By JAMIE SHANKS of the Weyburn Review
I did some thinking recently.
After I was done, I listened to a couple of those new tunes by Madonna and I thought, "You know, that broad still has a great set of pipes." Sure, she's visibly starting to show the effects of the mileage she has racked up on her spiritual odometer after fornicating her way through the most appalling acts of debauchery ever devised by the mind of man on 10,000 consecutive nights of embracing the forces of pure evil - but that golden throat of hers can still hit the high notes, no doubt about it.
Then I recalled listening to the once-mighty David Lee Roth belt out one of those reunion songs he recorded with Van Halen a while back and I thought to myself, "Now there's a guy whose range is totally shot." Once the toast of Tinseltown who drove screaming mobs of wimmin hog-wild in his buttless leather pants, mane of golden locks and ribboned scimitar on stages across the land, Diamond Dave then conducted an extended tour of the Las Vegas skids for most of the past 10 years before folding the cruddy hand Fate dealt him and is now pulling the handle on his karmic one-armed bandit one last time with a new CD. The word on the street is that it rocks pretty hard, so perhaps I'll be sitting down for a hearty helping of steaming-hot crow in the near future and Lord knows it won't be the first time I've partaken of humble pie baked just for me.
It also occurs to me that I haven't reviewed a movie in some time, so here goes: I rented Mimic the other week and it was good.
Now I'd like to do-si-do into my next subject, which happens to be the Dragon himself, Bruce Lee, the all-time Master of the Martial Arts and most dangerous man on Earth before his brain exploded back in the '70s. Before I can discuss him, however, I must digress for but a moment to sing the praises of Hong Kong product Jackie Chan, the clown prince of kung fu and real-life modern day superhero.
Yes, I said superhero. What else can you possibly call this mutha? He knows the 99 Punches of Instant Death. He breaks bricks and stuff with his head. He beats up bad guys using umbrellas and shopping carts. He literally leaps from building to building and clings to helicopters. He gets all the chicks. He's got a hole in his melon from falling out of a gigantic tree on the set of Armour of God and busting his cranium open so bad you could see his brain thinking, "We gotta shoot that scene again."
But if you think he's tough, try messing with Bruce Lee. I had a dream about him recently which I will now relate here to the delight and awe of psychiatrists everywhere.
It seems that a prominent local business owner - who will naturally remain unnamed - was holding a high society wine-and-cheese bash. Myself and Mr. Lee were lured away from the guests and inside the house where we were attacked and overcome with poison gas. The joint was then pumped full of propane in hopes of causing an explosion that would make our untimely demises look like an accident. I awoke, however, and kicked out the windows and doors to save the day, whereupon the host burst in with a huge hired goon in an expensive suit bent on murder in the first degree. Knowing trouble when I saw it, I managed to wake up the Dragon, who immediately laid a flying reverse noodle kick on the goon and then karate-chopped him in half.
Like, clean in half. I woke up right about then. Fortunately.
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