And here we are again, dear children. A new year. A new millennium (at least according to my calendar, which is based around the position of Jaleel White within the cosmos). A new blog. So what have I, your beloved blogger of choice, been up to?

For one, I recently had the pleasure of spending a day with Kobra Kai’s Johnny Lawrence himself. If you never experienced it, rolling with the master of 80s bullying, this Adonis of the New Wave wedgie, can be quite overwhelming. A few pointers on social dos and don’ts when dealing with the man himself:

  1. Be very careful in how you address him. His first name ain’t Billy. It’s William. Mr. Zabka if you’re nasty.
  2. That said, he really doesn’t take well to people calling him B-Zabs.
  3. If you insist on calling him B-Zabs, as I did, it would not be unwise to bring along a cold compress, maybe some bandages.
  4. Doubly so if you even think to try the Crane Kick in his general vicinity.
  5. Big fan of Rum Raisin ice cream. Just thought you’d like to know.

After some initial hiccups in our meeting, a few inappropriate leg sweeps, and a delicious frozen treat of apology later, we set off for the one place two grown gentleman can truly enjoy themselves: Colonial Williamsburg. If you’ve never had the delight of taking a step back in time, I highly recommend it. There’s nothing quite like discussing the contributions of Thomas Jefferson (who was visiting that day!) whilst strolling down DoG Street, waiting for a cooper to craft you a custom barrel inscribed with “Martin Kove 4 Eva.”

B-Zabs could really relate to our famed revolutionaries, how could he not? He is clearly among their ranks. But he has his fears, gentle readers, his doubts. It is perhaps best to quote the man himself:

“Sure they remember the good times. The great times. It has been a wonderful decade of nostalgia for the man who dared cross Thornton Melon, whose deeds invoked the Triple Lindy. But what of the lean times? As we move forth into this unknown 2011 and leave the ’80s behind once more, will they, the fans, go forth with me? Who will be there to remember my legendary bouts with Ted Jan Roberts in The Power Within. I fear nobody. No, they come to bury Shootfighter II, not to praise it. Perhaps it is the most noble act of history’s greats to fade once more into the mist, but I’m afraid I am not quite ready. There is too much venom left in this old cobra. Too much left to die.”

Truly great words from a truly moderately okay man. As a single tear fell across his cheek, like the fake Italian Indians of yore, I could merely comfort him with a solemn nod. We heard softly the cooper’s voice on the wind. Our custom handycraft had been completed.

“C’mon, B-Zabs,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder, “Let’s go home.”

I awoke the next day in a local hospital with a shattered rib and a broken leg. I couldn’t help but smile.

“He’s still got it.”