Punching Tom Hanks: Dropkicking Gorillas and Pummeling Zombified Ex-Presidents---A Guide to Beating Up Anything (13 page)

HOW TO BEAT UP SINGER AIMEE MANN

(with a rebuttal from Aimee)

Critically lauded, Academy Award–loser Aimee Mann wears many hats: singer, songwriter, producer, green felt one with a feather in it … Not impressed? Does this battle sound like a tune-up fight to you? An easy lay-up. (I believe this is some sort of “non-punching sport” related phrase. From hopscotch, maybe?) Well, think again. For two reasons:

1.
I’ve seen her train and spar in the gym. Under the watchful, bespectacled eyes of Hall-of-Fame boxing trainer Freddie Roach she was able to box the shit out of an opponent fifteen years her junior. She telegraphed her punches a bit. (Literally, there was an old man in her corner tapping electrical signals into a small device every time she threw. It was SO EASY to pick up on.) And she also utilized a slightly too high guard that left her open to body attacks, but otherwise she looked good.

2.
She has a voice like an angel … an angel with crazy hobo eyes, who’s trying to punch you straight to hell. Big deal, you say? Well, much like the ancient sirens of legend, luring sailors to their deaths along treacherous rock-filled waters, she, too, can use her voice to dangerous effect. You know how some singers tug at your heartstrings? She takes those strings, ties them to the bumper of a truck, then signals the driver to pop the clutch and gun it out of the parking lot before you even get the chance to blink. Your heart gets yanked out through your mouth and bounced along the highway like a “Just Married” tin can at fifty miles an hour.

For real, if you allow her sweeping melodic tales of woe and love lost to penetrate your earholes while trying to punch her, you’re as good as dead. Ever try to fight someone while a wave of your own thick, regret-filled tears covers your eyes and mouth like a curtain of liquid sorrow? If you’ve ever lived in Florida, you probably have. Either way, it ain’t ideal. She’ll have you on the ground and curled into the fetal position, sobbing over the memory of lost lovers you DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU FUCKING HAD. Then, she’s got you.

You CANNOT let her get a song out. Not even a few notes. Plug your ears with wine corks the second you find out you even MIGHT be fighting troubadour Aimee Mann. Using a jeweler’s hammer, tap the corks into your ears until the pain makes it impossible to proceed. Then, file the corks down until they’re no longer visible to the naked eye—actually, I think they make silicon earplugs now, you could just get them, I guess. Your call.

When her song stylings fail to produce instant tears she’ll be momentarily thrown. Immediately sing something back at her. Anything. A hymn, nursery rhyme, old camp song, jingle, jangle, it doesn’t matter. Her rage at your butchering of her art form will cause her to lose control and charge you, once again leaving her body open. Work the body, until she drops. You’re gonna be
Bachelor No. 2
hitting her with left hooks number 3, 4 and 5 all night long.

Only then will Aimee truly discover that “1” is the loneliest number, when she’s all alone, flat on her back, staring up at your raised triumphant fists …

AIMEE MANN’S REBUTTAL

When I first realized the “comedian” Kevin Seccia had written a tutorial on how to beat me up, I was incensed. Then I was amused. Then incensed again. Then … well, this went back-and-forth for a while, until I landed on incensed and stayed there. The very IDEA of a numbskull like him thinking he could beat me up! Well, turnabout is fair play, my friend—now the HUNTER becomes the HUNTED.

First of all, let’s take stock: Kevin Seccia, half Asian, half Caucasian; early thirties; steady diet of donuts, whiskey, and ham sandwiches; exercises maybe twenty minutes a week. (Does crawling around your apartment in the dark groping for your underwear count as exercise? Then let’s make it an hour a week.) He’s had only one real fight, unless you’re including “fighting a giant hangover,” and there he’s 0–45. I know what you’re thinking … “Half Asian??? He could know all sorts of martial arts! Kung fu! Jujitsu!” Well, rest easy, my friend … THAT half is Korean, and all THEY have is weird barbeque. What’s that you say? “The Koreans have tae kwon do?” Is that Korean for “make opponent go blind with reflection from giant moon face?” Then I guess you better watch out, because Kevin DOES know tae kwon do after all.

And you, his opponent—what do
you
have? A rolled-up sock? A knotted napkin? A curled lip? Your chances are good. He’s so out of shape that the first blow you strike, anywhere on his doughy, flaccid form, will cause him to collapse with a hiss like an inflatable clown. But don’t get cocky and think it’s going to be quite THAT easy—the one advantage he has is that he’s smart and canny. Sure, he’s an out-of-shape blob who drinks and smokes too much, is totally undisciplined about training, and wheezes while pressing
BUY AND RECORD
on the PPV boxing matches we watch together. BUT—while he’s watching, he’s gathering information. He squirrels away every between-round command, every piece of on-air commentary, every one of Teddy Atlas’s “Keys to Victory”—and if he gets lucky and has a spurt of energy, you could find yourself suddenly swarmed with hung-up right hands, left-hand triple-punch combinations, paralyzed sciatic nerve hip punches that make your legs go out, and a Freddie Roach-style elbow to the chin. So get in there and do the job fast, before his sluggish reflexes have a chance to kick in.

And if you’re ME, whatever the outcome, just think about those Grammy and Oscar nominations, those sold-out concerts, those rave reviews, and you’ll know who the REAL winner is …

—Aimee Mann

11/13/10

HOW TO BEAT UP OLYMPIAN MICHAEL PHELPS

Not just an Olympian but an eight-time gold-medal-winning Olympian. It’s true. Not a lot of people heard about that part.

There are two schools of thought on Michael Phelps—those that feel that Michael Phelps captured the imagination of our country, and those fiercely opposing them, who insist the correct way of referring to the phenomenon is to say that Michael Phelps carried on a love affair with America.

To those in the former group—Michael did indeed capture the imagination of the entire country. Unfortunately, he was unable to keep it prisoner—even with some controversial marijuana use—and a short time after that it escaped from him, never to return. But don’t fret, Michael. You flew higher and burned brighter than most of us ever will, much like the proverbial phoenix, minus that part where the phoenix rises from the ashes. Nowadays, like most ex-Olympians, you’re forced to make a home among those ashes, forever looking like you just finished rubbing a newspaper on your face and body—clothes frayed, hair dusty, endorsements nonexistent.

(Hmm. As I was typing that last sentence an alarm started going off in my apartment. I’ve set up a forty-foot perimeter around the premises, with a hair-trigger alarm rigged to signal me if so much as a butterfly’s wing alights on a stray cotton ball, and it just sounded. Or … it could be that my plastic tub of Soup-ables is done microwaving … One second while I check …

Oh, shit … looks like it’s BOTH. I should see what the ruckus is outside, but this soup really doesn’t keep for longer than a few seconds … Soup it is! If I go, I go with a full stomach …

Postscript. It was the mailman. Okay, back to Phelps.)

Here’s what you must do if you wish to defeat Michael Phelps. The thing is, out of water, he’s a mortal man, no different than you or me.

On land, he’s susceptible to punches, kicks, just about anything you can dream up. In the water? In the water, he is a raging dynamo of strength, speed, and grace that could bring a tear to your eyes and a shocked whisper to your lips. A whisper he would then punch back inside of you. He can control dolphins (according to legend, he high-fives them) and create whirlpools with a mere thought. I think my point is clear—hunt him on dry land.

Warning:
You might get cocky, batting him around like a rag doll on dry land, and decide to start taking chances. Do not. You could have his hit points down 99 percent, but if he’s able to immerse himself in water for even a split second HE WILL IMMEDIATELY GAIN ALL HIS STRENGTH BACK. AND HIS NECK WILL NOW HAVE THREE PINK GILLS ON EACH SIDE FLAPPING IN AND OUT, LIKE THEY’RE BREATHING HARD AND IT WILL LOOK WEIRD AND YOU WON’T WANT TO TOUCH THEM. Then, it’s game over. Just like that. Turns out he was playing water polo, when the whole time you only thought it was regular polo. Dumb.

At this point he’ll butt you with his head like a seal until you die.

A NOTE ON WEAPONS

Part One

A good weapon can be the difference in a closely contested fight. Though not the most honorable way to win, and frowned upon by some, the avoidance of your end surely justifies the means. As Winston Churchill said: “History is written by the victors.” Don’t you want to get to write a history book? Well then, listen up …

A SOCK FULL OF NICKELS

A sock full of nickels is invaluable in a brawl. It’s compact, easy to wield, and handy when heading to a fight on the opposite side of a tollbooth. Consider it your new best friend … Sorry, Derek.
*
†

Grip the sock close to the nickel-end. Don’t allow too much slack as that can cause the weapon to get out of control. Target the back of the head and, if facing your adversary, the point of the chin. Swing away!

If you feel the fight slipping away from you, slice a small hole in the sock and dash it against the ground, sending nickels flying everywhere. Immediately a flock of hobos will descend upon the nickels, obscuring everything in a grubby cloud of motion, allowing you to safely make your escape.

GLIMMERON

Weapons are fantastic, but they can also be hard to find and expensive. Oftentimes you don’t have one around when you need it. This entry will address those problems by teaching you how to improvise, showing you how to create a deadly weapon out of ordinary household items you probably already have. I call this weapon a
glimmeron.

1.
Take a regular old soup can, empty it out, and then clean it.

2.
Using duct tape found at any hardware or convenience store, reinforce the bottom third of the can by wrapping the tape around it at least five times.

3.
Cut the bottom of the can off (the end reinforced with the tape) using a hacksaw.

4.
Take a wire clothes hanger, unbend it and push it all the way through the can, then bend it back along the outside, twisting the two ends together where you started.

5.
Take a .45 handgun and insert it into the end of the can.

6.
Bend the hanger wire around the trigger guard of the gun, securing it to the can.

And you’re all set! Instant weapon. Fire this weapon at your target by pulling the trigger of the gun. Also, aim it using the sight on the end of the gun. Reload it as you would any normal gun. It really is that easy.

A handmade glimmeron.

PROPELLER HAT

(with sharpened propeller blade)

A perfectly charming—and yet hidden to the untrained eye—weapon. This one says, “Oh, look at me, I’m just a harmless sort wearing a nice cap festooned with a delightful propeller on top. Look at it twirl as I happily lick away at an oversized lollipop, not a care in the world … Sure, the fact that I appear to be well over thirty years old might give one cause for some additional scrutiny … but at least I’m still unarmed.”