Yeah, that’s right. Read the title again slowly and absorb every painfully true word. Make sure to consider yourself amply forewarned, because, thanks to Ron Lundgren of Lundgren’s X-Treme Judo House, I am a walking bad day.

Go ahead, grab my wrist, you worthless bastard. Yep, just like that, your right hand over my left hand. And watch yourself kiss your own elbow.

Or if, God forbid, you’re stupid enough to grab both wrists, go right ahead. No, wait, not like that, hand over hand, yeah—good. Observe as I disengage myself and enact the most heinous hip toss ever.

Oh, you got a knife, and you’re so bold you’re gonna run at me in the classic stabbing posture? Fine, just fine. Let’s see which we hear first: the clinking of the knife or the snap of your elbow.

I know you didn’t just try to pull a wooden gun on me. It’s your funeral; it’ll take me less than four seconds to find the right pressure point on your hand. And the whole time, you’re just standing there, mystified by my unimpeachable technique.

Because, in addition to my normally fierce combat ethic, I now possess a certificate, signed in pen by Ron himself, verifying my more than nominally forbidding aptitude. Just ask that little punk at the dojo. The last thing he saw before he hit the floor was the pristine gleam of my yellow belt. And to think I had let my wrists go so long unprotected. Well, regardless, there’s a new sheriff in town, and I flipped his ass when he came up behind me.

Ron told me he’s never seen someone utterly destroy a plastic, armless man the way I did. Or divest someone of a foam sword so quickly. Maybe that’s why on my certificate he wrote “supreme assassin.” I think the kid next to me got the same merit, but we’ll see who’s the man if it ever comes to blows, provided, of course, he attempts a wrist lock of some sort first.

Either way, you’ve been admonished, because at home, next to my AYSO trophy, is a little piece of paper that just might make me the deadliest motherfucker around.