I keep seeing posts of Facebook asking “What’s your lineage?”  I just can’t take the question seriously with my complete lack of ability in the art.  Saying I’m descendant from Helio Gracie in any way, shape, or form is like saying my cat is descendant from a lion.  It might be technically true in some way, but something gets lost in translation.  The metaphor holds, because I mostly like to lay around on the couch and eat canned food fed to me on a paper plate by my wife, much like my cat.  Also, I would lick my balls if I could.

Anyhoo, I digress.  My private lessons are coming along great, which means I’ve almost mastered the second stripe curriculum at the white belt level, which apparently doesn’t mean shit judging by the frequency with which the other white belts continue to kick my ass.  Sandbagging motherfuckers. Wear a gi.  Go to class.  If you’ve been training for five years and you’re a no-stripe white belt, I’m talking to you.

In honor of these gentle few, a Fat Guy Haiku:

Go to class you fuck.

You’re making me look like shit,

With your no-stripe belt.

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