Punching Tom Hanks: Dropkicking Gorillas and Pummeling Zombified Ex-Presidents---A Guide to Beating Up Anything (4 page)

It’s you, from the future! Somehow, years from now you managed to right the wildly off-course ship that was your life and get it into a halfway decent port. Actually, no; take another look at this guy. He still sucks. His future clothes are kinda dingy and torn at the edges, one boot doesn’t match the other, and his microchip just popped off his eyebrow. It turns out time travel is available to everyone in the future—even slobs like you two—and he’s pissed at you for screwing up his life.

He’s going to use his knowledge of you to break your spirit and morale. He knows every move you’re about to make and every bad move you’ve already made.

His first gripe is likely to be: “What the fuck happened?” Honestly, he has a point. It seems likely that you won’t have an answer for this. Instead of hemming and hawing just throw an uppercut. He’ll dodge it effortlessly, because he knows your every move in advance.

Then he’ll hit you with: “Were you even gonna leave the house today? C’mon! And are you still moping over her? That was like two years ago, man. Would she even recognize you?” He might offer a: “We could have done something with our life!” At this point you’ll both break into laughter, as clearly that was not the case. The joviality will be short-lived.

He will block your next three punches, so don’t even bother if you’re tired, which, let’s be honest, you are.

“Why are you still selling office plants online?”

“Shut up, what did you ever do that was so great?!?”

“Nothing! And it’s because of you! At least I had sex with
her
!” At this point he’ll show you a hologram of a beautiful woman who is robot from the waist down, and then woman again starting at the knees. In the middle of the robotic area is some sort of purple, laser beam vortex. It will be pulsing.

Don’t worry, there’s no way he had sex with that. If you challenge him on it, he’ll stammer (“Well, I could have, probably!”) and then try to change the subject.

Ordinarily an older, slower version of you would be easy pickings, but unfortunately—for you and other sad people—medical science makes significant strides in the next thirty years and future-you took full advantage. He takes a little green pill once a year that restores him to the mid-twenties-you. And there’s a hat that gives you X-ray vision and the ability to turn invisible. Of course, future-you didn’t bring it with him because he’s kind of an idiot, too.

You’re going to need to utilize the “
Gilligan’s Island
Gambit,” so named because of an episode of the ancient show
Gilligan’s Island.
A show they no longer watch in the future. In the episode, Gilligan and his fellow castaways were forced to team up with the famed Harlem Globetrotters in a basketball game against another team made up entirely of robots. It’s a story as old as time itself. The robots were faster, and stronger than the Gilligan/Globetrotter team, and thanks to their whirring, conking computer brains, they knew the exact perfect play to execute at any given moment.

I’m not trying to ruin the episode for you, but Gilligan’s team wins. They win by playing in an improvised, illogical manner that the robots couldn’t anticipate. The robots were so confused they eventually broke down … and that episode won more Emmys than any other television show to date.

When facing future-you, select your next move, then do the exact opposite. Thinking of a right cross? Throw a left hook! Planning of leaping toward him? Get down on your stomach and belly crawl! Thinking of an uppercut? Uh, do some other thing that begins with the word “lower.”

Remember, this person is you, so don’t go overboard. You don’t want to maim him, just beat him enough to force him to go back to the future, where he belongs. If during the fight, a brain in a metal case connected to three robotic tendrils shows up and starts yelling for you guys to stop fighting, don’t hurt it, either. That’s you from the way, way future. No, everyone doesn’t look like that in the future, just you. I’m sorry, there was a whole thing.

HOW TO BEAT UP A MAN HOLDING A BOOMERANG

A boomerang or “Brisbane Candlestick” as it’s sometimes called, is a curious weapon. It’s a flattened curved piece of wood or metal, that when thrown flies in a wide arc before returning to the thrower’s hand … WITHOUT USING EVEN THE TINIEST BIT OF WITCHCRAFT. No magic at all! Not even futuristic technology recovered from the wrecked spaceship of a life-form far more advanced than ours. It’s like a regular piece of wood!

A foe with this weapon sounds formidable; I get that, but don’t give up just yet. This foe is fairly uncommon. There’s a reason most of your opponents won’t be utilizing this weapon. The reason is 98 percent of people who’ve ever heard of a boomerang don’t know how to use one, and, in fact, actually doubt that it works. Most people try the boomerang once. Then walk to the spot about a hundred yards off where the boomerang has unsuccessfully landed, pick it up, and never use it gain. Even more people get the boomerang as a gift from a friend who’s recently visited a gift shop. They thank the friend, turn the boomerang over in their hands a few times, then quickly begin forgetting that it ever even existed.

But you could be dealing with the other 2 percent. There are some telltale signs. Like, is he wearing a gaudy costume with multiple pictures of boomerangs on it? Perhaps one prominently painted over the chest? Is he wearing a mask, and is the forehead area of the mask made up of tiny boomerangs where the eyebrows should be? Is his name “Mr. Boomerang” or perhaps Jimmy “Boomerang” Stevens? Then chances are he knows how to use a boomerang. You don’t put on a boomerang-covered ensemble for nothing. There’s a chance any “Mr. Boomerang” you encounter could have gotten the nickname figuratively, after exhibiting boomerang-like behavior in dating or whatnot. But, keep a close eye. If he’s holding a boomerang, feel free to rule that out.

If none of the above is true, congrats, you may just be facing someone whose uncle recently visited Australia. Look for further clues. If they’re also wearing some sort of oil-soaked cowboy hat and are working in so-called Aussie slang, and they’re eleven years old, that’s probably the case. If they’ve got the hat but appear older and look more like Paul Hogan, check to see if you’re actually fighting Paul Hogan.

Your opponent being Paul Hogan, someone from Australia, or a boomerang-themed superhero, increases the odds that you’re fighting someone who knows how to use a boomerang.

First, try to get your adversary into an area smaller than a football field. Anything smaller is just too tight of an area for the boomerang to maneuver. If you accomplish this, you’re pretty much in the homestretch.

There’s a moment right after the boomerang owner lets fly, sending the ’rang into a graceful arc, but before it returns to its owner’s hand, where the thrower turns into an ordinary foe without any weapons whatsoever. It’s like facing a gunman with one bullet, a bullet that needs to travel around three city blocks before hitting you. Strike during this period. At some point, turn around to see if the boomerang is about to hit you. It won’t be, not for at least a few more minutes. Keep punching your foe. Check for the ’rang again. If you see it, duck. Then resume the pounding.

HOW TO BEAT UP A GUY NAMED LEFTY

You gotta figure he’s a southpaw, so the standard rules for fighting a southpaw apply. Step to your left, keeping your lead left foot outside of his right foot, moving away from his power hand. Forget about your jab and instead throw the right as much as possible.

(This is good advice for just about any time, regardless of where you are, and whether or not you’re even fighting. You should CONSTANTLY be pumping a hard right hand punch into the air around you, as you’re going about your day, at unexpected times, and with NO WARNING WHATSOEVER. A) for practice, and B) to make sure it’s working properly.

Sound crazy? Well, tell me this. Would you get into your car before dropping to the ground and belly crawling under it to see that the brake line hasn’t been cut and is still functioning? No, of course you wouldn’t. Let’s not be ridiculous. Well, this is the exact same thing.)

Now, what else does the name, “Lefty,” tell us?

Well, for starters, he’s led such an uneventful, undistinguished life of middle-of-the-road averageness, that the fact that he was one of the 60 million left-handed people on the planet, was somehow enough of a unique characteristic to brand him “Lefty” for his entire life. Think about that. That’s what he did. HE WAS BORN LEFT-HANDED … and then sometime later, another—no doubt more accomplished—person noticed, and then dubbed him “Lefty.” Guys nicknamed “Red” pity him. At least they had to grow hair.

Although … a second, more challenging possibility is that just the opposite happened. He was a stud. The best of the best who excelled in numerous areas. All in an attempt to rebrand himself in the eyes of his parents who insisted on continuing to call him “Lefty,” after they fell in love with the nickname at an early age. He thrived in many areas … but sadly, all his parents ever saw was a guy whose hand looked weird when he was writing.

Number one at baseball!

Slugger?

No, Lefty.

Number one at the gun range!

Shooter?

No, Lefty.

Number one in kung fu!

Some Asian word?

No, Lefty.

Despite his best efforts to shake it, the rage at carrying this half-assed moniker around year after year could have crafted a tenacious foe who will not go away easily. Whichever category he falls under, you’ll need to break him mentally, to beat him.

Sidle up to him in a rowdy, crowded bar (the Double Deuce?) while wearing a large, red, clown wig. Shrug while exhaling in an everyman’s “I hear that, brother,” way. Introduce yourself as … “Red.” Then tell him your tale of woe, which will involve people calling you Red regardless of all that you accomplished, or strove to accomplish in life. He will sense in you an ally, and a confidant. Possibly even a kindred spirit. His guard will lower slightly, like a car window to a shifty-looking panhandler the moment before a harsh, “Move it along, deadbeat!” is barked. His guard will be intrigued.

After he buys you beer number six, when he’s good and soused, and totally trusting of his new best pal, turn to him suddenly and conk him on the side of the head with the palm of your hand. When he tries to ask you what you’re doing, conk him again. Conk him until he starts fighting back … I’m sorry, this is the right technique, but I have to admit, “conk” is just a fun word to say.

During this fight, you’re going to set off a domino effect of insecurity and doubt within Lefty, that will render him an impotent, quivering mass of humanity. This is how.

At some point during the melee, your wig will fall off. This is a failing of the clown wig manufacturers: Their wigs are just not made to stand up to a pounding. I guess clowns are pretty smug and confident in the feeling that most people won’t attack them; this will be to your advantage. As the wig tumbles off your noggin, Lefty’s heart will drop like a stone. He’ll realize he’s been had. But good.

Lefty:
“Why, Red? Why did you lie to me?”

You:
“Oh, I have lied, Lefty.… But the lie count is at two.… Not one.”

Lefty:
“WHAT???”

You:
“You see … my name’s not Red.”

Lefty: “Whyyyy?!?”

The waitress places a glass of milk in front of you.

Lefty:
“What about your lactose intolerance?!? Another lie?”

You:
(Dead-eyed stare, as you drink the milk.)

That sound you hear is the fight going out of ole Lefty. Finish your food … and then finish him. The coroner’s report will read “subdural hematoma”… but you and I know Lefty died of a broken heart.

Broken from punching.

HOW TO BEAT UP A GUY HELPING A SCARED KITTEN OUT OF A TREE

Oh, really? Does attacking a man helping a kitten sound horrible to you? I’m sorry, I thought we were in the “How-to-Beat-Up” business, not the “cupcakes and pretty unicorns” business. (Yes, I know the membership cards say, “Cupcakes and Unicorns Association,” but as I said, that was a printing mistake. Deal with it.) Maybe you don’t have the heart for this. Or the balls. Or the stomach. Come to think of it, I think you’re missing numerous body parts crucial to winning battles.

If the mere fact that a man is helping a sweet-faced, fur-covered ball of heavenliness will stop you from punching him in the forehead, I’m not sure you’re cut out for this. I guess, if you really need motivation, you could imagine the man intends to do harm to the kitten. And honestly, who’s to say what he’s done in his life, prior to deciding to help out an innocent, sparkly eyed slice of adorable. He could be evil. Helping one kitten does not wipe out a lifetime of violence and tyranny (the judge was quite clear on this).

The main point is, conjure the motivation you require because at some point in your life you might need to fight a man helping a scared kitten out of a tree. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.

Wait for the man to begin climbing the tree before you strike. Kill time by milling about with the other concerned onlookers, occasionally looking up at the kitten and saying something like: “Man, it sure is pleasing to my eyes, how he approximates human emotions with his animal-head. It’s almost like he has greater intelligence than science tells us is possible.… That l’il S.O.B.… He’s got some nerve acting like a people, but I for one like it.” Feel free to read grammatically inaccurate sayings attributed to cats, as found on the Internet, in the voice of the stuck kitten: “I can haz booz and pills to bye-bye?” This will win over the crowd.

As soon as the man starts climbing, quickly begin climbing the opposite side of the tree. Catch up to him, then begin battering him in the calf and thigh region. He will be OUTRAGED. Some of the crowd who’d previously been on your side, will have their allegiance tested. They may yell: “What the hell are you doing?!? He’s trying to help!” Immediately stop punching the man.

If he kicks at you, climb down the tree until you are out of his range. Assure everyone, including the man, that you don’t know what came over you, and that you’re done punching his thigh. Make eye contact. If you can hold your hands out with palms up in a conciliatory manner, without falling out of the tree, do so now.