The Self-Defense Master

This semester I’m taking a 1-credit self-defense class. It’s like one of those classes you take for fun but it also makes you realize how you could die at any moment. So one minute I’m like, “It’s enjoyable to do these moves!” and the next minute I’m being told I could be chopped up in someone’s trunk somewhere. I’m a little conflicted on how to feel, honestly. I’m pretty sure I like it.

We’re on Week 2 of the course and I’m prepared to assert that I’m a master at self-defense. It’s true. If anyone tried to punch me in slow-mo, I could totally deflect it. Try me. Oh wait, I wasn’t ready; start over. There– hau! See? I completely defended myself. I’m a black belt at not dying. So far in my whole life, I’ve managed to stay alive, so the results are pretty supportive of my claim.

I’m getting really into it. My friends are starting to get mad at me because I take their every movement as a potential threat, so I’m constantly getting into my defensive stance and yelling at them. They’re over it already, but you never know– you can’t trust anyone. Even your grandma. (Sorry for the throat-punch, grandma, but you were coming at me too fast. Hope you get well soon.) Anyway, practice makes perfect.

Even on the days we don’t have class, I still go the extra mile. Recently I’ve been visiting sketchy parts of town dressed real provocatively in order to tempt people to attack me so I can practice my moves. So far I’ve managed to get my wallet stolen and my iPhone smashed, but I haven’t died, so I’m doing a real great job! This weekend when I go into the city to practice, I’m hoping to send someone to the hospital. Gotta have goals, am I right?

It’s also fun to self-defend myself against people who are unsuspecting. I’m all, “Hey Haley from Sociology class, feel how bony my wrist is,” and when she naively and hesitantly grabs my wrist, I spring into action and enact “Opposite Wrist Grab Defense,” effectively bringing her to her knees. “Haha, I gotcha good! April Fools!” I laugh, and she laughs so quietly I don’t even hear her until she’s brought to tears. It’s real fun, I’m telling you.

My boss is currently disgruntled with me because of an altercation with a customer. The customer felt that I “attacked” them, but you simply can’t come up behind me and tap me on the shoulder and expect me NOT to turn around and elbow you in the face. I mean, that’s common sense! Especially at a five star restaurant when you know all those ritzy diners are just looking to steal your money to buy more cocaine champagne, or whatever rich people drink. Apparently I’m “suspended” from work for a few days, but they’ll come crawling back to me once they realize the security at that place has dramatically gone down hill in my absence.


(My cat just walked on my keyboard. Apparently the only attack I cannot deflect is an attack of cuteness.)

Anyway, now that I’m a master of self-defense, I’m going to open my own school of self-defense. I’ll call it, “School of Block.” It’ll be all about blocking people from attacking you by attacking them first. We’re moving onto week three in the self-defense class I’m taking, but I basically know all the moves we’re gonna do, and I think I get the gist of it, so I’m pretty much done showing up to class. Now I’m going to dedicate all my energy into passing on my vast self-defense knowledge to my own pupils.

Sensei would be so proud of me.


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