SKIRMISHER

Of all the better persons I might have dreamed about last night, the guy who made it was Cardinal Sin.

For those who are not in the know, Cardinal Sin died last year. But last night, he was not only alive, but he was also in my taekwondo class.

In the dream, I’m kicking this tough-looking Chinese man who doesn’t feel a thing even if I’m trying to smash his balls with my powerful roundhouses; he’s just smiling there and saying, “Bring it on, bring it on, how do you say Chuck fucking Norris, eh?”

Then I realize one of the new recruits gawping around us is Cardinal Sin. Here, however, he looks young; he’s got the my-spy-can-kick-the-ass-of-your-spy aura of Bond, James Bond.

So I leave Bruce Lee and pad to Cardinal Sin, and ask him, “Are you who I think you are?”

He says something non sequitur like, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”

“Jesus,” I say, “You’re dead, but you’re still full of crap. What are you doing here?”

“I got kicked out,” he says. “From heaven’s shining garden. Everybody hates seeing me because I remind them of sin. Duh! What can I do? That’s my name. Hello?”

“Ha ha ha—very funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“Still, it’s funny.”

Cardinal Sin says nothing and pouts. He says, “So I’m trying to learn taekwondo here and go back to those bullies and give them a taste of hell. No pun intended. That Mike the Archangel—I’ll smash that gold-plated Roman breastplate on his golden head. Can you dig that? It’s been almost two thousand years since the Roman phalanx became history, but he still wears that outfit to impress the girls. I’ll show the bastard who has bigger cojones.”

“You’re amazing with puns. Please teach me, oh, good cardinal.”

“Oh, shut up. I have enough of that sarcasm. And besides, I haven’t even started yet. Can we spar?”

“Sure,” I say. Then I kick him in the balls even before he’s able to make a defensive stance. He winces. He drops to the floor on his knees; there are tears in his eyes. He says, “Fuck!—err, I mean, Oh, Jesus Christ! This taekwondo business is not good. I don’t think I can make it here.”

“Oh no, hang around. Wait for FPJ. I hear he’s coming here to teach us something.”

Cardinal Sin’s eyes light up. “You serious?”

“Yeah. He’ll teach you how to mix taekwondo with those lightning-fast punches he used to serve Paquito and Romy Diaz.”

“Oh my,” Cardinal Sin says. There’s hope in his eyes. “I guess I’ll prime up whatever puny stuff I have.”

[The "caped crusader" Sin aspires to become]

Then he goes to the speedbag to practice some more. The speedbag has Joseph Estrada’s photo plastered on it. Sin makes a go at it so earnestly that he reminds you of Hillary Swank in Million Dollar Baby.

And I’m thinking, maybe I’ll have Chuck Norris come over and wear an FPJ mask. Chuck Norris’s roundhouses are deadly, I give him that. Have you seen that movie where Chuck walks into a room and everybody dies like flies? It would be cool to see him fight Jackie Chan, Steven Seagal and Rey Malonzo, but the odds become crazier when you mess with the Voice of God. Do I really think Chuck has a chance with the guy who was bringing down presidents when he could and issuing apologies when he could not?

Hmmm. Let’s see who wins this time.

Stumble it!