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The Jeebus Chronicles - The Early Days
First things first, we need to establish just how cool Jeebus is. It’s near impossible to imagine, but put it this way:
If Fonzie was an anime disco-ninja evil cowboy hippy space pirate with a loris sidekick, riding through time on a magic dragon in a bowler hat, eating Frosties, playing non-stop electric guitar solos, in a cape, with a big sword, he’d be about 17 cool-levels™ below Jeebus.
That’s right.
Damn cool.
(Although, in this piece, Jeebus has not yet reached his full potential)
**
Anywho, the story goes a little like this.
Or, one account of it goes like this. It may be the truth, it may be lies, it may be some random scrawlings of a madman 2000 years ago. Jeebus doesn’t care what you believe, as long as you look cool believing it.
**
“You be a good boy, Jeebus, and don’t go near any nails.” Jeebus’s mum said.
“Yeah, yeah, alright ma. I’ll be cool, just gonna go check out the ninja scene, see what’s up.”
“Well ... here’s some cheese for the journey, and a jigsaw, and a marble statuette, and some keys.” She stepped back (certainly not a virgin) with tears in her eyes. “Oh, my little boy, all grown up.”
“Aaaayyyyyyy.” Jeebus said, striking a pose. “No worries.” And he set off, up the mountain path, to the land of the sensei.
The land of the sensei was not as magic or mystical as it sounded. It was supposed to be right at the top of the mountain, shrouded in thick clouds of inner peace - where evil spirits haunted ancient, snow-covered ruins, ripe for a banishing and deserted castles lurked in the darkness, waiting for a single blade, and a pure soul, to cleanse away the demons inside.
But several years ago, the sensei board has decided the shocking temperature wouldn’t do their ninjaness any good.
So instead, in a comfortable semi with a nice garden, literally ten feet up the mountain path, the sensei resided - waiting, ever waiting, for a promising student.
Jeebus approached the nearest sensei. Predictably, oh-so-predictably, he was old, and chinese, with a nice braided beard.
He was sat, cross-legged, on top of a very large, very pointy rock, eyes closed, deep in thought.
“Hey!” Jeebus called, “Sensei dude!”
“Uuuummmmmm...” The sensei said.
“Sorry man, you’re meditating - when you’re ready...”
“No worries, mate!” The sensei shouted, in a crude Australian accent, “I was just wonderin’ if we’ve got enough beer for the barbie! Now - what can I do for you?”
“Uh, ninja stuff, y’know? Should be cool.”
“Oh, yeah, bloody fantastic, mate. Free booze, loadsa sheilas, inner peace, a nice sword - it’s great!”
“Oh, good. So - what can you teach me?”
The sensei looked very pleased with this question.
‘You can do this!” He disappeared, along with the rock.
‘And ...?”
“This!” He reappeared, along with the rock.
“Err ... is that rock ... attached?” Jeebus said, loosing his cool a little. On closer inspection, the very pointy rock was stained red and brown near the top - and the last few inches of the point seemed to disappear... up.
“I ... er ... fell on it! Yeah, that’s right mate, I fell on it!”
“Oh, no man - that’s cool, whatever turns you on. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”
“Cheers mate! Nice one!” The sensei looked smug - he’d had enough of nerdy, acne-ridden skinny rejects desperate to become ninjas. And this guy seemed different - a nice fella, someone worth believing in.
“You’ll teach me, sensei?”
“Well, I’m working on commission, so I don’t have much choice. But yeah, I will. And the name’s Bruce.”
“Thankyou, Master Bruce. Where do we begin my training?”
‘First stop!” Bruce shouted, “Mr. Miyagi’s!”
“You mean the Karate Kid guy?”
“Of course.”
“I know. I was just pointing it out for the slower readers.” You know who you are.
**
And so they travelled, far and wide across land and sea, searching for Mr. Miyagi’s General Purpose Ninja Store. Then, five minutes down the road, across a little stream, past a charming cafe, they found it.
Wonderful.
“Before we go in,” Bruce said, holding up a finger (for added emphasis - although he may have been checking the wind direction) “If you see Mr. Miyagi - don’t mention the war (ouch, sorry) and do not, under any circumstances, offer him a drink.”
“Sure thing, Master.”
“Please, call be Bate.”
“Sure thing, Master Bate.” Ahahhahahaa. I couldn’t resist. Apologies
And so (using ‘and so’ too much?) they entered the store - it looked like a large warehouse, surrounded by mystery. Actually, it was a large warehouse, surrounded by tramps.
“Woah.” Jeebus said, awe-struck. “This place has got everything!”
The warehouse was divided into four equal parts.
The first part sold car wax
The second part sold sandpaper
The third part sold fence paint.
The fourth part sold house paint.
“Aaahhhhh!” Bruce shouted, “You should see my inner peace right now. It’s practically bulging.”
“...” Jeebus said, and stumbled - knees week - into the store.
“That’s right, kid - lap it up.”
It took exactly 6 seconds to lap everything up, leaving the distinct impression that the shop could easily be a lot smaller in the mind. But, under Bruce’s careful guidance, Jeebus managed to collect up all the ninja essentials and make it to the checkout with well co-ordinated paint colours.
Surprisingly (well, not really) Mr. Miyagi himself sat behind the checkout. His head lolled on his shoulder - a crusty stalactite of drool connecting the two - and grunted occasionally.
“He’s in a trance-like state of total awareness.” The checkout girl, appearing from nowhere, decided to say.
“Yeah .. I’m sure ...” Jeebus said, then realised the checkout girl was pretty damn fine. “Sooo ....” He looked at her name badge, “Stella? ... How you doin’?”
“STELLA!” Mr Miyagi roared, snapping out of his trance, his eyes frantically searching for alcohol.
“Paint a fence!” Bruce yelled in desperation, swaying a little on top of his rock.
“Ah, yes.” The suddenly passive Mr. Miyagi said. “Paintafence. Up ........ down. Up ..... down. Up ..... down. Long stroke. Very good.” And he slipped, oh-so-silently, back into his meditation trance.
“That was a close one, kid.” Bruce said, sweating. “Never mention the S-word, okay? It drives him crazy. I think we should leave - he’s entering the chopstick stage.”
Sure enough, Mr. Miyagi produced a pair of chopsticks from a secret hole and began randomly grabbing at stuff. He’d ripped off Stella’s ear and both nipples before she got away, and Bruce lost half an eyebrow.
“It’s such a shame,” Bruce started, once they were safely outside the shop. “This place has ruined him - he only gets one customer every two weeks, and they’ll only ever buy one of each thing.”
Jeebus stared reflectively into the distance, and did spake unto Bruce, “I wish to help people like that - to help them regain what has been lost.”
“Aww ... that’s sweet. Now let’s go be ninjas!”
But Jeebus wasn’t listening.
He had struck upon something - a need to help people. But not because he was a shovey, annoying ass-licker, but because he wanted to help. And if a person didn’t want help, he wouldn’t give it to them - that wouldn’t be very nice.
Yes - he’d help as many people as he could.
And look damn cool doing it.
**END**
Well, that was a bit crap.
“The Jeebus Chronicles - The College Years” may or may not come soon, depending on how much work I’ve got to avoid.
First things first, we need to establish just how cool Jeebus is. It’s near impossible to imagine, but put it this way:
If Fonzie was an anime disco-ninja evil cowboy hippy space pirate with a loris sidekick, riding through time on a magic dragon in a bowler hat, eating Frosties, playing non-stop electric guitar solos, in a cape, with a big sword, he’d be about 17 cool-levels™ below Jeebus.
That’s right.
Damn cool.
(Although, in this piece, Jeebus has not yet reached his full potential)
**
Anywho, the story goes a little like this.
Or, one account of it goes like this. It may be the truth, it may be lies, it may be some random scrawlings of a madman 2000 years ago. Jeebus doesn’t care what you believe, as long as you look cool believing it.
**
“You be a good boy, Jeebus, and don’t go near any nails.” Jeebus’s mum said.
“Yeah, yeah, alright ma. I’ll be cool, just gonna go check out the ninja scene, see what’s up.”
“Well ... here’s some cheese for the journey, and a jigsaw, and a marble statuette, and some keys.” She stepped back (certainly not a virgin) with tears in her eyes. “Oh, my little boy, all grown up.”
“Aaaayyyyyyy.” Jeebus said, striking a pose. “No worries.” And he set off, up the mountain path, to the land of the sensei.
The land of the sensei was not as magic or mystical as it sounded. It was supposed to be right at the top of the mountain, shrouded in thick clouds of inner peace - where evil spirits haunted ancient, snow-covered ruins, ripe for a banishing and deserted castles lurked in the darkness, waiting for a single blade, and a pure soul, to cleanse away the demons inside.
But several years ago, the sensei board has decided the shocking temperature wouldn’t do their ninjaness any good.
So instead, in a comfortable semi with a nice garden, literally ten feet up the mountain path, the sensei resided - waiting, ever waiting, for a promising student.
Jeebus approached the nearest sensei. Predictably, oh-so-predictably, he was old, and chinese, with a nice braided beard.
He was sat, cross-legged, on top of a very large, very pointy rock, eyes closed, deep in thought.
“Hey!” Jeebus called, “Sensei dude!”
“Uuuummmmmm...” The sensei said.
“Sorry man, you’re meditating - when you’re ready...”
“No worries, mate!” The sensei shouted, in a crude Australian accent, “I was just wonderin’ if we’ve got enough beer for the barbie! Now - what can I do for you?”
“Uh, ninja stuff, y’know? Should be cool.”
“Oh, yeah, bloody fantastic, mate. Free booze, loadsa sheilas, inner peace, a nice sword - it’s great!”
“Oh, good. So - what can you teach me?”
The sensei looked very pleased with this question.
‘You can do this!” He disappeared, along with the rock.
‘And ...?”
“This!” He reappeared, along with the rock.
“Err ... is that rock ... attached?” Jeebus said, loosing his cool a little. On closer inspection, the very pointy rock was stained red and brown near the top - and the last few inches of the point seemed to disappear... up.
“I ... er ... fell on it! Yeah, that’s right mate, I fell on it!”
“Oh, no man - that’s cool, whatever turns you on. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”
“Cheers mate! Nice one!” The sensei looked smug - he’d had enough of nerdy, acne-ridden skinny rejects desperate to become ninjas. And this guy seemed different - a nice fella, someone worth believing in.
“You’ll teach me, sensei?”
“Well, I’m working on commission, so I don’t have much choice. But yeah, I will. And the name’s Bruce.”
“Thankyou, Master Bruce. Where do we begin my training?”
‘First stop!” Bruce shouted, “Mr. Miyagi’s!”
“You mean the Karate Kid guy?”
“Of course.”
“I know. I was just pointing it out for the slower readers.” You know who you are.
**
And so they travelled, far and wide across land and sea, searching for Mr. Miyagi’s General Purpose Ninja Store. Then, five minutes down the road, across a little stream, past a charming cafe, they found it.
Wonderful.
“Before we go in,” Bruce said, holding up a finger (for added emphasis - although he may have been checking the wind direction) “If you see Mr. Miyagi - don’t mention the war (ouch, sorry) and do not, under any circumstances, offer him a drink.”
“Sure thing, Master.”
“Please, call be Bate.”
“Sure thing, Master Bate.” Ahahhahahaa. I couldn’t resist. Apologies
And so (using ‘and so’ too much?) they entered the store - it looked like a large warehouse, surrounded by mystery. Actually, it was a large warehouse, surrounded by tramps.
“Woah.” Jeebus said, awe-struck. “This place has got everything!”
The warehouse was divided into four equal parts.
The first part sold car wax
The second part sold sandpaper
The third part sold fence paint.
The fourth part sold house paint.
“Aaahhhhh!” Bruce shouted, “You should see my inner peace right now. It’s practically bulging.”
“...” Jeebus said, and stumbled - knees week - into the store.
“That’s right, kid - lap it up.”
It took exactly 6 seconds to lap everything up, leaving the distinct impression that the shop could easily be a lot smaller in the mind. But, under Bruce’s careful guidance, Jeebus managed to collect up all the ninja essentials and make it to the checkout with well co-ordinated paint colours.
Surprisingly (well, not really) Mr. Miyagi himself sat behind the checkout. His head lolled on his shoulder - a crusty stalactite of drool connecting the two - and grunted occasionally.
“He’s in a trance-like state of total awareness.” The checkout girl, appearing from nowhere, decided to say.
“Yeah .. I’m sure ...” Jeebus said, then realised the checkout girl was pretty damn fine. “Sooo ....” He looked at her name badge, “Stella? ... How you doin’?”
“STELLA!” Mr Miyagi roared, snapping out of his trance, his eyes frantically searching for alcohol.
“Paint a fence!” Bruce yelled in desperation, swaying a little on top of his rock.
“Ah, yes.” The suddenly passive Mr. Miyagi said. “Paintafence. Up ........ down. Up ..... down. Up ..... down. Long stroke. Very good.” And he slipped, oh-so-silently, back into his meditation trance.
“That was a close one, kid.” Bruce said, sweating. “Never mention the S-word, okay? It drives him crazy. I think we should leave - he’s entering the chopstick stage.”
Sure enough, Mr. Miyagi produced a pair of chopsticks from a secret hole and began randomly grabbing at stuff. He’d ripped off Stella’s ear and both nipples before she got away, and Bruce lost half an eyebrow.
“It’s such a shame,” Bruce started, once they were safely outside the shop. “This place has ruined him - he only gets one customer every two weeks, and they’ll only ever buy one of each thing.”
Jeebus stared reflectively into the distance, and did spake unto Bruce, “I wish to help people like that - to help them regain what has been lost.”
“Aww ... that’s sweet. Now let’s go be ninjas!”
But Jeebus wasn’t listening.
He had struck upon something - a need to help people. But not because he was a shovey, annoying ass-licker, but because he wanted to help. And if a person didn’t want help, he wouldn’t give it to them - that wouldn’t be very nice.
Yes - he’d help as many people as he could.
And look damn cool doing it.
**END**
Well, that was a bit crap.
“The Jeebus Chronicles - The College Years” may or may not come soon, depending on how much work I’ve got to avoid.
Page:
I wish I was Jeebus. You have made me disbelive in evolutionitismism. There aren't any cool ninja evolutionismits. Apart from Darwin, of course. He kicked those Galapagos peoples until they agreed with him.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> If Fonzie was an anime disco-ninja evil cowboy hippy space pirate
> with a loris sidekick, riding through time on a magic dragon in a
> bowler hat, eating Frosties, playing non-stop electric guitar solos,
> in a cape, with a big sword, he’d be about 17 cool-levels™ below
> Jeebus.
:¬D
I liked it. You entertained me for once.
> If Fonzie was an anime disco-ninja evil cowboy hippy space pirate
> with a loris sidekick, riding through time on a magic dragon in a
> bowler hat, eating Frosties, playing non-stop electric guitar solos,
> in a cape, with a big sword, he’d be about 17 cool-levels™ below
> Jeebus.
:¬D
I liked it. You entertained me for once.
:-)
Oh damn - realism was top of my list as well.
Ninja, Karate and Sensei go together, being Japanese...
hear that? Japanese! Not Chinese! :-P
I know, the story wasn't written with regional accuracy in mind but still! :-)
By the by people, the only solid fact around Jeebus is that he's as cool as can be. And yes, your idea of cool might well differ vastly from FFF's idea of cool! ;-D
Entertaining anysway. :-)
hear that? Japanese! Not Chinese! :-P
I know, the story wasn't written with regional accuracy in mind but still! :-)
By the by people, the only solid fact around Jeebus is that he's as cool as can be. And yes, your idea of cool might well differ vastly from FFF's idea of cool! ;-D
Entertaining anysway. :-)
It wasn't that bad. Some strokes of genius.
"I er... fell on it.."
"I er... fell on it.."
The Jeebus Chronicles - The Early Days
First things first, we need to establish just how cool Jeebus is. It’s near impossible to imagine, but put it this way:
If Fonzie was an anime disco-ninja evil cowboy hippy space pirate with a loris sidekick, riding through time on a magic dragon in a bowler hat, eating Frosties, playing non-stop electric guitar solos, in a cape, with a big sword, he’d be about 17 cool-levels™ below Jeebus.
That’s right.
Damn cool.
(Although, in this piece, Jeebus has not yet reached his full potential)
**
Anywho, the story goes a little like this.
Or, one account of it goes like this. It may be the truth, it may be lies, it may be some random scrawlings of a madman 2000 years ago. Jeebus doesn’t care what you believe, as long as you look cool believing it.
**
“You be a good boy, Jeebus, and don’t go near any nails.” Jeebus’s mum said.
“Yeah, yeah, alright ma. I’ll be cool, just gonna go check out the ninja scene, see what’s up.”
“Well ... here’s some cheese for the journey, and a jigsaw, and a marble statuette, and some keys.” She stepped back (certainly not a virgin) with tears in her eyes. “Oh, my little boy, all grown up.”
“Aaaayyyyyyy.” Jeebus said, striking a pose. “No worries.” And he set off, up the mountain path, to the land of the sensei.
The land of the sensei was not as magic or mystical as it sounded. It was supposed to be right at the top of the mountain, shrouded in thick clouds of inner peace - where evil spirits haunted ancient, snow-covered ruins, ripe for a banishing and deserted castles lurked in the darkness, waiting for a single blade, and a pure soul, to cleanse away the demons inside.
But several years ago, the sensei board has decided the shocking temperature wouldn’t do their ninjaness any good.
So instead, in a comfortable semi with a nice garden, literally ten feet up the mountain path, the sensei resided - waiting, ever waiting, for a promising student.
Jeebus approached the nearest sensei. Predictably, oh-so-predictably, he was old, and chinese, with a nice braided beard.
He was sat, cross-legged, on top of a very large, very pointy rock, eyes closed, deep in thought.
“Hey!” Jeebus called, “Sensei dude!”
“Uuuummmmmm...” The sensei said.
“Sorry man, you’re meditating - when you’re ready...”
“No worries, mate!” The sensei shouted, in a crude Australian accent, “I was just wonderin’ if we’ve got enough beer for the barbie! Now - what can I do for you?”
“Uh, ninja stuff, y’know? Should be cool.”
“Oh, yeah, bloody fantastic, mate. Free booze, loadsa sheilas, inner peace, a nice sword - it’s great!”
“Oh, good. So - what can you teach me?”
The sensei looked very pleased with this question.
‘You can do this!” He disappeared, along with the rock.
‘And ...?”
“This!” He reappeared, along with the rock.
“Err ... is that rock ... attached?” Jeebus said, loosing his cool a little. On closer inspection, the very pointy rock was stained red and brown near the top - and the last few inches of the point seemed to disappear... up.
“I ... er ... fell on it! Yeah, that’s right mate, I fell on it!”
“Oh, no man - that’s cool, whatever turns you on. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”
“Cheers mate! Nice one!” The sensei looked smug - he’d had enough of nerdy, acne-ridden skinny rejects desperate to become ninjas. And this guy seemed different - a nice fella, someone worth believing in.
“You’ll teach me, sensei?”
“Well, I’m working on commission, so I don’t have much choice. But yeah, I will. And the name’s Bruce.”
“Thankyou, Master Bruce. Where do we begin my training?”
‘First stop!” Bruce shouted, “Mr. Miyagi’s!”
“You mean the Karate Kid guy?”
“Of course.”
“I know. I was just pointing it out for the slower readers.” You know who you are.
**
And so they travelled, far and wide across land and sea, searching for Mr. Miyagi’s General Purpose Ninja Store. Then, five minutes down the road, across a little stream, past a charming cafe, they found it.
Wonderful.
“Before we go in,” Bruce said, holding up a finger (for added emphasis - although he may have been checking the wind direction) “If you see Mr. Miyagi - don’t mention the war (ouch, sorry) and do not, under any circumstances, offer him a drink.”
“Sure thing, Master.”
“Please, call be Bate.”
“Sure thing, Master Bate.” Ahahhahahaa. I couldn’t resist. Apologies
And so (using ‘and so’ too much?) they entered the store - it looked like a large warehouse, surrounded by mystery. Actually, it was a large warehouse, surrounded by tramps.
“Woah.” Jeebus said, awe-struck. “This place has got everything!”
The warehouse was divided into four equal parts.
The first part sold car wax
The second part sold sandpaper
The third part sold fence paint.
The fourth part sold house paint.
“Aaahhhhh!” Bruce shouted, “You should see my inner peace right now. It’s practically bulging.”
“...” Jeebus said, and stumbled - knees week - into the store.
“That’s right, kid - lap it up.”
It took exactly 6 seconds to lap everything up, leaving the distinct impression that the shop could easily be a lot smaller in the mind. But, under Bruce’s careful guidance, Jeebus managed to collect up all the ninja essentials and make it to the checkout with well co-ordinated paint colours.
Surprisingly (well, not really) Mr. Miyagi himself sat behind the checkout. His head lolled on his shoulder - a crusty stalactite of drool connecting the two - and grunted occasionally.
“He’s in a trance-like state of total awareness.” The checkout girl, appearing from nowhere, decided to say.
“Yeah .. I’m sure ...” Jeebus said, then realised the checkout girl was pretty damn fine. “Sooo ....” He looked at her name badge, “Stella? ... How you doin’?”
“STELLA!” Mr Miyagi roared, snapping out of his trance, his eyes frantically searching for alcohol.
“Paint a fence!” Bruce yelled in desperation, swaying a little on top of his rock.
“Ah, yes.” The suddenly passive Mr. Miyagi said. “Paintafence. Up ........ down. Up ..... down. Up ..... down. Long stroke. Very good.” And he slipped, oh-so-silently, back into his meditation trance.
“That was a close one, kid.” Bruce said, sweating. “Never mention the S-word, okay? It drives him crazy. I think we should leave - he’s entering the chopstick stage.”
Sure enough, Mr. Miyagi produced a pair of chopsticks from a secret hole and began randomly grabbing at stuff. He’d ripped off Stella’s ear and both nipples before she got away, and Bruce lost half an eyebrow.
“It’s such a shame,” Bruce started, once they were safely outside the shop. “This place has ruined him - he only gets one customer every two weeks, and they’ll only ever buy one of each thing.”
Jeebus stared reflectively into the distance, and did spake unto Bruce, “I wish to help people like that - to help them regain what has been lost.”
“Aww ... that’s sweet. Now let’s go be ninjas!”
But Jeebus wasn’t listening.
He had struck upon something - a need to help people. But not because he was a shovey, annoying ass-licker, but because he wanted to help. And if a person didn’t want help, he wouldn’t give it to them - that wouldn’t be very nice.
Yes - he’d help as many people as he could.
And look damn cool doing it.
**END**
Well, that was a bit crap.
“The Jeebus Chronicles - The College Years” may or may not come soon, depending on how much work I’ve got to avoid.
First things first, we need to establish just how cool Jeebus is. It’s near impossible to imagine, but put it this way:
If Fonzie was an anime disco-ninja evil cowboy hippy space pirate with a loris sidekick, riding through time on a magic dragon in a bowler hat, eating Frosties, playing non-stop electric guitar solos, in a cape, with a big sword, he’d be about 17 cool-levels™ below Jeebus.
That’s right.
Damn cool.
(Although, in this piece, Jeebus has not yet reached his full potential)
**
Anywho, the story goes a little like this.
Or, one account of it goes like this. It may be the truth, it may be lies, it may be some random scrawlings of a madman 2000 years ago. Jeebus doesn’t care what you believe, as long as you look cool believing it.
**
“You be a good boy, Jeebus, and don’t go near any nails.” Jeebus’s mum said.
“Yeah, yeah, alright ma. I’ll be cool, just gonna go check out the ninja scene, see what’s up.”
“Well ... here’s some cheese for the journey, and a jigsaw, and a marble statuette, and some keys.” She stepped back (certainly not a virgin) with tears in her eyes. “Oh, my little boy, all grown up.”
“Aaaayyyyyyy.” Jeebus said, striking a pose. “No worries.” And he set off, up the mountain path, to the land of the sensei.
The land of the sensei was not as magic or mystical as it sounded. It was supposed to be right at the top of the mountain, shrouded in thick clouds of inner peace - where evil spirits haunted ancient, snow-covered ruins, ripe for a banishing and deserted castles lurked in the darkness, waiting for a single blade, and a pure soul, to cleanse away the demons inside.
But several years ago, the sensei board has decided the shocking temperature wouldn’t do their ninjaness any good.
So instead, in a comfortable semi with a nice garden, literally ten feet up the mountain path, the sensei resided - waiting, ever waiting, for a promising student.
Jeebus approached the nearest sensei. Predictably, oh-so-predictably, he was old, and chinese, with a nice braided beard.
He was sat, cross-legged, on top of a very large, very pointy rock, eyes closed, deep in thought.
“Hey!” Jeebus called, “Sensei dude!”
“Uuuummmmmm...” The sensei said.
“Sorry man, you’re meditating - when you’re ready...”
“No worries, mate!” The sensei shouted, in a crude Australian accent, “I was just wonderin’ if we’ve got enough beer for the barbie! Now - what can I do for you?”
“Uh, ninja stuff, y’know? Should be cool.”
“Oh, yeah, bloody fantastic, mate. Free booze, loadsa sheilas, inner peace, a nice sword - it’s great!”
“Oh, good. So - what can you teach me?”
The sensei looked very pleased with this question.
‘You can do this!” He disappeared, along with the rock.
‘And ...?”
“This!” He reappeared, along with the rock.
“Err ... is that rock ... attached?” Jeebus said, loosing his cool a little. On closer inspection, the very pointy rock was stained red and brown near the top - and the last few inches of the point seemed to disappear... up.
“I ... er ... fell on it! Yeah, that’s right mate, I fell on it!”
“Oh, no man - that’s cool, whatever turns you on. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”
“Cheers mate! Nice one!” The sensei looked smug - he’d had enough of nerdy, acne-ridden skinny rejects desperate to become ninjas. And this guy seemed different - a nice fella, someone worth believing in.
“You’ll teach me, sensei?”
“Well, I’m working on commission, so I don’t have much choice. But yeah, I will. And the name’s Bruce.”
“Thankyou, Master Bruce. Where do we begin my training?”
‘First stop!” Bruce shouted, “Mr. Miyagi’s!”
“You mean the Karate Kid guy?”
“Of course.”
“I know. I was just pointing it out for the slower readers.” You know who you are.
**
And so they travelled, far and wide across land and sea, searching for Mr. Miyagi’s General Purpose Ninja Store. Then, five minutes down the road, across a little stream, past a charming cafe, they found it.
Wonderful.
“Before we go in,” Bruce said, holding up a finger (for added emphasis - although he may have been checking the wind direction) “If you see Mr. Miyagi - don’t mention the war (ouch, sorry) and do not, under any circumstances, offer him a drink.”
“Sure thing, Master.”
“Please, call be Bate.”
“Sure thing, Master Bate.” Ahahhahahaa. I couldn’t resist. Apologies
And so (using ‘and so’ too much?) they entered the store - it looked like a large warehouse, surrounded by mystery. Actually, it was a large warehouse, surrounded by tramps.
“Woah.” Jeebus said, awe-struck. “This place has got everything!”
The warehouse was divided into four equal parts.
The first part sold car wax
The second part sold sandpaper
The third part sold fence paint.
The fourth part sold house paint.
“Aaahhhhh!” Bruce shouted, “You should see my inner peace right now. It’s practically bulging.”
“...” Jeebus said, and stumbled - knees week - into the store.
“That’s right, kid - lap it up.”
It took exactly 6 seconds to lap everything up, leaving the distinct impression that the shop could easily be a lot smaller in the mind. But, under Bruce’s careful guidance, Jeebus managed to collect up all the ninja essentials and make it to the checkout with well co-ordinated paint colours.
Surprisingly (well, not really) Mr. Miyagi himself sat behind the checkout. His head lolled on his shoulder - a crusty stalactite of drool connecting the two - and grunted occasionally.
“He’s in a trance-like state of total awareness.” The checkout girl, appearing from nowhere, decided to say.
“Yeah .. I’m sure ...” Jeebus said, then realised the checkout girl was pretty damn fine. “Sooo ....” He looked at her name badge, “Stella? ... How you doin’?”
“STELLA!” Mr Miyagi roared, snapping out of his trance, his eyes frantically searching for alcohol.
“Paint a fence!” Bruce yelled in desperation, swaying a little on top of his rock.
“Ah, yes.” The suddenly passive Mr. Miyagi said. “Paintafence. Up ........ down. Up ..... down. Up ..... down. Long stroke. Very good.” And he slipped, oh-so-silently, back into his meditation trance.
“That was a close one, kid.” Bruce said, sweating. “Never mention the S-word, okay? It drives him crazy. I think we should leave - he’s entering the chopstick stage.”
Sure enough, Mr. Miyagi produced a pair of chopsticks from a secret hole and began randomly grabbing at stuff. He’d ripped off Stella’s ear and both nipples before she got away, and Bruce lost half an eyebrow.
“It’s such a shame,” Bruce started, once they were safely outside the shop. “This place has ruined him - he only gets one customer every two weeks, and they’ll only ever buy one of each thing.”
Jeebus stared reflectively into the distance, and did spake unto Bruce, “I wish to help people like that - to help them regain what has been lost.”
“Aww ... that’s sweet. Now let’s go be ninjas!”
But Jeebus wasn’t listening.
He had struck upon something - a need to help people. But not because he was a shovey, annoying ass-licker, but because he wanted to help. And if a person didn’t want help, he wouldn’t give it to them - that wouldn’t be very nice.
Yes - he’d help as many people as he could.
And look damn cool doing it.
**END**
Well, that was a bit crap.
“The Jeebus Chronicles - The College Years” may or may not come soon, depending on how much work I’ve got to avoid.
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