Rambo

My entire life has led up to this moment. I am the stone that the builder refused, I am the visual, the inspiration that made the ladies sing the blues. Go boondocks!!!Ok, that last sentence was for Boondocks watchers (sic)…

Yes, my entire life has led up to this moment. That rejection from Molly in P.3, that beating from Bundy in P.7, that run-in with the H/M in S.4, that ka romance in third year, that naughty stuff with hot workmate at the office bitch party…has all led to this. SHE has been captured and I, Rambo, will save her…the Vietnamese descended on the village while I was asleep and took HER away. The goons burned everything in their wake. Everything? Everything…the ka mango tree, home to our cellular network coverage, the granary, stock-pile of carefully mixed proportions of food and weed, the five popular ducks…all gone! Oh those ducks could quack; now they are gone off to a better place. The Vietnamese even burnt my hut; they burnt everything but my bed, Lusty. I always knew that this fire-resistant, noise-proof contraption I got on E–bay would one day come in handy. Of course it had done quite some heavy work at night…

I have to rescue HER from the Vietnamese. How could they take HER away? I could only imagine what they were doing to HER right now…those starved starved war-lords who went days on end without getting any…they were prolly making her fetch water from the well. I had to save HER.

I reach for Mpengo, the trusted radio I always carry around. I re-adjust my tape and press play. Nothing. As expected. Two carefully placed slaps and the song I want to listen to starts to play. ‘Kungfu Fighting’, my theme song for situations that require revenge, swift revenge that grabs others by the balls and squeezes till a face turns green; squeezer or squeezee’s face, no matter. The song blares from the speakers. I pump my muscles up, heave in and out. I get down for press-ups but the position brings back so many memories of HER so I change to sit-ups. I do two then my ample belly gets in the way and I slow down.

“Maybe this getting-ready-for-battle thing is over-rated. I should just go live.” I think to myself.

Princess, by ‘live’ I wasn’t thinking what you are thinking.

“Yes, maybe I should go live. Arnold Schwarzenneger used to do it, and yet I have a better grasp of vowels than he does.”

I look down at my palms. Blistered from all the slaps I’ve dished out on a daily to the guys here who ogle HER. Vietnam, here I come.

I spend days and nights trekking through the forest, following the tracks of the goons that had taken HER. The guys who are about to get served their own balls on a platter. Imagine that; Hey sir, here are your balls, eat up. Anyway, back to my tale of love and lust lost. I finally get to a clearing. I can see them doing some ritual dance involving 5 men, 2 women, a goat and 2 chickens. Don’t ask. The lead Vietnamese is seated far off, obviously aroused. All the others are seated close enough to watch each drop of sweat drop off all the ritual dance participants, men, women, chicken et all. Too bad I have to kill ‘em all. Badass angry me. I can’t see her so I guess she is being held captive in the granary far off. Damn! Now she’ll have to get back on that diet I worked so hard to get her onto in the fat place. Ahem, first place.

Now to get their attention. Why waste a whole village, Rambo style, without warning them first? Secrecy, not nice. Miss Eizzy, secrecy, not nice. I stand up from my hiding place and shout ‘AAARRRggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..’

I run out of breath. How do those guys in movies do it?

Inner geek: (whispering) Ahem, Rambo, I think they use stunt-men.

I shout again ‘AAAArrrggghhhh…’ while running towards my first victim-to-be. One kick in the groin and he’s done for. The ritual dancers are startled; men, women, chicken and goat, all startled. I spot second victim-to-be head for me with wanna-be murder in his eyes. I move too quick. A Cow-Li chop to his neck and he’s with his abusive ancestors. Cow-Li chops are the next best thing after groin-kicks. Both very sophisticated moves passed on by the gods of tai-chi. Moves so deadly you only try them at a neighbor’s home.

By now I have the Vietnamese’s undivided attention. Good. They start to reach for their guns. I dive, stay mid-air for 5 seconds, then I land and grab a gun from third victim-to-be. He tries to wrench it back and I give him the Dagger look. He grabs his neck, choking, struggling for breath. “R.I.P musha fusha!!” I whisper as I turn my attention to the now armed-to-the-kahoonas Vietnamese. Given enough time, I’d distribute dagger looks and they’d all die in pain but time is a classy whore, you just cannot have her just like that. This gun’ll have to waste all of them.

‘AAAArrghhhh…..’ I run as I shoot at them. They shoot back. They all miss. All of them. I hit them, one by one. I keep running and screaming in a deep baritone, the stuff good music is made of. Too bad I’m not here to be pretty and make music…I’m running faster, shooting crazier, hitting ‘em…their bullets wheeze past me. Whizz!!! Whizz!!! Whazz!!! I do not, even for a second, let up on the screaming…whizz! whazz!! Do these dweebs have any formal military training? Why do they keep missing? It’s not like I’m complaining but honestly, how can they ALL miss me? Morons! Blam! Blam!! I hit ‘em…

“abdbckbfcweb, kasdcvieuvcv, jklncoaer!!!!” they scream in their native tongue, angry to go out like girls. Or unhappy to go meet their American-wasting ancestors. They fall, guts flying in one direction, mouths open, still yapping in their tongue… “Rambo, kdje;nevn”

Then the shooting stops. They are all around me, what’s left of them. They’ve prolly already returned as skunks in the other life. I quickly look around. No skunks. Phewks! Then I see him…standing there, holding HER by the neck, knife in his hand.

“Take another step and I’ll slit her throat!” the Vietnamese leader spits.

Finally someone who speaks English.

We lock eyeballs. The birds leave the trees; they decide they’ve seen enough action. Chickens! I consider giving him the dagger look but I feel that’s too dignified a way for him to go. I think.

“I’m going to move really fast and hit you with a round-kick and you’ll fall flat. As you move to get up, I’ll lift you by your johns and tie you up. Then, I’ll leave an army of ants to fondle you”

He laughs. The word fondle does things to him. The hoodlum. I’d been kind enough to let him in on my plans. I do all the stuff, and I rescue HER. Then I lift HER into my arms and start my journey back home. I shush her, telling HER it’s all okay now. But SHE’ll have to go for a blood test.