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PUNCHING DAY

Punching Day: Way of the Warrior Kid

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PUNCHING DAY

Puppet Week: Thunderbolt Fantasy 🌭

I jumped into puppet week research looking for a premium nightmare, and failed. Thunderbolt Fantasy flipped over my weak cynic blows, tossed a sword into the air, kicked me in the dick, inexplicably ended the episode there, and then caught the sword. All that was a karate illusion: in reality, I’d watched three seasons in two days. Creating an opening to kick me in the dick.

There’s a long list of jobs harder than mine. Bomb squad rookie. Ethics Committee chair. Better teacher. I have a new top entry: puppet fight choreographer. Pushing doll-fu beyond children mashing Barbie against MechaBarbie is madness. If you asked Donnie Yen to choreograph a marionette fistfight…he’d kill it. For six times the budget. Every puppet kick would create four PhDs of debt.

Thunderbolt Fantasy has three seasons and two movies, so someone’s getting ripped off. I’ve seen a week of Central Park puppet shows without one flash kick. Yet Thunderbolt Fantasy finales have more flips than Simone Biles slipping Fox reporters. A practical effects lead said “man-sized explosions don’t move me anymore. Could we try chimps?” The director talked them down to dolls, and the rest is history.

Seriously, this show isn’t overcoming puppets. They’re the feature. It’d be worse with people or drawings. I don’t know how to process that. It feels like I’m lying, or taking kickbacks. But it’s real, and I’m still broke.

I love things that shouldn’t exist, but that’s not always an insult. When I heard “Puppet Anime,” my mind jumped to dolls gyrating around a hot spring. We’re in a Weeaboo drought. This year in anime is like every year for the Bears. I didn’t know that name before, because I had decent anime. Imagine every charting song being Rich Men North of Richmond. It’s a dork-only preview of 2050’s food supply.

I left out a word: Wuxia Puppet Anime. If you miss reshoots of House of Flying Daggers coming out every three months, congrats on the column! You should relearn Photoshop macros. Midnight’s for dance clubs and fight clubs, not Googling how frames work again. At least label the speech bubble folder.

Wuxia’s one of my favorite shelves, right behind “angry elephant owners,” and “stuntman lawsuits.” Thunderbolt Fantasy is a targeted miracle, and I had no idea I was in the crosshairs. Even though I own tapes with titles like Legend of the Punching Stairwell and Hey, Remember Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?.

My saviors? Taiwanese puppeteers (Pili) working with Gen Urobuchi, the last anime writer not trying to kill me. Directly, at least. English viewers get subtitles of a Japanese dub of a show recorded in Chinese, so be ready for no names to line up. The Shaw Bros. would be proud.

This may be the first fantasy franchise built around a loose pun. Wire-fu. Puppets. String. I love it. It’s like Star Wars translating to Father’s Day. Or Spider-Man translating to Uncle’s Day. Or Magnolia translating to Father’s Day.

Enough broad strokes. My attention span needs timestamped examples, or I’ll start talking about food I can’t have mid-cut, like stew peas. Salted pork tails sound like death, because they are. But it’s a waterskiing-on-mushrooms kind of death. Every moment is amazing. Some people cut off the fat, because they’re into futility. With stew peas, that’s like jogging to work off infidelity. It doesn’t hurt, but the sin remains.

I’ll riff on Season Two. I can’t touch Season One without spoiling the whole thing. Urobuchi enjoys “I know that you know that I know” plots, so half his work has a Soze. Or two Sozes. Or a Soze with a Rosebud. He wrote a wonderful Minority Report knockoff, and I’ll never recap it.

In honor of the show’s experimental spirit, we’ll follow a character instead of an incident. Meet Xie, “Princess of Cruelty.” That’s the fourteenth most over-the-top title, and sixth closest to a FinDom alias. Right behind Miè Tiān Hái, The Bones of Creation” and “Nuwa, Drummer of Testicles.”

Xie’s life sucks.

Remember dodgeball? What if the world were gym class, the rest of your team didn’t show up, and losers got beaten into comas? That’s Xie’s existence. She’s deeply invested in serving Satan, and using “deception and subterfuge” in a punch-based universe. The latter is a much, much worse idea. I don’t think the protagonist can spell subterfuge, unless it’s in morse code on someone’s face.

Her target’s Shang, a vagrant walking through the rain. For a few frames, this could be a puppet spaghetti western (dibs on that pitch). You don’t know what kind of period piece you’re in until someone gets in a duel or joins an abbey.

Shang tries an abbey, hoping to duck 13 episodes of violence.

Nope.

Xie’s been busy. But stop me if you’ve heard this one: Shang’s an oaf.

An oafish wanderer.

An oafish lone wanderer.

He can’t cross the street without it raining. And doesn’t want any trouble. He’s the only one without a closet full of Nomura x Gucci gear. In a series about magic swords, he’s taped a knife to a stick.

That’s 0.75 Jackie Chans, making Shang apex predator. Every necromancer, mad prince, corrupt mayor, and subway speakerphone user should retire. But our girl has confidence. And bugs.

Xie tries bugs.

Then the direct approach.

Then bugs again.

No sale. Despite parrying Shang’s knees with her liver, Xie flees with only two out of thirty-six magic swords. After inflation, that’s half a Silmaril. This isn’t going well.

Then she Googles which swords she stole. Leading to the classic literary dilemma: rely on your own strength, or let your ribs heal?

Option one is silent, controls people she stabs, and has the mildly dramatic name “Night of Mourning.” As far as cursed artifacts go, it’s an old Honda. Evil parents buy a Night of Mourning if you keep your grades up and clean up after Cerberus.

It sounds cool, but the entire world is Ip Man’s hometown. If Xie could stab opponents, she wouldn’t need a magic sword. In card games, they call this a “win more” strategy. It doesn’t fix the knee-to-liver problem.

Option two talks, addresses itself as “The Seven Blasphemous Deaths” and promises global conquest.

Xie must read Tolkein, because she chucks that shit. Begging the question: what are fantasy novels in fantasy worlds about? Taxes? Spring cleaning? Cubicles? A lucid Alan Moore would have a field day.

I need to underline something here. Partially because it proves the show has a sense of humor. But mostly because it drives me insane. It’s like looking into the screenwriting sun. It’s Thunderbolt Fantasy elevating its abstract pun game.

Both artifacts feature mind control. E.g: they turn…people…into…

Nevermind.

Xie sets out to reclaim her pride the warrior’s way: cheating slightly less than possible. And it works! In the greatest twist of Urobuchi’s career, she hits an opponent. With poison damage. I didn’t know that was allowed.

Her victory lap triggers Thunderbolt Fantasy’s weirdest, dumbest, and best feature: character poems. The narrator drops koans about how badly someone’s ass just got kicked. It happens just often enough for you not to get used to it.

Here’s Xie’s, just to prove I’m not insane.

You bet everyone spends their poem posing. It’s delightful, like an art school taunt emote. Xbox Live by way of Homer. DX crotch-chopping in 29/8 time. For all the pomp, each line’s replaceable with “What’s good, darkling?”

Anyway, Shang gets better.

Don’t call yourself the Princess of Cruelty. The universe hates competition.

Losing the re-re-rematch leaves a mental mark. Xie spirals. She’s a third as stressed as the average med student, and half as likely to do something extreme. Ultimately, Xie wants what we all want: to give back. To be respected. To serve the devil without catching flying elbows to the spine.

Respect’s the big one. It’s surprisingly relatable, especially while Sauron’s mall sword negs her.

Seven Blasphemous Deaths is a subtle manipulator.

Gently nudging Xie to the edge.

It’s hilarious. Come for Sauron, stay for jock GLaDOS.

We’ve all dated that hellsword. Therapists don’t exist yet and fossils are just fun bones, so Xie finds a priest to lament her non-protagonist weakness. She’s a poison-type on an RPG planet. I’m sure games exist where status effects work better than winning. But bleed generally comes at the expense of punching through mountain chains.

Said priest has…unique answers.

Alright, he’s nicer than that. But he emphasizes serving Wushu Satan. Making it more understandable when Xie snaps. Corrupt cops are after her for “multiple murders” and Shang’s rebroken her ribcage, but it’s really her sword-bully following up on this talk that cracks her brain’s outer shell.

Maybe that seems like an exaggeration. Here’s the direct quote:

Persuasive. Xie’s position on police brutality evolves.

And keeps evolving, and won’t stop evolving. The hellsword may be a problem. It gets stronger the more guards it kills, like a slaughterhouse Katamari. Xie dices decades of pork tails.

No. Shut it, nerd. Pop music and Netflix have ruled anime lower on the basement rankings than dice. Go wait your turn for proper Hollywood exploitation. I don’t see Tom Cruise in Greyhawk.

Yup. It rocks. She kills so many puppets with Blackrazor. Or Frostmourne. Or Soul Edge. Or Stormbringer. But the twist is that she stops. Coated in puppet blood (there’s a lot of it, by the way), Xie aims for a better way.

Every frame of soap opera suffering’s led here. After trying poison, illusions, literally calling the cops, discount sword magic, therapy, and deluxe sword magic, Xie decides to join punch club. She challenges Shang to a one-on-one, no shenanigans duel.

She finds her honor.

Mistake.

Why would you ever find honor? Honor’s killed more people than fleas or God’s will. I would rather find a lump. Xie abandoned the One True Path: when scorpions fail, find more scorpions.

If you learn one thing from me, make it this: nuclear disarmament is vital for mankind’s survival. If you learn a second thing: honor is for corpses, liars, and invincible Jackie Chan clones.

That’s not the end of her story. Watch Thunderbolt Fantasy. Shang’s sidekick carries a talking guitar, so there’s a puppet with a puppet.

Why’d I pick Xie? She has one of the better soap operas. A tragedy that feeds into another abstract pun. Xie’s allies, enemies, insecurities, and magic knife all take her for a ride. Chasing strength…turns her…into a…

Me neither. Here’s a puppet kaiju fight. A bard belts the series theme song to reflect dragon fire. Watch Thunderbolt Fantasy.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Dan B, who always brings scorpions to a puppet fight.

Categories
PUNCHING DAY

Punching Day: Secrets of Dim Mak 🌭

There are points on a man that, if poked, kill. There are energies that, if harnessed, turn any dainty kitty cat slap into a murder weapon. You are about to learn the secrets of Dim-Mak, a technique known only to ancient tai chi warriors, any acupuncture hobbyist, and everyone who saw the international smash hit Bloodsport. We’re watching Secrets of Dim-Mak: An Instructional Video with Erle Montaigue, shown here and here respectively:

Secrets of Dim-Mak was produced in 1994 by Paladin Press, who made knife fighting books and ninja videos exclusively for maniacs. Most people know them as the publisher who got in trouble for selling a contract killing instruction manual someone fucking used. So if you were wondering who would be irresponsible enough to publish information on how to end any life with a single touch, yes, it was actual murderers. I’m not as careless, though. I’ve encoded all this article’s potentially dangerous gifs so they can only be viewed by licensed holders of a Death Touch Security Card. To get one for yourself, simply press CTRL-P now on any IBM-compatible PC.

Secrets of Dim-Mak: An Instructional Video starts with a threat more dire than any FBI warning. Not only will the strikes in this video kill your heart, brain, and life, they might do it years from now from seemingly unrelated events. It didn’t say “check with your physician before beginning this or any light exercise program,” it said “all you touch will forever be haunted by the specter of our death.” Readers, please whisper the activation command to your Death Touch Security Card now.

The warning also wants to make it clear that this video, Secrets of Dim-Mak: An Instructional Video, is not an instructional video. It’s up to you to seek out proper Dim-Mak instructors beyond this realm at your local time lost temple. I mean, yes, you might infect your training partners with time bombs of death energy. But on the other hand, don’t be ridiculous, future attorneys. This is more like a public service announcement for finding wizards. Speaking of, gently swat your Death Touch Security Card to meet the instructor who will not be instructing us.

The narrator tells us “Erle Montaigue was awarded the degree of master in 1985 at the All-China National Warshu Tournament. He is one of the very few westerners who have received such an honor.” It’s quite impressive, but even after I corrected it for spelling, this tournament and honor seem to only exist in references to Erle Montaigue books. I’m not saying he’s a liar, I’m just saying it’d be a weird combination of personality traits if this man could kill you with death touch energy and was also honest about his achievements.

He begins by explaining, “Dim-Mak means death point striking. Literally.” It is the art of hitting points along the acupuncture meridians. He clarifies, “It’s not a magical, mystical thing. It’s not a thing where you touch them and they die five years later, it’s not that.” Yes it fucking is, Erle! Your own warning just warned us that’s exactly what this is, Erle! God damn it, what a betrayal. Place your Death Touch Security Card between your toes and axe kick through a human skull to see Erle mock us for ever thinking his Oriental energy powers were “magical.”

The first chapter of the video is about locating the Dim-Mak points. He is adamant this is not mumbo jumbo. These aren’t mystical techniques. For instance, one of the points is just the carotid artery, and, I mean, sure. If you have an enemy, go ahead and hit them in that.

Another non-magical point known to all of Western science is called Stomach 9, somewhere above the carotid sinus. This spot is in charge of stopping your heart when it gets hit by a karate chop, which is awesome, but Erle is about to disappoint us again. He’s not going to do knockouts today. “Not even light knockouts,” he adds. So he’s sharing the secret of punching a man in the neck until he passes out, assures you it’s not as impossible as it sounds, and then decides against showing us. But I guess he thinks better of this and says, “I don’t want to hurt my students, so I’m going to cause a partial knockout.” I’m so lost. Erle thinks unconsciousness is a wide spectrum of neck trauma, and we are all using the same measurement system. So quick, before he suffers a scantily to piecemeal knockout, let’s meet his assistant. Locate the groin on your Death Touch Security Card and panther strike it now:

Michael Babin is a credulous Canadian man without the deception skills to pull off even the most partial of knockout. “Argh, the unthinkable pain,” he overacts as Erle thwaps and slaps him. He’s performing like he thinks this is a kid’s show. He stands there making Cosby faces while Erle fiddles around on his neck to find his murder points. At one point Erle finds a little bump he likes and tells us, and I quote, “This point right here? You could die up to seven years later from internal carotid artery disintegration. You die from a stroke seven years later no one relates it back to when you were struck on the neck through some idiot striking you.” So what the shit is it, Erle!? Is this actual science or a karate bomb set to go off only after an enemy’s second wife has given them a child old enough to vow revenge? Is that what you think science is, Erle? Because that rules.

I’m sure this sounds easy so far, and it is, but there’s a little bit more to it. Readers, please turn around to find your Death Touch Security Card has somehow circled behind you.

The key to ending a man neck-first is in the wrist, but not your wrist– his wrist. There are two points on the wrist called Heart 5 and Lung 8, and you need to erotically tug these at the same time you stroke their carotid sinus nerve. The wrist is encircled by “energy drainage points” because, again, none of this is magic. Any traditional medical doctor could tell you this, seven years after you ask them, when your bowels explode without explanation.

When done right, this removes all of the energy a human body would have used to not stop its own heart after the off-button on its neck was massaged. You get it. Erle does it on Mike and bam: DEAD. Lightly, partially DEAD. Merge souls with your Death Touch Security Card to witness it!

Erle shows a few other moves like the Triple Warmer 23, which is a chop to the eyeball. He only does it once because he “doesn’t want Mike in a spasmodic state.” It’s thoughtful, but unnecessary. Mike is a fully grown Half-Grimace whose neck would win a fight against any of Erle’s fingers. He genuinely almost flattens Erle during several random lumberings. Despite this, he restores Mike’s power after every blow with his, once again, very scientific healing powers. They never even mention these; they figure you already know a man who can kill with acupuncture could obviously unkill with mime. Partially knock out your Death Touch Security Card then feed it your healing energy now:

After doing both to him (partially), Erle lets Mike explain the difference between getting energy-drain knocked out versus knocked the fuck out. He doesn’t seem ready for this and improvises something about how one of them hurts and the other doesn’t. So save the eyeball chops for someone who deserves suffering and the neck chops for a loved one having trouble sleeping. But it really doesn’t matter. If you fuck something up, the district attorney seven years from now will never be able to pin it on you.

There’s been a lot of talk of science so far in the video, and here is more. Erle has a theory on brains. He says, “We thought we had one brain. We now know, science now tells us, that we have three brains up there.” The first one is the human one, Human Brain, like you’d expect. The second one is Reptile. As Erle explains, God thought “let’s try out this brain,” and added Human Brain to the Reptile Brain, so now there are two brains in there. I apologize for the scientific jargon. These concepts are easier to explain in their original Reptile.

I’m going to paraphrase, but I promise to be faithful to Erle’s description. The Reptile Brain doesn’t see well, and it’s like a crocodile eating. One minute he’s not, the next minute he is. A snake knows when something is coming to hurt it. He doesn’t think, “Here comes John.” He doesn’t think, “I’m going to do a leg sweep and then follow up with a pressure point strike.” No, they simply kill, then go back to what they were doing. For five minutes he describes “adrenaline” for any glandless viewers born yesterday. It’s, you know, similar to how dogs had their dog brains put on top of their reptile brains. I know this all sounds very smart, but you should also know Erle forgets to tell us what the third brain is. He might have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But if that were true, how would you explain this? Death Touch Security Card, master control remote command: “SHOW UNTHINKABLY HILARIOUS FIGHTING TECHNIQUE.”

Erle asks Mike to punch him and gets the most generous punches from the most generous scene partner. He gently paws at him between naps, and with the fury of a fucking idiot, Erle blocks each one with a short story told in nautical hand signals. I’m not saying this wouldn’t work, I’m saying a TikTok dance done from a car is better self defense. This is how the slowest bluebird would dress Cinderella for the ball if she was a grizzly bear. Erle blocks one of Mike’s punches with a double grab arm throw, puts it three different places, uses it as a jump rope, and gives his tummy a backhand slap. If you showed this choreography to Steven Seagal, he’d say, “I don’t get what the joke is; this move only needs a comfortable chair and two birthday cakes to be perfect.”

Furiously lunge at your Death Touch Security Card to reveal this clip of advanced Reptile Defense:

What Erle says this demonstrates is how fighting is not about technique. It’s about suddenly harnessing Reptile, the part of your brain which is not Human or the Third One he forgot to tell us about. He has very literally developed a martial art for guys who might not know any of that karate shit, but could win any fight by going crazy. He thinks if you do this right, you’ll become such an animal you’ll kill your opponent and walk off unaware of what you’ve done, like the snake he mentioned earlier who ate John. So I guess this is closer to werewolf karate than pressure point karate. Readers, force your Death Touch Security Card into the belly of a dogcatcher and out his mouth now:

Now that we know where on the neck to poke, where on the wrist to tug to make that poke work, and how to go nuts and let your primal instincts do something totally different, it’s time to learn Fa-Jing, the art of using death touching as self defense. Which, yes, sort of implies we’ve been the instigator so far in this video about blacking out and killing without remorse. Ask your Death Touch Security Card if it cares… now:

Erle liquifies the heart of Mike using a scientific energy bolt he never demonstrates or mentions again. As you can see, it’s so powerful Mike is reeling in agony before Erle has even started to conjure it. For historical context, this came out 17 years after Star Wars, so nerds had given us plenty of data on how well these techniques worked. And according to police reports, despite all these attempts, there were still only 817,989 deaths related to The Force. So you can train all you want– there’s still only an 11% chance of you being a Jedi. And there is absolutely no fucking way anyone bought Secrets of Dim-Mak: An Instructional Video before first testing to see if they were a Jedi.

The video is 90 minutes long, but you’ve already seen all of it. Erle never moves on from his main three moves: Neck Chop with Wrist Masturbation, Eyeball Slap, and Dissociative Episode. He adds fun details like how poking the right part of a neck will make CPR impossible. He shares the forbidden secret of how tai chi is a 3000-year-old scheme to hide the deadly strikes of Dim-Mak in plain sight. He advises his female students to wait until deep into a kidnapping before throwing a palm strike because that’s when they’ll least expect it. It’s everything you could want from a death touch instructional video, though explicitly not an instructional one. Which means the rest of the article is only going to be Mike getting dominated by sorcery. Violently will your Death Touch Security Card to show you!

Feel the fury of an accidental tiger claw, Mike! We can fix this in editing, Mike! Readers, swallow your Death Touch Security Card and let it display the next clip directly inside your mind:

This is some real insider knowledge here, but boxers and martial artists often train with padded “mitts” designed for catching “punches.” They work great! Children hold them. People who know Mike Tyson hold them. AND YET WHAT PADDING CAN PROTECT FROM THE IMPACT OF THE DIM-MAK!? “Oh jeez, that’s a whole lot of unexplainable death power,” says Mike as his elbow ligaments unravel. Fuck your brave but inadequate arm, Mike!

Readers, digest and pass your Death Touch Security Card and look into it now:

In this clip, Erle shows how even the most oafish, immovable head can be controlled using the poking of pressure points. “Enough of this, I’ll kill you,” paws Mike clumsily. “FURIOUS REPTILE BLOCK,” argues Erle! Better luck next time, Mike!

Death Touch Security Card, Mike needs a win. Show us Mike’s Immovable Dick Technique:

I’m not sure what happened here. Secrets of Dim-Mak: An Instructional Video sometimes takes its job as NOT an instructional video too seriously. Shriek with reptile rage into your Death Touch Security Card to put Mike out of his misery.

The video ends with a slow motion sequence where Erle, using the footwork of a squirrel experts agree will never tapdance, barely holds off a series of friendly handshakes. I have spent over 6000 hours in beginner’s cardio kickboxing and I didn’t know it was possible to be this bad at martial arts. You could glance at this while failing your yellow belt test and see it sucks. If your five-year-old showed you these moves, you would buy them a tiny coffin for their first fist fight. If Steven Seagal saw this even he would say, “Very good. And they should be– I trained these Army Seals myself.”

With sincerity in your heart, thank your Death Touch Security Card in order to see one last moment of weirdness from the video’s credits.

An all new guy walks in during the last five seconds to let Erle bash him on the arm. Erle then explains how bashing hurts more if your arm isn’t so stiff and gives him a final, limp-armed bash. Enduring the pain, the man looks straight into camera and declares, “MUCH MORE PENETRATION.” Then he gives a little thumbs up and an even littler little karate bow. It’s impossible to know who he is, what happened to Mike, or why they waited until these final moments for such an important arm-bashing tip, but it’s how I’m going to end everything from now on. Much more penetration. 👍. Little karate bow.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Michael Lehr, who suffered a weird handshake seven years ago and will rest in peace… NOW.

Categories
PUNCHING DAY

Punching Day: Empty Force 🌭

Come along with me, hotdog children, to the mystical faraway land of California, where an ancient Chinese practitioner named Paul Dong practices the art of the Empty Force at a magical temple known as the YMCA. He has chosen to share his knowledge with all of us simply because it feeds his soul and also because I gave him five dollars.

Let’s get this out of the way right at the top of the article. Not believing that all Asian people are a little bit of magic is actually pretty racist. They put that right in the intro to the book, so take your anti-magical Asian biases elsewhere. Removing that stone from this house will collapse it.

Empty Force was co-written by Paul Dong, chi master of the YMCA, and regular guy Thomas Raffill. The idea behind the book is that the only thing cooler than kicking ass with karate is healing ass with karate, and chi can do both of those things. Paul is the main authority on this topic throughout the book, and Thomas is just sort of there as a witness. He doesn’t seem coordinated enough to co-write a karate book. His first anecdote about the healing powers of chi involves him losing a battle with his arch-nemesis, a car door.

Ok, nerd, I guess you can tag along on this karate adventure Mr. Dong is taking us on, but try to keep quiet. So, if it is possible to have magic powers, why don’t more people just try force-pushing their enemies with their minds? The answer, of course, is sex. Every cult thinks we’re either having far too much or far too little, and finding the perfect amount of orgasms will ultimately save our lives.

We could all have superpowers if only pop singers weren’t so damn hot. If only ball game images weren’t so surrounding. Luckily, in the mystical faraway land of 1996 China, they have no pop stars. Strangely, the writer talks about China as if it’s still unspoiled rural farmland just waiting to be conquered by white people, who would, of course, lose to the terrifying super soldiers roaming the countryside looking for blood. This is not an exaggeration. The next section of the book is all about assembling a super team of chi-powered X-Men with names like Demon-Foot, Tiger-Claw, and one guy from Florida with the most terror-inducing name of all, Richard.

You may not know this, but traditional legs are longer than arms, which is explained in this book. Therefore, the Demon-Foot Master has an advantage on attack because most people aren’t ready for you to river dance them into oblivion. It sounds terrifying, but the description of the Demon-Foot Master is adorable compared to Tiger-Claw, who’s something straight out of a problematic Wolverine comic.

Woah, the phrase “it was said” is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence. It was said by whom? Someone on PCP? It was said the “Tiger-Claw King” trained his students by making them dig in the dirt and scratch the bark off of trees. He ate animal bones for their extra calcium and tore the flesh from horses and bulls for fun. So, like, not a chill guy at all. All Richard can do is gently tip a very frail man over, but he also has a sick dragon tattoo.

There’s even a cop with super chi powers who doesn’t have to carry a gun because he can spit people to death. This can be confirmed by the Beijing City government or police department if you’re willing to learn the Chinese phrase for, “Why is this pervert calling me about super spit?” Be sure to check out Spit Cop, the wettest AI-generated show, coming this fall to Roku. I encourage everyone to read this carefully as every inch of it rules:

Woah, an attack, which never misses, that can only be escaped by running away! That’s also how you defeat Batman. Or any man. If the super spitter ever gets super chi speed, criminals will tremble! As of right now, they’re pretty much fine.

So, you might be wondering how one develops these superhuman abilities. It’s a lot of hand swirling. You have to practice a lot of gentle swaying and swirling in order to cause the water in the hands to undergo a “nuclear-magnetic resonance.” Basically, your body becomes a magnet, controlled by your brain and also your Demonic Feet.

It takes two to four hours of swirling per day, 365 days a year without stopping, for about 4-5 years to experience these amazing results. Gaining superpowers is a lot like Duolingo. If you lose your streak, you have to start swirling all over again. If, for some reason, you don’t gain the ability to rend men’s flesh from the bones in a single stroke, did you perhaps miss a day of swirling in the past five years? What about Saint Patrick’s Day? Did you swirl then? Are you certain?

Once your skills are fully developed, the only thing that can stop chi is aluminum, a mirror, or, of course, running away. So, as long as you avoid distance runners, soda cans, and fun houses, you’re unstoppable. If you’ve got a cool four to five years to swirl, this book does include some gentle exercises for nuclear magnetizing your blood. After a mere two years, you’ll be able to do the more complicated poses, like spirit fingers and baseball umpire.

You might be thinking, who has that much time to devote to gently swaying your way to glory? The answer is nerds. That’s why our Western culture just isn’t set up to birth spit Avengers into existence. We’ve got too many lame distractions like spouses and children who want our time and attention. We can’t just say, “Sorry, kid; Mommy can’t make it to your soccer game today. She has to climb a hill and scream HA at the sun for two to three hours. You’ll appreciate this when she can kick your ass without touching you five years from now.”

So the author understands you won’t have time for all this. It’s not like the good ol’ days when we were free from distractions and duties and every village could hire a Bruce Lee. Or, if you lived in a less prosperous village, maybe a nice Bruce Le. Every old woman in the Chinese countryside was a Demon-Foot waiting to pounce.

Now, at this point, I should say I do wonder if Paul Dong is real and if he knows that his co-author wrote this book. Raffill claims that he’s simply helping dictate stories told to him by Master Dong in most cases. However, I can’t really picture Paul referring to himself as “a Chinese.”

There are photos in the book of Paul Dong teaching students, but they all seem to be taken from pretty far away. It feels more like someone with a telephoto lens knew where Paul Dong would be rather than a true artistic collaboration.

Am I saying this book was created by a man driven to madness by a gentle Tai Chi class? Legally, no. However…yes. I think this is the creation of someone who simply couldn’t handle Tai Chi. If he had taken a yoga class, this book would be about superhumans who can twist their torsos into lassos, and it would have been called Spaghetti Force: The Squeakiest Martial Fart.


This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Josh S, also known as the Master Dong of the YMCA, funnily enough.

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