The first rule...

So, the wife and I went to a Halloween party this year, dressed as Daniel-san and Cobra-Kai from the karate kid.  While there, and perhaps also inebriated, I had the following discussion with a friend:

Friend: "Sweet costumes!  I always wanted to take karate as a kid."

Me: "Totally, me too."  (Apparently, when drunk I become a laid back surfer dude from the 80's)

Friend: "Ha, we should take a karate class."

Me: "Totally.  Tubular!"  (Okay, I may not be remembering the conversation verbatim)

Anyway, the next day I sobered up and forgot about it.  However, being that my friend has both 1) a better memory and 2) a better ability to follow through on ideas, I discovered an email awaiting me on Monday with a list of karate studios in town.  Turns out one of the places, and the one he was leaning towards, is about 1 mile from my house.  Figuring if I backed out now my friend would go on to become the next Bruce Lee while I would muddle through life, struggling to become the next fat, old Stephen Seagal.  I knew I couldn't back out now.  

So, I found myself talking with Master Lee (or Jet, or Chan, or something).  Is that racist?  Yes, it is, but since my wife is half Japanese, it is impossible for me to be racist.  Now you may disagree, but it's a fact, just ask the internet.  

Anyway, the master informed us that by signing up for three years of classes with him we would be black belts. This seemed fishy to me, because how did he know I was not some Karate prodigy who would fly through the rainbow of belts in two months time? Conversely, how did he know if I lacked the coordination to even dress myself and in three years I could only hope to master tying my white belt around my gi so I did not expose myself during warm up stretches? But I settled myself, figuring he was just confident in his extraordinary abilities as a sensei and took him up on his offer to watch the adult class starting in a few minutes.

Watching the disciples file in, I was ready to be amazed.

The fat guy is a red belt? Awesome! I've never seen a 300+ pound man pull off a spinning reverse flying head kick.

The teeny little housewife is a black belt? I can't wait to see her execute the five finger death punch!

So, to be fair most of my knowledge of the martial arts come from the Karate Kid franchise and Mortal Kombat video games (I was a bit surprised by all the flammable materials in the gym, but I guess they save the fireballs for outdoor training sessions).  However, even with lower expectations I was not prepared for the total and utter shit show that was to come. The big fat guy? Literally couldn't get his foot above knee level when he kicked. The housewife had to hop five times to complete a roundhouse kick. I watched a guy practice with a Bo and hit himself in the leg four times. And through it all, the master made his rounds, "teaching" and "guiding" this helpless mess of a class.

As I watched this collection of unskilled middle aged schlubs wheeze and pant their way through a succession of simple and poorly executed exercises, I realized that this master was only a master of lies, rewarding those who simply paid their money and served their time with a progression of belts, the adult version of the "Participation" purple ribbon. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, in a time when every kid is a "winner" it is only natural that their parents would come to expect the same thing for themselves. Pathetic.

So I signed up for the three year course. You can just start referring to me as "master" now, you know, to get used to the terminology. "Ninja" and "super badass kick master fu" are also acceptable.