thing. No easy task, as scores of sad-sack bachelors who claim to love their freedom would be happy to tell you. First, you need to take the lion out of the equation, by befriending it. When it swats at you with a massive paw the size of a lion’s hand, carefully scan it. If you notice a thorn in the paw, you’re in luck. If you can remove the thorn before dying from massive head trauma caused by enormous paw-swats to the face and torso, he will become your friend. Shake the newly thorn-free paw, sealing the friendship, then command it to kill the tamer.

No thorn? Find a way to surreptitiously maneuver one into the paw. The easiest way is to challenge the tamer to a fight in a field of dried-out cacti. Don’t take no for an answer. Insist you’ll totally thrash him … but you must be allowed to pick the place of battle. Dried cacti fields don’t grow on trees (Thanks for nothing botanists!), so if you must, make it an abandoned rose garden. Or an old sliver factory. Then, after removing the thorn, order the lion to attack his master.

Rejoice! For the lion tamer has been bested … and is now dead. Let’s hope he had no family … and that that lion can keep its mouth shut. Find a place to hole up. Shit might get crazy for awhile.

HOW TO BEAT UP SOMETHING VAGUE APPROACHING YOU FROM THE SIDE, THAT YOU BARELY MAKE OUT ON THE PERIPHERY OF YOUR SIGHTLINE

1.
Turn to face the creature or creatures.

2.
Identify it.

3.
Locate it in this book, then follow the instructions on how to beat it up.

4.
Be polite.

5.
Clean up afterward.

Possible vague thing that could approach you from the side.

A NOTE ON WEAPONS

Part Two

More weapons, tactics, intangibles, and a weapon you should avoid at all costs.

BATTLE-AX

The battle-ax is a classic. All the deadliness of a sword attack combined with a heft allowing you to hack your way through an oak door. It’s not as fast as a sword, but that means you don’t need quite as much skill to wield one. There’s not going to be much parrying. Aim and hurl with all your might. If you’re conscious and aware of whatever it is that happens next, congrats! He’s dead and you’ve won.

As good as the battle-ax is, it can be improved upon. The following plans outline my designs for the ultimate battle-ax ever to be conceived by man.

On one end of the titanium rod making up the handle of the ax, is the ax head itself. Not that different from any current ax design. Or is it? This ax head is crafted from wrought iron recovered from a meteor. Does the space ore possess a greater durability under stress or hold a sharp edge longer than terrestrial metals? Nah. On the off chance some alien lands and tries to fight me, I’m banking on him being momentarily distracted by the sight of a space metal he’d seen previously only in outer space, or maybe they use it to make hats on his home planet or something. He’ll say, “Hey! That’s Klarnt Flam, right? You guys have that here, too?”

Also, this ax head has been magnetized. No longer will you have to face off against a knife-wielding sicko who decides to charge you, then pray that your ax skills are up to being able to fend off his blow or land a counterblow before he can gut you like a fish. The magnet will suck the knife out of his hand and send it hurtling toward your ax blade where it will land with a satisfying
klang
. Now, when you send the ax crashing down on something, not only will the ax blade do damage, but so will the tiny knife stuck to it. You’ve just doubled you attack ability. In addition to the offensive benefits the magnetic blade comes in handy when your opponent drops change during the battle. Just point the ax at the change and—
klang, klang, klang
—you’ve just made thirty-eight cents! That shit adds up.