He was a funny little fellow, Bruce Lee. He was half American and half Chinese, and spent half his childhood in Hong Kong, and moved back there when he became famous.
He became famous for doing films, where he ran around either stripped to the waist or in a yellow track suit, doing Kung Fu on baddies.
Kung Fu was an ancient 1970s method of fighting where you were allowed to kick people in the face and neck, or whack them on the head with nun-chuckers, which were a couple of bits of wood fastened together with a length of chain. I caught my nephew Michael trying to pinch the chain off our toilet once, reckoning he was going to make some nun-chuckers out of it. “You can forget that idea right away young man. Do you think that I want to be standing on the toilet seat to reach the handle to flush it with just so that you can go chucking ruddy nuns about? Well if you do, you’ve got another think coming.” The little so and so had the chain out of the bath instead, and it’s horrible reaching down to pull the plug out when the waters gone cold.
Any road Bruce Lee was really good at Kung Fu. Apparently, he could be standing with a glass of martini in his hand, talking to a woman at a party, and if someone crept up on him, he could reach out with one foot and kick them in the neck so hard that they would fall to the floor moaning and whimpering.
Apart from the leg that he did the kick with, no other part of his body would move. He wouldn’t spill a drop of his drink, and if there was an olive in it, that wouldn’t budge either.
And what’s more, when his foot made contact with the poor bugger’s neck, it would make a sound like someone hitting an unrolled sheet of cooking foil with a wooden spoon. “PISH!” Now that’s what I call fighting!
The problem was, that the powers that be in Hong Kong, the Triads and what nots, were annoyed that he was cheapening the sacred rites of Kung Fu by making his films about it to sell in America. So they decided that he had to die. Obviously they couldn’t just get an assassin to sneak up and stab him in the neck whilst he was talking to a woman and having a glass of martini at a party, so they got their top expert killer to do him in. This killer had been trained as a monk in the shaolin temples, and knew a special secret Kung Fu move. What he did was he just pretended to bump into Bruce as he walked past him in the street, and he touched him in a special secret way, making his bones vibrate. Bruce didn’t notice at first, The expert killer just said “ohh sorry mate” (in Chinese of course) and Bruce just carried on as if nothing had happened. But the vibrations in his bones never stopped, they just gradually got bigger and bigger, and hours, later he got a headache, and then his eyeballs bulged out and his brains burst and he died.
Nobody could prove it was murder, but my Raymond knew, because he read an article about it in the garden shed.