I used to think if Chuck Norris fell into a river that Chuck Norris wouldn’t get wet, the river would get Chuck Norris’d. But following what I saw at the Beverly Center in Los Angeles this weekend, I bet that pussy would drown. It all started Saturday afternoon in the food court shortly after I noticed I was within ten feet of the real life Walker, Texas Ranger as he prepared to unleash his manly appetite on a Rubios fish taco. I was waiting for him to shatter each of its covalent bonds and break its constituent molecules into biochemical fuel for the ass kicking engine that drives his lion’s heart and keeps that ruthless, rock hard cock of his fucking first and asking questions later when two black toughs sat down at the table beside him and started giving him the business. “Maaaan, it smells like a dirty-ass pussy ‘round here!” said the first guy, who bared a reasonable likeness to Tupac. “I hurd dat,” said the second, who, ironically enough looked a little like Biggie Smalls, “It smells like Red Lobster needs to be shut down, dogg!”

Snickering, Tupac tried to assume a serious tone long enough to lean over and say, “Ay Chuck, yo’ pussy stank,” but he began laughing in the middle, inducing more peels of laughter from his friend. “Yeah Chuck, you need to go home and wash that pussy,” Biggie chortled, tears dripping down his cheeks. Then, seconds after the thought went through my mind that the last thing going through these suicidal maniacs’ heads was about to be Chuck Norris’s right and left fists, IT happened. IT being nothing. The great and powerful Chuck Norris did nothing. He just sat uneasily in his chair, squeezing and squeezing a single dried out lime wedge over his taco like a little bitch. “Faggot,” one of them coughed what I assumed HAD to be his last word on Earth, what with Norris’s well publicized efforts to promote Prop. 8 and his general disdain for anything remotely fruity and unchristian and all, but I thought wrong. Again, he did nothing but squeeze the hell out of that same poor, desiccated wedge of fruit.

Completely flummoxed, I wondered, “What the hell is going on here?” as Tupac kicked the back of Chuck’s chair. Has the world gone completely sideways? Here’s the man I once considered the world’s biggest bad ass being called a “Fucking asshole” by some sneering street urchin, and he can’t muster more than a, “Come on guys, I don’t want any trouble”? Absolute bullshit. At this point of time and space I figured Chuck Norris’s hands should be garroting throats and gouging eyeballs at just below the speed of sound… not floundering to steady his Diet Coke from spilling to the floor from a jarring series of jolts delivered by the feet of some adolescent thug repeatedly slamming into the side of his table. Incredulous, I watched the rest of the horrifying scene unfold, and meeting a sideways furtive glance from Chuck. Our eyes met for a brief moment that will be indelibly etched in my mind as he made a slight, almost imperceptible shrug of resignation at the fact that one of his antagonists was shoving the last of his fish taco into his mouth – then let it all fall back out again, chunk by half-chewed chunk, onto his plate. “How do you eat this shit, Chuck?” he asked, spewing cabbage and fried fish skin, “It tastes like dogshit!”

Disillusioned and deeply shaken, I left my own fish taco untouched, left the food court as Chuck was being given a Diet Coke shower, and as I walked out of the mall, the last thing that went through MY head was that Chuck Norris isn’t the least bit tough. He is a sad, demented old pussy who uses the might of his celebrity and his crazy-ass church to further curb-stomp on those who’ve already spent their whole lives being stomped on, and is therefore nothing but a punk-ass bitch.

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