“This seems like a Saturday sort of thing,” he thought out loud, not quite sure whether or not it was even Saturday. He proceeded to lift his butt from the chair and slowly released vicious gas. It sounded like the last sputter of a dilapidated motorboat, and it was with this new discovery of foul air that he realized it was actually Sunday. This would not be the first time Ralph Lawrence was acquainted with shame.
In 1972, “Kung Fu Fighting” by Carl Douglas was a monumental hit. I was 10 years old, and to my great dismay, it was very easy to replace Kung Fu with Sung Koo. The white kids, jagoffs, each and every one of them, would taunt me with their off pitch caterwauling. It would have been charming if I was capable of actually fighting. I am pretty sure life would be very different today if I knew a martial art.