Jiujitsu Mole Removal

Are you tired of straight teeth, nose, and toes? Would you like someone to accidentally fart in your mouth whilst trying to choke you? If so, head on down to your local Brazilian jiujitsu class for a makeover!

I am a freckly, moley, Irish-looking bastard. Each year, I go to the “mole doctor” to get inspected from head to toe.

Like a fat guy hates his stomach, I hate my moles. I usually try to direct him to the ones I hate the most and hope he’s disgusted enough to cut them off.

Once a mole is removed, I usually find the next-grossest one to hate for a year until my next appointment. A few months back, there was one such mole leading the pack.

After jiujitsu class one night, my wife called and asked me to pick up a few things on my way home. I was wearing my gi, the thick, white, cotton martial arts uniform, so I looked like Storm Shadow from G.I. Joe walking through Walgreens looking for Diet Coke and Tampax Pearls. Not cool.

When I entered the store, the lady behind the counter said “Ooooh, child! You gots blood on yo’ robe!” I searched the gi for the source and found a spot of blood on my upper shoulder blade.

[pullquote]I was wearing my gi “¦ so I looked like Storm Shadow from G.I. Joe walking through Walgreens looking for Diet Coke and Tampax Pearls.[/pullquote]

When I got home, I inspected it in the mirror and discovered that my most hated mole had been sheared off by the sandpapery texture of my uniform, probably while being smashed by a higher-ranking friend from class. Saved me a trip to the doctor.

I’d love to say that this was an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. My wife started to notice bruises and cuts shortly after I began training, over a year ago. She also noticed how happy they made me. The question is: Why?

I think many of us have wandered too far away from our instincts. We’re like fatass zoo lions who are tired of being fed but can’t turn down the easy meat. I’m not opposed to modern conveniences, but I think we have to feed the animal as well as the soul.

Blood, sweat, and tears are the key ingredients to most things worth having. We all have to work, but our jobs can consume us and suck the life right out of us if we aren’t careful. We have to maintain balance.

There is a reason parents want their kids to be “involved,” whether it’s with sports, music, dance, or any other art. Why should this stop when we become adults?

Competition and failure teach us about who we are. We don’t always like what is revealed to us, but there is always another chance to fix it and improve.

I promise, your children will respect you even more for doing something you love. It might even be the tie that binds you to them one day.

If you’ve always wanted to run a 10K, get up off your ass and do it. I hate to run, so I try to choke my friends for worthless medals.

I love jiujitsu because it’s like human chess. Each move you make has a countermove and can either make or break you. I succeed once out of every hundred tries, and I love this sh””t!

Even as I’m writing this, my nose is broken, fixed last Friday with a tool that resembles a pair of needle-nose pliers. I took an accidental elbow from a teammate.

Late Friday night, I woke up with a sweet taste in the back of my throat. I went to the bathroom and gave a light sniff to pull whatever it was down from my sinuses and into my throat. I spit out a clump of boogers, blood clots, and snot that would gag a maggot. I wanted to put it in a box and mail it to my brothers, since we are in a lifelong competition to gross each other out.

The point is: I’m not quitting. The chorus of warnings and negativity coming from friends and coworkers is understandable, but it has fallen on deaf ears. All I can see is a blue belt.

About Michael Atkinson

Michael Atkinson
Michael is an angry little white man, shat into the world by a sarcastic God. He collects gas, debt, and disgusting animals.

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