She Nose Kung Fu

Kung fu class was great except for a couple of things: I got nailed right in the schnozz, and I hit two other people right in theirs. These were all accidental, and I think I got the worst of it. Although the hit wasn't hard, it was in exactly the right place. The fist barely hit me, but my nose turned bright red and my eyes filled with tears. For a moment, I wasn't sure if I'd start fountaining blood or not, but then the pain subsided. The sweet spot seems to the the very tip, with a slight suppression of the cartilege. Yowza!

I hit one guy in the nose, but not hard enough to hurt. And then, I speared another guy with my staff. I could have sworn he told me he was ready. He was demonstrating blocks with his butterfly swords to someone else. Well, he didn't tell me he was ready, and looked away at just the wrong time. He blames himself for not having a healthier sense of paranoia, but I can't help but feel bad. I know what my nose felt like, and the hit I took was much, much, much softer.

I will be attending a kung fu seminar this weekend, and, if I can get the transportation, a kung fu Christmas party piss-up. The potluck is at the kwoon, and the party at the pub next door. The school has rented the entire pub for the evening, and there will be karaoke. We'll be sleeping it off on the floor of the kwoon. Hoorah for kung fu sleepovers!

In other news, f00 fell down last week and has apparently dislocated a rib. I hope he'll go to the clinic tomorrow and arrange for someone to put him back together again. He has the worst luck with his rib cage. Sheesh.

How I Found Jesus

Last night, while driving home from bingo, Jesus jumped in front of my car and banged up against the windscreen. At first I thought I had hit a moose, but the giant crucifix was the clincher. Although I've seen plenty of cross moose, I've yet to see a crucified one. Even the most stalwart of Roman bodybuilders would be hard pressed to lift a moose, spread its front legs, and nail through its hooves. So the dark, hirsute man with a bloody crown of horns must surely have been the Messiah.

But what was he doing with his big bearded head jammed through my windscreen?

My face and mouth were spattered with blood, but not my own. After my initial screams had worn down to a thin, keening trickle, I managed to gasp out, "Jesus Christ!" It's what I say pretty much every time I'm in a dreadful accident. This time, there was an answer in the affirmative.

A deep, sonorous voice mooed out, "Yes?"

"What are you doing with your head through my windscreen?"

He rearranged a hoof on the hood of my car. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that the Lord works in mysterious ways?"

"Yes, but...."

"No buts," Jesus said. "I'm am simply working in a mysterious way. After all, when I suddenly intruded on your personal space, didn't you utter a prayer, of sorts? Didn't you--an avowed agnostic--suddenly find God?"

He had me there.

I helped him extricate his great head from my shattered windscreen. There was blood on my dashboard, but it smelled remarkably like red wine. I could taste a well-aged cabernet on my lips (it had a distinct bouquet of passion fruit and Golgotha dogwood). Somewhere, off in the distance, I could hear the shrill, blue-and-white ululation of a siren. "Oh shit," I said. "I'm going to be nailed for DUI!"

The Lord winced at my choice of words.

"Look, Jesus? I know you're a right wiz with liquids. I know that you can turn water into wine, and wine into your blood. So how about you turn your blood into water, so I don't get nailed by the breathalyzer?"

He smiled at me. "It is done," he said, and at that, the fine taste of cabernet turned into the chlorinated aftertaste of Fredericton city water.

And that's how I was saved by the Lord. Too bad he wrecked my car, though.