“You have a one-inch what?” “You’re an idiot. The One-Inch Punch. It’s karate. It’s Bruce Lee. He introduced it to the greater martial arts community. Jeffrey Lu is going to make it famous.” We drag our wooden crate out onto the road. Jeffrey rests his bat over his shoulder and squints in the sun. “See, Chuck, while you’re mincing about saying clever things to girls, some of us are training themselves to a point of immaculate perfection for your protection. It must be nice for you to have a horse like me in your stable. You’re a citizen. You can afford to rest on your laurels. Because you know that Jeffrey Lu is standing in the path of tyranny.” “Sir, your sacrifice means everything to me.” “It’s hardly a sacrifice. I’d rather hone my superior skills to infallible sharpness than swan about smooching girls.” “Because you’re queer?” “You’re queer,” Jeffrey sighs. Sensing his impatience, I ask him to reveal the secrets of the One-Inch Punch. Jeffrey sighs again and lays his bat down.
