Requiem for a Legacy, Part 1
It’s in the quiet moments, after all the dust has settled and the bodies have fallen, that you can take a moment to stop and think about how exactly you got here. Where did it all go wrong? What could I have done differently? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? This is how I find myself one Wednesday afternoon in the ghetto school, still favoring my now tenderized ass and slowly sipping a ginger ale.
Lots of people start off these kinds of stories with something cliche, like, “It was a day like any other day.” I on the other hand, knew some bad shit was coming. I’d barely slept the night before, and when I eventually did, I had a horrible, horrible dream. It involved my ex, and it was sexual. I’m shuddering at the very notion of it.
I knew that dream was an omen of something bad. But what? I had no idea as I made my usual trek (aka “three minute bike ride”) to the ghetto school.
I started the day with the Americanized teacher in a ninensei class. We played a geography game, and all was well. One of the bastard boys was in the class, but he quietly read a comic book in the back of the room, so even that was good. For a moment, I almost forgot about the bad omen I had just hours ago.
As the class ended, the ninensei left and the ichinensei filtered in. One ninensei girl stayed behind to talk to me in English as she always does. She showed the teacher and me her favorite saying in English, “I can’t help falling in love with you.” I asked if she knew that song, and she didn’t know it was a song at all. Without hesitation, cue, or even coordination, the Americanized teacher and I sang that particular lyric, in harmony no less! The student was impressed, and asked who sang it. I was thinking the UB-40 version, but the teacher responded with Elvis Presley, which just goes to show how much cooler than I she is.
The girl eventually left, and as I turned back towards the teacher, I got one hell of a kancho attempt. I turned around to find the culprit: an ichinensei boy, and a particularly small one at that. He must have two-handed that shit. It was one powerful kancho; I think it got me off the ground a few centimeters! That’s not much you may be thinking, but imagine a runt of a 12-year old Japanese boy poking a large black man in the ass so powerfully he actually lifts him off the ground. He must have been channeling all the energies of his samurai forefathers, gathering it into a Level 3 Shin-Kancho-Ken. He missed and only got me in my cheeks, but that shit hurt.
I should also point out that he didn’t miss by much. Sadly, I wasn’t wearing my ghetto pants, so this time they actually had an idea where my ass was. I can’t imagine what would have happened had he been on target. I can’t even make a joke in jest of it, like “I would have seen his fingers coming out of my mouth,” or something like that. The mere thought of him being on target with that Ultimate Kancho scares the living hell out of me.
I decided that this was one I definitely wasn’t going to let slide. Once again using my Surprising, Blinding Speed, I chased him down and caught him. This kid was no heavier than my backpack. I held him up with one arm, raised my other arm, stuck out two fingers, and asked “Should I do it?!” to the kids in the room. “Do it! Do it!” they excitedly chanted. Meanwhile, the kid broke an arm free of my grasp, and rather than try to get away he reached around and started trying to grab my dick.
Think about that for a minute. It’s fuckin’ incredible. You are a 12-year-old Japanese boy being held off the ground by a large black man who is bound and determined to penetrate your ass. You manage to get an arm free, and more than escape, more than Ass Preservation even, your only thought is on how you can grab his dick.
He barely missed that on that attempt, too. With the other students chanting, “Do it!” I wound up my “One Thousand Years of Pain!” and prepared to give it to him. Again, I stopped short of the mark. I’d like to think I haven’t yet degenerated to the point where I’d actually have to poke a 12-year old boy up the ass. I spun him around and, as I’d done before, said, “Now, that is your warning.” I figured that would be enough, but more or less the moment I put him down, he went straight for my dick. I caught his hand, but as I did so, a second, still unknown boy tried a kancho (the kancho from the grassy knoll?). At that moment, I realized two things.
1. The boy in front of me had become a K-1000, or even a K-X – a perfect, lethal kanchoing machine. He will stop at nothing until his mission, to poke me in the ass or grab my dick, is complete.
2. The warnings aren’t working anymore.
The boy tried another dick grab, and then it hit me, “Is Azrael gonna have to kancho a bitch?” I caught him again and spun him around, knowing that the second I let him go he’d just start poking again. With the mysterious kancho sniper still in the wings, I had no other options left. So I kanchoed him. Gave him the “Two Thousand Years of Pain!” and sent him flying a few feet forward. I suppose I could have launched him clear across the room, but I’d only just then dropped the final wall of sanity, the last rope bridge connecting me to non-ass-poking American values. I wasn’t ready to go balls-to-bones (or in this case, knuckles-to-asscrack) just yet.
Despite the counter-kancho, this boy STILL wouldn’t give up. The teacher and I left the classroom, but with him following me looking for an opening. I got back to the haven of the teachers’ room, but immediately had to head out again for an ichinensei class. On the way up the steps, I had my most frightening realization of the day. My Kancho Sense™ hadn’t gone off at all. Come to think of it, Dodgedick Sense™ had been silent as well.
With my ass still hurting from the Super Kancho from before, I went to the ichinensei’s class.
To Be Continued…