The Hero

We are all too scared to leave our homes, our prisons. We are a nation of fear and security. All we have left is the warm loving glow from the TV, the Internet and relentless masturbation. (They all go hand in hand).
i could talk about my accomplishments and accolades. but i would rather tell the truth.
It was a stormy night in Tremilin(or something like that), when i stumbled into the Two Dragons Tavern(definitely something like that), a
tavern that mainly consists of bards, and miners, not a place where you would see an Englishman, a Welshmen or a Scotsmen discuss quirky incidents. In the corner i noticed an old lady....she was gesturing to me. "Who are you?"
"me, I am the guy"...
"what GUY"....
"the guy from the place that did that thing....you should ask whatsizface about it"
The lady looked puzzled. "You want me to ask whatsizface about the guy that did the thing"

Sarcastically, I answer...."erm, yes"?

she leaned closer and whisper in my ear..."What the fuck are you on about".
I shrugged.

"Anyway.." she said, getting up "I have a ring for you...this ring has "magical qualities " Just then, a crowd of "Whoooooh girls"...went...well, WHOOOOH!!!
(it's just what they do).

I took the ring.

"Cool Ass" i said..."what does it do?"
The RING ....pause for effect......Makes you a better dancer!
She left.

Disappointed, like when you get an "eraser" in your Christmas cracker.....and everyone else got miniature decks of playing cards and THEY spend the whole night playing Rummy, pretending to be giants.

After a few moments, I smiled.
"Hang on....Jean Claude van Damme was a ballerina, and he pretty much kicked that mean dude with the rather far-out looking pecks' ass in Bloodsport, ........repeatedly." I thought.

"Nice".

So, there you have it....My skills.
my Arabesque is vicious.
my Battement rivals Chuck Norris.
my Bras Croisé is thought provoking.
and i Pirouette on demand.

From that moment on,
I referred to myself as "The Hero" and spoke of myself in the third person.

"Pretty much everybody cops it in the face and neck for a good while."

"The Hero is snapping necks as a form of aesthetic critique"

....and , what would life be without a bunch of sun-baked training montages, set to Kenny Loggins' music, some family tenderness, we grow a little, we laugh a little, we fight with sticks. I think Meg Foster is there at some point, but I can never remember where she is in films because her dead, dead eyes are a portal to the land of wind and ghosts.

"The Hero leaves with menacing swerves and winks"