by Darko Milicic
People of Minnesota! I have been meaning to tell you: I, Darko, have taken up kickboxing!
Please, hold on to all of your horses. I am sure that you are surprised to hear that I, Darko, am still making news. “I thought he retired to a life of luxury on the Serbian Riviera,” you are probably saying to yourself. First of all, Serbia has no coastline, you stupid Swedes. It is a landlocked country. I am not surprised you did not know that, given the manifold failures of the American educational system.
Oh yes! Darko is politically active, which is why I, Darko, am now a kickboxer! I viewed a charity auction for a kickboxing belt, but I said to myself, “Darko, how is it that you believe you are worthy to purchase a kickboxing belt? Surely you have more self-respect than this. Surely you cannot think that you should use your vast American riches to buy something as silly as the championship belt you have always deserved.” And then I ate some meatballs. Damn you Swedes, but I cannot stop eating your meatballs. They are bland but addictive. Just like some of the games that Darko likes to play on his brand-new smart phone! That’s right, Darko is living the high life with the phone on the World Wide Web! 2048, am I not correct? Yes? No?
As I chewed your tasty damnation, I, Darko thought to myself, “Darko, you are worth more than just your vast storehouse of American dollars. You have good in you. You can accomplish anything you put your mind to, yes? Then you should go out and win that kickboxing belt! And after that, you will punch hunger to the ground as well! Or kick hunger to the ground! Whatever the rules of kickboxing are!”
So I, Darko, went on to YouTube and watched some kickboxing videos, and I must tell you: this is an easy sport. All of the kickboxing people are the size of famous American basketball player Stephen Curry. They look like they have never seen a delicious meatball in their entire lives. I, Darko, do not wish to brag, but I am over seven feet tall and have several times rung the bell when challenging the strongman at the local carnival / supermarket. I can clean up these scrawny little non-Darkos with my eyes closed. I often took my basketball shots this way, and I see no reason that my kickboxing skills should be any different.
I, Darko, do not do things without being devoted to them 100%, at least until I get bored with them, like I did with basketball. Basketball, it is such a long game. One must sit on the bench for hours at a time, literally hours, thinking about meatballs and moustaches and how I can get my extra-special friends to like me. I have been calling Kevin Love every day to congratulate him on getting to play in Cleveland, which is a real American city, not like that Stockholm-by-the-river that you Minnesotans live in. He will not answer my calls. I suspect he is busy choosing from the luxurious accommodations available in Cleveland. Only sometimes is the river aflame! It is like a slice of heaven!
Now that the World Kickboxing Association has come calling, unlike some jerk so-called best friends, I am ready to commit myself to the sport of kickboxing. I, Darko, will not rest until the kickboxing world championship is mine for the taking. I have long been devoted to the humanitarian causes, and this is no different; there is no better way to spread goodness than by punching scrawny little people in the face.
So, Minnesotans, I ask you for your support. Please watch in awe as I, Darko, become the greatest kickboxing star of the world! And send me meatballs. You Swedes do not need those meatballs anyway. You are fattening up for winter, right? Yes? No? Ah, Darko, you scamp…