I WON'T Shut Up!
by Ryan Glowczewski

I awoke that day angry. Mad as hell. My strong vegan blood a-pumping, I lept from my new futon with a resounding "hyeah". The world had gone too far. I wasn't going to take it anymore. Things were about to change. I left my room and took a bath in the water rushing down the side of the mountain. I then meditated, unsuccesfully attempting to purge the unease from my mind. Placing the Sword-of-The- Dancing-Dragon into its scabbard, I went to breakfast.

As I sat at the table, eating my organiclly home grown, all-natural (hell-~&@#ing yeah) oatmeal, I began to read the newspaper. First stop, the comics. After finishing the comics and crying a thousand tears over the absence of Calvin and Hobbes, I returned to the front page. The top headline caught my eye:

"Conservative Big Shots Do Evil Stuff"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

But I was not screaming futiley. No. It was a war cry with all my liberal muster. My "Fur is Murder" T-shirt ripped at its seems.

Someone would have to pay. I needed a target, someone to play the kung-fool to my Jackie Chan.

Using my technique of ten-thousand-crippled-fists, I lept from my home and landed five blows to Charlton Heston's head. I had picked a strong and powerful first target, but it was well.

Though old, Heston had the experience that comes from a lifetime of fighting apes and parting seas. However, my chi (the inner force within us all) was strong and focused and when he reached for his rifle, the Dance-of-4-Harmonius-Pandas finished him off.

Robbed of their head, the NRA was soon disposed of by my unstoppable command of Leftist-Rat Style.

Before resting for a quick lunch, I spent ten seasons learning to channel my liberal anger in order to master the tenth circle of Infinite-Broken-Chain.

Lunch was an apple, protein powder, and some organic, all-vegan dirt.

After swallowing the last rock on my plate, I heard Gaia cry for vengance.

Using Prancing-Tiger Form's Tap-of-Soundless-Thunder, I helped oppressed labors in my home town's McDonald's. Crying for the vengance of mother earth's children, I then hip-tossed the entire McDonald's corporation on its back, and threatend the Palm-Strike-of-Forty-Two-Demons, if it did not yield. I then turned Mcdonalds and it's fellow Bandits-of-Fast Food into distribution centers for Food Not Bombs (an organization which supplies free vegan meals).

My chi had become so focused it was as the legendary Candle-of-Eternal-Flaming-Panthers. I was able to reverse all of the fast food industry's ecological destruction with only a "Kia!".

Reality now bended to my mere will. I destroyed the tobacco industry by sheer force of will, finding jobs for its former employees teaching inner-city youth not only how to read, but also a modern version of Laughing-Dingo style.

I stopped for dinner at Soul Vegetarian(on Lee Rd, near Cedar Rd, in a suburb of Cleveland) and split a combo basket with my foreign, barbarian friend George.

I started a political band. We sold 5 billion records, and donated all of the proceeds to the cause of misabused labor around the world.

My white male liberal guilt started to rise. I spent six phases of the moon practising the art of Mad-Hopping-Devil. It's Spitting-Eagle-Knife-Edge-Strike, would be invaluable.

By Punching-Through-Ten-Thousand Men I solved the problems of racism, sexism, and homophobia in one blow. My opponents strong and numerous, the pure light of my motives seemingly small against them, I am prepared.

At the end of the day, there were still problems in the world. But I knew I must rest. Even a Hero-Legend is human. I dreamed of the Six-Millon-and-Five-Bat-Maidens-of-Earth. Tomorrow my anger shall be as cold iron.