I’m at the food court and I’m feeling a little crazy—gonna get me some Indian food AND a burrito. I’m about to chow down on my noms when four shadows darken my tabletop. I look up and see a quartet of Social Justice Warriors, complete with hair they’ve worked on for far too long in the hopes of eclipsing their banal personalities, and facefuls of metal to hide their lack of critical thinking ability. But I strive to keep it civil as I gulp down a bite of burrito and say, “Hey guys. What’s up?” The one to my right sneers. “Cultural appropriations is ‘what’s up.’ I see that you’re eating food outside of the convenient box we want to put you in, you intolerant bigot.” I hold up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Whoa guys—I actually agree with a lot of your positions; I just don’t agree with the method you deliver—” SJW #1 flings my tray of Indian across the floor and screams, “LIAR!” I shrug and squirt some sriracha onto my burrito and his eyes widen. “MORE cultural appropriation??? You DARE????” But I’m ready this time and when he grabs hold of my burrito I clasp my hands over his and squeeze down, forcing him to experience what we all fear—Gooey Hands. He howls in outrage and I rise from my seat, meeting him in the clinch. We both struggle for a moment to slide our hands under each other’s armpits and get double underhooks (Goddamn—does EVERYONE train in the Jits these days?) and his buddies take advantage of the stalemate by yanking my feet out from under me. I hit the ground and they pile on. In sheer desperation, I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Bitefighter, my loyal buddy and 10 lb. terrier extraordinaire, appears by my side. The SJWs can’t help themselves—they all start cooing and giggling at the adorbs my mustachioed companion constantly radiates. But little do they know, Bitefighter has an 83rd level intellect—the smarts to rival the knowledge of Degrasse Tyson, Hawking, and Elon Musk if they decided to combine their genes into one supersmart real-life Tony Stark—and that I’ve also trained my furry friend in every lethal art known to man. Bitefighter quickly chomps down on SJW #1s nuts, his ferocious little mind calculating radians, angles, and probabilities all at once. As SJW #1 howls, #2 comes in for a swing. Bitefighter is now in mid-air, dropping towards the ground. He stabs outward with a tiny forepaw, catching #2 with a Dim Mak dragon-lays-egg-and-slays-harmonious-babboon death strike right on the LI-4 acupuncture point, in the webbing between his forefinger and thumb. #2 spontaneously combusts and dies a spectacular death, weaving through the food court and wailing as his flesh chars and melts. #3 tries to swing at Bitefighter with a cheap, plastic mall-chair and Bitefighter slips, weaves, then launches himself at the precise right angle toward #3’s right knee, causing his LCL and MCL ligaments to snap with a dry, resolute crack. As #3 collapses, screaming and clutching his knee, #4 beats a hasty retreat. I finish my burrito and give my little buddy a tiny high five.
If cultural appropriations means I eat delicious cuisines from other countries, then consider me a culturally appropriating mofo. Oh yeah—just in case the SJWs try to steal your burrito, make sure you have a weaponized mustachioed terrier at the ready. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle