Vexing and Vicious Violence at VURAS pt II

Continuation from here...

I resent all suggestions and assumptions that Milo was the object of an a** whooping and blacked out during the encounter. I do believe that the training took over during the encounter and, being in that state of limbo where body, mind + chi are one, normal memories are not available within cerebrum.

Anyway, back to the story… where was I…

I remember said wathii attempting to attack Priti, I remember Zee and I rushing to join in the fray, I remember trying to unleash a Shaolin temple kick with accompanying “kiaiiiiii”, I remember nothing else…

Morning memories
Next thing I remember was the cool breeze of the morning wind outside Carni sobering me up… I found myself within the confines of the cloak-room between the drive-in entrance and exit, Zee by my side… Being 6 feet (4 minus 4)” and Zee being slightly taller than a hottentot pygmy, we were as innocuously unnoticeable as a Ugandan chick’s butt amongst Japanese ones or the pink lips on those Nubians in Asterix. Surprise of all surprises was that Priti Bwaai was not amongst the cloak-room tenants. Turns out that he’s pals with the bouncers hence they let him off with a stern-ish warning…

A** whopped my diabs
I had a sharp pain in my ribs which I attributed to the spoils of war during the preceding battle… I was later to find out that it was as a consequence of a poorly executed kick, that allowed Milo’s body to commune with the floor, having met full-force with plain air at a grand height of about 3 feet… Said body was ferried by oh-so gracious bouncers straight to the cloakroom, the excessive 70kgs of weight straining their well-built, well-exercised muscles…

Mojo from the dojo
Anyway, I still believe that the years training and meditation led to my complete annihilation of all opponents using the Drunken master technique. The rib injury could only have resulted from a strain during my execution of a battery of kicks interspersed with cart-wheels. If you don’t believe me, ask Ekipara. This bad-a** dude certified my hands and feet as lethal weapons after an encounter behind the playground swings, All Saints Cathedral nursery, late 70s, early 80s… I must have levitated from the confines of carnivore to the captivity of the cloak-room. There can (and will) be no other explanation…

Epilogue
The rest of the encounter entailed:

• Free transport to Langata police station
• Pleading, beseeching, apologies, cajoling
• The usual parting between fools and their beks
• Postponement of an certain early morning meeting due to “something urgent has come up” reasons

No more scoopers support for me, no more rasa rescues… My Shaolin techniques are an option of the last resort!!!