Greetings, dear reader.  Today, we pour some out for my ass.  My ass died last night.  At least I think it did.  It actually fell off and stormed off in protest, mumbling darkly about outrage and knowing its rights, and I’m not exactly sure what happened to it after that.  To be fair, several other people’s asses fell off, and I know the asses were, for a time, huddled in a corner, talking about unionizing, unfair practices, and hostile work environments.

Here’s what happened: last night at the dojo was the annual Night of 1000 Kicks…basically a kick-a-thon to raise money for the Wounded Warriors Project, which is about as noble a cause as I can think of.  Great.  Proud to be a part of it.  So I show up with about 11 other of the more hardcore students (being challenged to do 1000 of anything is more than the average student can even contemplate without breaking down in personal maggotry and despair).  We only had an hour to do all the kicks, so we got started right away.  First off was 100 groin kicks.  These are easy kicks to do, and normally I can do them all day…but knowing this was just 1/10th of what we were doing had a rather deleterious psychological effect.  I quickly decided on a quantity-over-quality strategy, so these early kicks didn’t have a lot of juice behind them…so long as my foot made contact with the bag, the kick was good.  Up next was 100 sidekicks.  And this was when my ass started to pipe up with the bitching.  I didn’t pay much attention to it as I was concentrating on getting the kicks done.  The next hundred were outside crescent kicks, and that’s when my ass, in conjunction with my hips, thighs, and lower back, became more vociferous.  I took a quick break and hydrated a bit, which my various parts seemed to appreciate.  But the respite was short-lived, and then we got into kick combos…25 sets, with each set involving 4 different kicks.  That’s when my ass staged an all-out rebellion, and started refusing orders: I would send the signal to kick, but my leg would just sit there, frustrated because it couldn’t do anything without the cooperation of my ass.  After that, things became a bit of a blur.  I can’t tell you what sort of esoteric combinations we did, but doing them involved me overriding the will and protestations of my ass.  I managed to complete the thousand kicks, but as soon as I was done, so was my ass.  That’s when it fell off and stormed off in a huff.  “Fuck that thing,”  I thought at the time…”It’s nothing without me.”  Which is true.  I mean, what’s it going to do?  Try to find some assless person who is willing to roll the dice on what is, quite frankly, a narrow, skinny, and now uppity ass for a permanent position?  I think not.  My ass looks quite ridiculous on me…on anyone else, it would be patently absurd.

I am feeling the absence pretty strongly today, mainly when it comes to sitting down.  Now having nothing to sit on, I’m forced to stand while I do anything, including writing this dispatch to you, dear reader.  And my pants just don’t fit right today.  I’m not sure what to do at this point.  I guess I’ll hit up the Fecal Creek Flea Market tomorrow and see if it’s there.  If you’ve seen my missing ass, please contact me through the usual channels.  I’ll probably set up a GoFundMe tomorrow, but for now a $7 reward is being offered.  I’m supposed to attend an alcohol-intensive barbecue/pool party this weekend, and it would be more socially acceptable if I was able to sit for at least part of the time.  And I’m worried they won’t let me get in the pool without an ass.

N.P.: “Your Fandango” – Todd Rundgren, Sparks