Hobo Vigilante Force
In one of the many results of Chicago’s ongoing urban "renewal," every building around 2851 N. Halstead is getting torn the fuck down and re the fuck built. As a condomallplexsalondogparkbucks. The once bustling patch of land around the ComedySportz theatre now looks like something out of 1945 News on the March: rubble-strewn lots and gutted brick facades, only instead of allied tanks and upended mule carts we have the occasional half-finished condo to glower down on the ruined street like a pallid, architectural grim reaper. The ComedySportz theatre trembles with its own shabby mortality.
We in the ensemble were resigning ourselves to passively watching the walls come a’tumbling down, until eerie warnings started to be issued by the higher-ups at the theatre. The empty buildings it seemed were providing a haven for VAGRANTS. These warnings began to mount until it seemed not a day was going by that we weren’t receiving stern reminders to be on our guard, VAGRANTS were afoot! HOBOS creeping and skulking under every rock! An Egyptian plague of BOXCAR PUNKS! HORRORS!
During this time I saw not one more panhandler than usual in the neighborhood. Not one. All the same, VAGRANT MANIA was on!
Bringing us to yesterday, where in lieu of rehearsal ComedySportz (from here on adorably abbreviated as CSz) was treated to a self defense class, instructed by the able bodied kickboxing experts of Crunch Gym.
After warming up with a series of jumping-jacks, stretches and squats (which made my thighs want to secede from my body) we settled in for the bloodsport. Our Instructors Francisco and Cleffy Cleftchin led drills in punching, kicking, grappling, eye gouging, nut punching, nut slapping, nut kicking, nut flicking, and nut crushing ("only 2lbs of pressure, the same as a grape!"). The ensemble, wild eyed in the heat of VAGRANT MANIA, took to these exercises with barbaric gusto. I was not exempt, soon after annihilating the punching-pad with series of well-aimed roundhouse kicks, ripped my tank top from my glistening chest and loudly challenged all comers to "step into the terror-dome." The offer stands.
Cliffy Cleftchin made it clear that though he could kick as high as a man’s head (demonstrated ad nauseum), though a well placed kick to the knee was just as effective if not more. He also encouraged us to be aware of passersby and size them up for nut battery: "If he was to attack me, how would I get away?" Answer: Go to town on his nuts.
Honestly, I really enjoyed myself. The instructors were friendly and paranoiac in the most compassionate way. Francisco was especially nice and impressed me with his personal trainers bedside manner. I felt totally at ease and confident. I’m really making progress at Krav Maga you guys! So stoaked!
There Laura. Are you happy?
P.S. I must break you.
