'Grasshopper,' said the wise sage. 'When you can snatch this pebble form my hand, then you may leave.' 'Are you nuts?' asked the young man. 'Why would I want to leave? I've got free board, free food, free satelite link to almost every station on television, and you're asking me to give that up by snatching a pebble from your hand?' 'Look, you have sponged off us long enough. Take the damn pebble.' 'No way! I'm not touching that darn pebble, nor am I sticking my hand anywhere near your dirty mit!' 'Are you saying my hands are unclean?' 'They stink. You've been gutting fish again, and you haven't washed afterwards.' 'Hey, someone has to gut the fish. If you ever got off your fat lazy butt, maybe you could feed yourself. The rest of us monks are tired of it. Take the friggin' pebble or we'll kick your ass to the highest heaven!' 'You looking for someone to kick your nuts into your brain old man!' 'Don't call me an old man, Grasshopper! I've got friends you know. One hundred monks live here, an evey single one of them wants to kick your ass outta here!' 'Well bring them on, I'm not afraid!' As Grasshopper finished his sentence, the tranquil Japanese garden where they sat began filling with Shaolin monks. Some came with large sword, others carried halberds, bows or spears. One carried a carrot, which he'd mistakenly grabbed off the kitchen table. It was only upon arriving in the garden that he realised he hadn't grabbed a knife at all. 'Heeeeyyyyyaaaaaahhhhh,' began Grashopper as he began some slow movements with his hands, twisting and contorting them into different shapes. 'Heeeeeoooooooaaarrrghhhhh, ooooOOOOooo aarrrrrggghhheeerrrrrggggg.' 'Huh! The drunk terapin moves will not save you this time,' said the old monk. 'We have been training in the style of the smacked out yak, the best attack against the drunk terapin style.' 'I'll switch then,' said Grasshopper. 'Heeeyyyyooooooo uuuuuurrrrgggggle aaaarrrrrr ooooooooeeeeeaaaahhhh!' Grasshopper began moving in more twisting contorting slow motion moves. His eyes opened wide revealing a sort of madness only seen in the cream of martial arts experts. 'The crack whore eagle style is no match for our smelly goat underpants style.' 'What about this one then? Heeeeehhuiiiiioooooo argggh oooreeeeaaaahhh.' 'Huh! The melted horse nipple style is nothing compared to the jelly rabbit burnt pancake style!' 'What about this then? Hooooo Haaaa earghlghlllurrgh zzzzeeeeeeeeppppp!' 'The ribena vodka monkey style isn't even practiced anymore. It's gone! Who are you trying to kid?' 'Then try this on for size. Hhhhaaarrrr, goooo zeeee pppttthhhh aaarrrggh!' 'I don't even know what that is, but it looks amaturish and totally ineffective!' At this point Grasshopper, tired of bluffing, just kicked the old man in the nuts and ran for the gate. It had been a good ten years, and Grasshopper had never once raised a finger to help around the place. Now, it looks like the whole thing was over. He ran out the gate and down the street. A few arrows hit the cobbled stoned street here and there, but none hit him. He was a little curious though as to why a carrot bounced off his head. He was now free. He hated being free, as it meant no one to wash up after him, no one to wash his robes, no lounging around in front of the television set watching re-runs of Oprah. He now had to fend for himself. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was going to do. He aimlessly walked into the Beijing office of Lunther Corp, not even knowing where he was or what Lunther Corp did. 'Watta ya want?' asked a security guard looking up from his newspaper. The guard was behind a big desk and looked like he was a dairy cow as he chewed on what Grasshopper assumed was gum. 'Um, I'm after a job, as an executive?' 'Okay, head up to floor five, personal.' 'Aren't you going to ask any question? Like who I am, or my experience?' 'What do I looks like? A friggin' human resources graduate? Just go up to level five, ask for a job, and if they want you chucked out, they'll call me.' 'Um, okay.' With that, Grasshopper took the elevator to the fifth floor and went into the personal department. 'Hi,' said a girl behind a desk so large she probably needed to take a bus to get to the other side. 'Oh, Hi,' said Grasshopper. 'I want a job as an executive.' 'You willing to travel to Gothopolis? 'Cause we got an opening there I believe.' 'Yeah, sure.' 'Let's look at your hands then.' 'My hands? You going to read my palm?' asked Grasshopper as he stretched his hand out. 'Nah,' said the girl. 'Just checking to make sure you're an executive.' 'Really? You can tell that from my palm?' 'Yep. I can tell you've never done an honest days work in your life. Never lifted a finger around the house, lazier than a comatosed sloth on valium!' 'That's me alright!' 'Good, you're hired.' The girl behind the huge desk arranged his airfare and a taxi. In five minutes, Grasshopper was in a taxi on his way to Gothopolis, somewhere in the US of A.'