Who is Jiu-Jitsu Mike?
I had sex with the Internet. This site is our love child.
Hello there! My name is Jiu-Jitsu Mike (JJMike for short). Some of you may know me from such made-for-TV specials like “Get to the Choppa’ of God’s Plan for Your Life: Jesus Can be the Terminator of your Sins” and “The Ocarina of Whine: How the Left and Right Political Wings Belong to a Single Bird: a Living, Breathing, Screaming, Shitting, Squawking, Complaining Advertisement to Never Trust Any Politician, Ever.” Welcome to jjmike.com – an e-dojo specializing in diamond-honed satire, cultural analysis, and verbal breakdancing of the highest caliber.
Years ago, I earned the nickname “Jiu-Jitsu Mike” because my name is Mike and I train a lot of Jiu-Jitsu. I bet you already made that connection, but you never know these days. Common sense and basic associative skills are becoming rarer and rarer, and society in general is getting more and more stupid. For example, let’s just say that there was a mortally wounded superhero named Cereal Man, and he needed immediate medical attention to continue his fight against evil. You’re the medic, and you’ve got a choice of four different liquids with which to heal him: mouth wash, grain alcohol, milk, or Windex. Unfortunately, we’re reaching a point in society where a lot of people would find this problem too confusing to solve. So they would pour battery acid on Cereal Man, because some political pundit said that mouth wash is ungodly, or that Windex is insulting to the homosexual community, or that milk is obsolete, and hellooooo, welcome to the 21st century. Does that make any sense? It shouldn’t, because it doesn’t. Nevertheless, this is the direction in which our society is evolving. Some of you will blame religion. Some of you will blame secular humanism. Others among you will blame Wall Street, the White House, or anything in-between. But all of you will sit on your beds all disheveled and resting your hung-over faces in your grimy hands, wondering how things went wrong, while the cheap prostitute beside you rolls the ice around in her White Russian and watches The Price is Right.
And that’s where I come in. I lurk in the shadows of the internet like Batman patrolling the Gotham rooftops. YOU, reader, are my Commissioner Gordon. Sure, you’ve got Ernest Hemingway’s proverbial shit-detector, and you know how to get by. But still, there are some things that slip past your radar, and before you know it, you’re paying alimony to stupid ideas you can’t seem to fully divorce yourself from, your daughter has locked herself in her room (your basement) until you learn her new gender pronouns, and your mail contains a $50 fine for allegedly running the turnpike tollbooth that you actually paid. And while it’s true that life does this to us all in some way, it’s also true that a hero comes along and gives you strength to carry on. But Mariah Carey was full of shit, and that hero doesn’t lie in you – it lies in me, JJMike. Sure, I’m not a licensed comedian on Gordon’s official Anti-Retardo Force, but that’s for the best. My literary combat-breakdancing is specifically suited to snag the tough, hard-to-catch evils that your usual preferred sources can’t catch.
Then again, You could argue that I’m less like Batman and more like that damn stray cat you adopted who now lives on your porch and periodically brings you dead mice instead of handcuffed and knocked-out mob bosses who hold critical intel. You’d have an argument here. But then AGAIN, this cool cat’s taste in mice is top-shelf Trader Joe’s organic. The nature of stupid hasn’t changed, but like an ever-mutating virus, it’s gotten better at disguising itself in what qualifies as “smart” or “normal” today. People are less sure about what’s laugh-at-able, and the quality of comedy has suffered as a result. Don’t get me wrong – I couldn’t give less of a shit about what’s “smart” or “normal” nowadays. I just think that a hero needs to emerge from the shadows. A lone jiu-jitsu ronin who dashes ninjanically through this world’s evil and stands on top of the dark temple of this world-system, all casual and Bushido-like, not giving a fuck. Just how big of a fuck would he not-give? Not even Neil deGrasse Tyson with cyber-enhancements would be able to calculate the sheer immensity of the fuck not given by this warrior trained by Shaolin’s finest satirists and mockers, and whose literary blade has been sharpened by the highest of Marx Brothers comedy and the trials of living life in the Bible Belt, in San Francisco, and New Jersey. Not that I know anybody like that.
Old stuff / Writing from when this site was young and composed of a bunch of HTML tables stacked up on each other.