The Finger-Thucking Wrethler

James is my cowboy ninja. He is fearsome and bad to the bone. His favorite thing in the whole wide world, as they say, though he hardly knows what lies beyond “them hills”, is to wrestle. He makes feral noises while he leaps across furniture, flying through the air and swiftly kicking down doors. He is a deadly weapon. And a study in contradictions

James’ body is a formidable STSD (Soft Texture Seeking Device). His eyes, the Ocular STSDs are highly trained and skilled in this sensory operation.  They are on the frontlines of The Mission. These  binocular STSDs swiftly scan a room upon entry to see if any soft textures lie around unappreciated. They summarily divide the room’s height, breadth, and width,  and visually locate  subjects, a rare and difficult sciart(combination of a field that’s a science and an art) called oculocation. At this stage, his body enters a trance as it responds to the irresistible lure  of the subject. This trance state allows all system energies to be funneled to the STSD.

His left forefinger and thumb make up the Digit STSD. This DSTSD is the principal confirmating feature of The Mission and has astonishing prowess and accuracy. It is intricately tuned to the nanounit and serves as the final test of approval. He can be found on the couch sucking his finger while he fondles dad’s hair or in my closet drawers tracking down satin. For years now he has worn his pants and underwear with the tag facing forward. Reaching back for tags might compromise system security, not to mention it is less practical when one is lounging on his or her back. Needless to say, he doesn’t wear just any pants or underwear. Not only do they need to have camouflage print but the tag has to meet stringent STSD standards.

Unfortunately for him, around the age of three he had to stop reaching down women’s shirts. Women had difficulty  cooperating with this aspect of The Mission.  He even tried warming up to them and getting them to adore him before doing the Stealth Dive. Their eyes expanded to an unnatural size and every last one made a visceral whelp. Even rather large women jumped to astonishing heights when he executed this maneuver.  They were surprisingly predictable. They took it personally. Did they not fathom what softness laid yonder awaiting confirmating?  But I digress.

His older brother and I are planning his wrestling career for it is a promising one. We can see it now, his opponent, let’s call him Thunderwear will come walking towards the wrestling ring, the crowd gone wild. He has gnarly scars on his face, and a proud snarl to go with them. Grossly bulging arms are held by two women who are almost dressed. He has won many a match and inspires his opponents to piddle their pants, but today Thunderwear is visibly alarmed, and has reason to be.

The massive doors swing open and the frenzied  crowd is stilled to an ominous hush. Even the commentator is speechless. James’ eyes are narrowed. The mob steps back to let him pass, melting in fear. A spectator passes out, overwhelmed.

As soon as he gets on the ring, the drums roll and the  crowd rises like a pulsating chanting monster. The fight lasts but a few minutes. It is painfully predictable, much like the women down whose bosoms James thrust his 3 year old hands. The paramedics strap Thunderwear’s limp remains to a gurney. The crowd pays its respects then thunders to life as James leaves the ring in his signature stance – sucking his right forefinger and fondling his underwear tag with his left hand. He hardly notices the cheers. It’s been a good day in the ring.


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