“Hey, I’d like to attempt this throw on some other body types,” says the skinny dude, twinkle in his gleaming eye. What he really means is, “I’d like to hear the sound the floor makes when I bounce chubbikins on his head with this judo move that I’m an expert at.”  So, I get thrown.  It’s like a right of passage.  Oh, you did it fine on me, but if you can do it on the fat dude you know your technique is good.  Either that, or it’s like learning to use your art in the worst possible case scenario.  Like, say, a Neanderthal springs from the bushes and outweighs you by 250 lbs.  Or, if you absolutely have to fight a grizzly bear. Yeah, better be ready for that.

And, while I’m at it….what the fuck is Judo?  It looks like the fucking riverdance combined with a two step.  Is it any wonder people fall down?  I’ve got a great idea.  Let’s find as many things as we can that fat people are bad at and roll them into one sport.  Timing.  Check.  Balance.  Check.  The precision of a fucking ballerina.  Check.  Yep, I’m bad at all those.  Sweet, let’s call it fucking Judo.

Here’s a judo haiku for you:

I’m twirling in air;
gravity seems to hate me.
I just got judoed.

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