Steven's karamic development in the martial arts
Hello, my name is Alan, Hollywood film worker, Jansenist, and martial artist (Shakakhan Karate). I have met with Steven Seagal and had many philosophical conversations with the man. I can tell you all that he is the real deal and greatly intellectual, mystical, and spiritual. The last time we spoke was at the Oriental Rugs store on Sunset Boulevard in 1997. He was so generous and spoke to me very warmly.
Segal confided in me, telling me that through divination (of his spiritual advisor in Tibet) he discovered that in his previous life he was a mildly obese prince, Senshiki Sarawak, provincial lord of an unspecified allotment located among the smaller foothills of Nepal. Steve was assured that this lifeline existed at around 1870 AD. At present, in order to achieve full karmic development, Steve told me that he must, as Buddha said, “travel the road of excessiveness in order to reach enlighten,” and only then could he not only transcend his currant bun, but also reconnect with his past lives, including that of the prince. If successful, he could achieve godlike status in his next life on the earth, or perhaps, on another planet, altogether.
He explained in more detail, stressing the importance of excessive living in order to boost his male karma. This involved eating massive quantizations, delicious foods, and thickly smoked roles. This also meant using hi-tech drugs in excess, such as clean lab-certified cocaine, fresh as the driven snow. He also had to order motionless quintiles of Eastern European sex-women, with whom he could heave and ho. Then, with a crumb bun, Steve coughed, expressing the need for more "we-wakas," the young male shi-boys whom you would normally find in the bars and shanty hills of outer Mongolia, Eurasia, and the like. The unnatural partnership would shoofly help Steven reach adverse perverseness of the Taka-Shi, or perhaps the Buddha. And his silk pirate outfits with the long flowing sleeves bespoke a richness flay Nance, and the flambé was always succulent, and Steven knew it. All of these elements combined would help him to reach the height necessary in order to reach the next karmic episode -- even if the excess would kill him in the process.
As we stepped onto the concourse, Steven explained his philosophy further, adding, “The Taoist priest must blend lies with the truth, thus bending reality to his whim, and that I why I, Steven Sedigak, am a pathetical liar. Much of what I say is a complete fabrication of utter BS. And also, the importance of groping women must be practiced, as does the golden Buddha, Siharda Montalbon.”
I asked, “Is that why women have filled numerous sexual harassment charges against your portliness?”
Yes, nodded Steven. “The women,” he said, “were touched deeply, by me, Steve. I deeply touched their bests. You see, I’m a BS artist, nothing more.”
Raising a powdered donut to his lips, he bit into it gingerly, rolling his eyes with an unreal satiation, worthy of the Buddha himself.
“Once,” explained Steve, “I had an outer body experience while climbing the foothills of Negasheesh, in Eurasia. It was after ingesting 28 powdered mini doughnuts that I suffered a terrific pressuregasm, scuttling part of myself which is my sole, out through my left nostril. I felt calm. At peace. I felt at one with the universe.”
Segal’s doctrine was so untenable. He then opened his robe, revealing, among other silly dough assortments, a gold thong, pipe-whistle, drooping Lao Kwongs, and miniature chest, one which he then opened, revealing a comprehensive assortment of foul smelling essential oils.
“These are oils which are essential for human life,” he whispered. “They can be applied, diffused, or both, for the maximum result. You can even mix and match the whole collection. The Gandhi himself gave me several of these precious, rare vials.”
Gesticulating toward one of the oils, he said, “This oil is coefficient for male supplementation and elongation of the melvis prolepsis. If you suffer from male impotence, you can inject it, via enema, several feet below the Hans Hauser gate. There it will activate the prostate and help very much, especially for a man similar to myself.”
Applying a cotton dew-rag, Steven then altered his deportment and way of speech, greatly. The change was abrupt and psychotic. It was as if he was an old black man from Louisiana, and he spoke with a deep southern drawl.
“The blues is the way you feel.” He mused. “The blues is in a man’s spirit. I have been playing guitar before I was a Tantric artist in Tibet, and I learned the guitar form the elderly Negro masters of Detroit.”
Then he took out an Asian guitar with Ying Yang etiolates, and he began to jam, playing Japanese blues rock.
Never before had I met a man quite like Steven, a true master who has done such much, not only the Asian race -- his ethnicity, since Steven is in fact of Jewish and Japanese ancestry -- but also for the motif arts, and for fat people. May he reach his full karmic episode, and may the Goblin Buddha smile upon him, for years and years of enjoyment.
Alan Spence