In memory of a monk

I refuse to believe that David Carradine wanked himself to death. A man who has studied the way of the Tao and the Shao, shaving his head bald and living on alfalfa beans, must be aware he can't ejaculate himself to happiness. I don't know what happened in that hotel room, but I certainly don't trust the bellboys to give an honest account of what they found. On discovering David’s lifeless body, they no doubt configured the corpse in a pose that would allow them to sell scurrilous tidbits to the gutter press. Their karmas will be cleansed by suffering in a future life.

What a man was Kwai Chang Caine! I think his mixed Chinese-Caucasian heritage gave him his unique insights and abilities. A man of purely western descent could never have absorbed the oriental mysticism of the Shaolin temple. Lacking inscrutability, he would have babbled like a fool in a vain attempt to make converts. But a full-blooded Chinaman would not have opened his heart to the foreign devils, doing his best to enlighten them before resorting to kung fu tactics. The great thing about Caine is that he always gave the rednecks a chance to repent before taming their inner demons with a well-aimed foot in the face. He spoke softly and carried the big kick.

I often think we should introduce a spiritual element to safari tourism. Our current visitors have the mentality of spectators at a Roman amphitheatre.

“Where are the lions, where are the lions?” they cry.

What are the lions? would be a more pertinent question. Great big snarling brutes who would chew your head off if you asked them for directions to nearest waterhole. It’s depressing that so many humans visit Africa to gawp at savagery and gore. The makers of snuff-video wildlife documentaries are no better.

Perhaps I should establish a jungle temple for our human visitors. Students of all creeds and persuasions would be taught the way of the Hairy Pu. We’d give them courses in grooming, grimacing and guttural noises (the three g’s). And let’s not forget ape yoga – quite different from the human varieties where one’s tush is in contact with the ground. That would never do in the jungle, with all the snakes and creepy-crawlies. Ape positions involve suspending the body in mid-air by the fingers or toes and letting gravity do most of the work. “You’ve never been stretched until you’ve been hung,” is our motto.

I don’t see the need to teach humans martial arts – it only makes them overconfident about their physical capabilities. Back in my circus days, I remember being challenged to a bout of unarmed combat by a fellow called Nasty Nash, who was a black belt in something or the other.

“Don’t be an oaf, Nasty!” I said. “If you kicked me in the head you’d break every bone in your foot!”

Nasty was so disappointed that I invented the sport of toe-wrestling specifically to enable him to fight me without risking bodily injury. He enjoyed it so much that he went on to found an association that promotes the sport and holds regular tournaments (for humans). Nasty is the current world champion, I believe.

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