Read Online Let Me Off at the Top!: My Classy Life and Other Musings by Ron Burgundy - Free Book Online Page B

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    I was a little nervous about meeting Bruce Lee because I am such a fan. His nunchuk work alone is simply legendary. Nunchuks, or “nunchaku,” as the Chinese call them, are two sticks connected by a chain and used as a weapon in martial arts. If I’m in a room with nunchuks you might as well forget it. It’s like putting down a plate of peanut butter cookies, I cannot resist picking them up. I will invariably grab those nunchuks and start flipping them around, whirling them through the air and within seconds my whole face is bruised and bleeding. I can’t work ’em. I just can’t. Don’t even let me hold them. I will start swinging them all over the place and bonk. “Bonk” is the wrong word. You can’t get taken to the hospital when you are “bonked.” It’s like a team of horses has trampled me.
    So I go to meet Bruce Lee in the lobby of the Hilton in downtown San Diego. Sure enough, as soon as I’m seated across from him for an interview I notice the nunchuks. I remember reaching for them. I remember Bruce Lee smiling at me and the next thing I know I’m lying in a room at the Hilton with welts on my face. Those darn nunchuks! Apparently I hit myself five or six times in the head and then went down. Bruce Lee, the perfect gentleman, suggested I be taken to hisroom until I came to. When I finally regained consciousness it was well into the evening and frankly I was a little embarrassed to be lying in bed in his hotel room. It’s not important to say it at all but the Hilton has the finest bedding, the best thread count and firmest pillows of any of the hotel chains. Oh, and the service is excellent.
    When I came to, Mr. Lee was washing my feet in the tradition of a Japanese samurai warrior. It’s traditional for the samurai to sponge the feet of honored visitors. I noticed that all my clothes had been removed. Mr. Lee was also naked—in the tradition of the samurai warrior. Humility, respect and hospitality are some of the traits of a true samurai along with courage, quickness and strength. Their ability to move gently and stay secretive, striking at the opportune moment, is a result of hours and hours of disciplined study. I respect these ancient Japanese warriors and their customs so when Mr. Lee explained to me in his broken, frankly awful English that he needed to make love to me, I understood the cultural significance. Historians tell us that the samurai warriors would seek out village men for a night of lovemaking before heading into battle. It was a great honor to be chosen thusly. I didn’t know this historical fact at the time but Mr. Lee explained this to be the case. I pointed out that he was Chinese not Japanese but he brushed this aside saying it didn’t really matter. Our eyes locked. He was, without a doubt, a beautiful man. The musculature alone was something to behold but the eyes were where he got you. Those dark pools were just too enchanting, like two warm baths, you could not but be enticed to take adip. There was a part of me that wanted to look away but I knew that would be a sign of great disrespect.
    The lovemaking was lightning quick, like his fighting style. His efficiency and flexibility were stunning. There were hands and feet all over the place. With all the biting and scratching it was like wrestling with three hairless wolves. Keep in mind this was 1973 and long before homosexuality was invented. I’ve made my stance pretty clear on how I feel about that and how I’m A-OK with the whole business but this had very little to do with anything of that nature—this was two warriors going at it with great respect and admiration for ancient traditions. Was there tenderness? Of course there was. Was it sexually gratifying? Yes. Did fingers find their way into places reserved for baser functions? You bet. But all of it happened in the fraternal spirit of male bonding, just like in olden times when men did stuff like that all the time. It was very manly.
    When it was