Punching Tom Hanks: Dropkicking Gorillas and Pummeling Zombified Ex-Presidents---A Guide to Beating Up Anything by Kevin Seccia Page A
Authors: Kevin Seccia
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KEVIN: What if I was in that giant robot suit from Avatar and Manny was pinned under a fallen tree. And he was reading a book. Let’s say … tree falls on him, he finds a book nearby, gets swept up in the story, so he doesn’t see me … Who wins?
FREDDIE: There’s no miracle that’s gonna help you.
KEVIN: Manny is the best boxer ever to fight at the Wild Card Gym, while I am easily, the worst. Wouldn’t that put us roughly on even terms? The fact that we embody opposite ends of the Wild Card spectrum like that? Like, black and white, good and evil, awesome at boxing and atrocious at boxing.
FREDDIE: In your fantasy world, maybe.
KEVIN: How do you see a fight between Manny and me playing out? You don’t think I can win, I get that. So, what are you saying, it’s a close twelve-round decision? Split decision, maybe?
FREDDIE: No, I think it’ll be the fastest knockout of all-time. Which is five seconds. You’d be in the record books.
KEVIN: Let’s go a different way for a second. Who is a Hall-of-Fame boxer who you believe could’ve beaten Manny?
FREDDIE: Sugar Ray Leonard.
KEVIN: Okay … Now, do you think I could’ve beaten Sugar Ray Leonard?
FREDDIE: No.
KEVIN: You’ve seen me fight here at the Wild Card, what would you say my strengths are?
FREDDIE: You don’t have any. Weaknesses, we can go on for a long time …
KEVIN: Which force of nature would you compare my left hook to? Avalanche? Tornado?
FREDDIE: A butterfly.
KEVIN: Thanks, Freddie.
So, there it is. A lot of different ways to interpret the above interview. Obviously Freddie and I don’t see 100 percent eye to eye on the fight, but overall we seem to be on the same page. As good as Manny is, as impressive as he’s been, we just don’t know how he’d react under the kind of heat I’d bring. As Freddie is a friend of mine, I could never fight his star pupil, so the world will have to be content never knowing the outcome of such a titanic clash of warriors.
HOW TO BEAT UP CLINT EASTWOOD?
Clint Eastwood is, of course, a creature brought to life after a bolt of lightning struck a saddle left to dry in the sun after whiskey was accidentally spilled on it. Lightning, which emerged from what just seconds prior had been a clear blue sky.
Clint Eastwood shares a few qualities with humans; he grew from a baby into a young man and after that, a full-grown man. Then—as opposed to humans who hit a mark around fifty years of age where they begin to regress, with manhood leaving them in a maelstrom of shrinking, softening, and faltering—Eastwood continued on an upward manhood trajectory; growing more craggy, fearsome, macho, and yes, more intimidating.
Eastwood at age seven.
Clint’s specialty is calling out “punks” and oftentimes “no good punks.” He has no tolerance for them in any way, whatsoever. A punk will send him into a violent furious rage, which you will be able to identify by a slight, extra intense narrowing of his already squinting eyes.
A punk can be defined as: a whiny teen; a harried businessman; an outlaw on the run; a woman; a dog following him for no reason; a biker from the ’70s; a biker from the ’80s; a guy in a Volvo trying to nab a parking spot; a young, wet-behind-the-ears know-it-all fresh from the academy who doesn’t know jack-shit about dick-all; a Native American; any kind of American; a biker from the ’90s; Jack Elam; someone trying to prevent Clint Eastwood from escaping from a prison; men with guns; men who dig; Kevin Costner; harried housewives; the former New York Ranger Adam Graves; a talking chimpanzee; a guy whipping a horse; people who cheat at cards; people who lollygag, gawk, or otherwise dawdle; renegade Indian chiefs; non-renegade Indian chiefs who are just doing their job; Tyne Daly; those who enjoy punk music; certain rappers; chiefs of police; weirdos; fat cats; actual cats; the sun; the moon; Elliot Gould; the diplodocus; anything with a prehensile tail; and on
KEVIN: What if I was in that giant robot suit from Avatar and Manny was pinned under a fallen tree. And he was reading a book. Let’s say … tree falls on him, he finds a book nearby, gets swept up in the story, so he doesn’t see me … Who wins?
FREDDIE: There’s no miracle that’s gonna help you.
KEVIN: Manny is the best boxer ever to fight at the Wild Card Gym, while I am easily, the worst. Wouldn’t that put us roughly on even terms? The fact that we embody opposite ends of the Wild Card spectrum like that? Like, black and white, good and evil, awesome at boxing and atrocious at boxing.
FREDDIE: In your fantasy world, maybe.
KEVIN: How do you see a fight between Manny and me playing out? You don’t think I can win, I get that. So, what are you saying, it’s a close twelve-round decision? Split decision, maybe?
FREDDIE: No, I think it’ll be the fastest knockout of all-time. Which is five seconds. You’d be in the record books.
KEVIN: Let’s go a different way for a second. Who is a Hall-of-Fame boxer who you believe could’ve beaten Manny?
FREDDIE: Sugar Ray Leonard.
KEVIN: Okay … Now, do you think I could’ve beaten Sugar Ray Leonard?
FREDDIE: No.
KEVIN: You’ve seen me fight here at the Wild Card, what would you say my strengths are?
FREDDIE: You don’t have any. Weaknesses, we can go on for a long time …
KEVIN: Which force of nature would you compare my left hook to? Avalanche? Tornado?
FREDDIE: A butterfly.
KEVIN: Thanks, Freddie.
So, there it is. A lot of different ways to interpret the above interview. Obviously Freddie and I don’t see 100 percent eye to eye on the fight, but overall we seem to be on the same page. As good as Manny is, as impressive as he’s been, we just don’t know how he’d react under the kind of heat I’d bring. As Freddie is a friend of mine, I could never fight his star pupil, so the world will have to be content never knowing the outcome of such a titanic clash of warriors.
HOW TO BEAT UP CLINT EASTWOOD?
Clint Eastwood is, of course, a creature brought to life after a bolt of lightning struck a saddle left to dry in the sun after whiskey was accidentally spilled on it. Lightning, which emerged from what just seconds prior had been a clear blue sky.
Clint Eastwood shares a few qualities with humans; he grew from a baby into a young man and after that, a full-grown man. Then—as opposed to humans who hit a mark around fifty years of age where they begin to regress, with manhood leaving them in a maelstrom of shrinking, softening, and faltering—Eastwood continued on an upward manhood trajectory; growing more craggy, fearsome, macho, and yes, more intimidating.
Eastwood at age seven.
Clint’s specialty is calling out “punks” and oftentimes “no good punks.” He has no tolerance for them in any way, whatsoever. A punk will send him into a violent furious rage, which you will be able to identify by a slight, extra intense narrowing of his already squinting eyes.
A punk can be defined as: a whiny teen; a harried businessman; an outlaw on the run; a woman; a dog following him for no reason; a biker from the ’70s; a biker from the ’80s; a guy in a Volvo trying to nab a parking spot; a young, wet-behind-the-ears know-it-all fresh from the academy who doesn’t know jack-shit about dick-all; a Native American; any kind of American; a biker from the ’90s; Jack Elam; someone trying to prevent Clint Eastwood from escaping from a prison; men with guns; men who dig; Kevin Costner; harried housewives; the former New York Ranger Adam Graves; a talking chimpanzee; a guy whipping a horse; people who cheat at cards; people who lollygag, gawk, or otherwise dawdle; renegade Indian chiefs; non-renegade Indian chiefs who are just doing their job; Tyne Daly; those who enjoy punk music; certain rappers; chiefs of police; weirdos; fat cats; actual cats; the sun; the moon; Elliot Gould; the diplodocus; anything with a prehensile tail; and on
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