In the Beginning...
As a boy I always knew I had a rare gift. I had karate. A dangerous tool in the hands of a young man, but my fury was mild and sense of justice high so I would only dispense my jump kicks and board breaking chops to those who truly deserved it. Unfortunately, the world was not big enough for my karate ambition. It was at this time a met Karate Steve, a the bar owner who ran the Dojo of Drinks. Though he was a rogue, brigand, and a miscreant, he was also the only man on Earth who could show me how to utilize my full karate. He was the only person who could show me the The Four Steps of Cosmic Karate...
The first step was to find the karate within my mind:
After discovering all the karate in me the sky was not the limit, but the next step:
Once the earth could no longer contain my karate, it was up to me to use my skills to defend it:
But my evolution was not yet complete. The final step was to be among the infinite stars, to make karate go supernova and to leave only a black hole of karate, to learn KARATE IN SPACE:
Present Day...
As of right now I'm dealing craps in Las Vegas. I couldn't really think of anything to do with my life that wasn't a pipe dream based on skills I don't even know if I possess (like writing, etc.) so I figured dealing was the best way to earn enough scratch to live what closely resembled an adult's life in the interim. The only problem is I don't do a whole lot of dealing. We don't get a lot of action in the ghetto break-in casino I work at so mostly I just watch the TV over the bar and listen to my boss constantly tell me old biker stories that usually involve putting a cigarette out on someone's face. Luckily he somehow got the strange impression I was tough, or else he'd antagonize me like his does everyone else. If only he knew that when I stub my toe I hop around on one foot for five minutes whining like a little girl who had her dolly taken away I'd be doomed.
We do get customers sometimes though. Usually they are either old degenerates who have to seriously decide on whether to lose their $1 bet or wet themselves at the table, or gang bangers who constantly refer to me as "dog", "playa", or "family". It's cool though, I've learned all new kinds of ways to speak. Before I would say things like "Sir, would you like to place a bet on a hard four?" and now it's "Yo dog, put some chedda on lil' Joe before the five deuce hoover rolls. Word." I'm getting smarter each day I work there.
The other thing I'm doing is working on Parkinson's Jenga Tournament. Our joke rap group designed to make songs just so we can sell T-shirts. There is already a demand for them. Our song about lemonade stands is so powerful it'll make you die, and then you'll slap the devil in the face for not having the song playing on the radio in hell. And then the Devil will tell you it's ok because you can just borrow his CD, but when you ask for it he'll totally pretend he never said that and won't lend it to you because he lies like all time.
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