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Jon Bluming on Mas Oyama
Considering all the Mas Oyama threads we have had in the past I thought you guys might be interested in the following. Pure copy and paste from a Kyokushin site.
MAS OYAMA STORIES
By JON BLUMING
In the past, I've avoided discussing the "famous" Kyokushin Kaikan
karate business. I needed some time to think about saying anything now,
too, as I wanted to be strictly honest toward the memory of my
old "friend and teacher, Mas Oyama. He did a lot for me, introducing
me to the karate world and giving me a new purpose in life. This
changed my life completely for the best. For me, Oyama was like a
father I never had. In the old days, he showed me all the things you
need to be a teacher and helped me through some rough times. On the
other hand, I am tired of all the phonies who did not go the straight
way.
So, let me tell it like it was.
Published accounts describing Oyama preparing for the big karate
championships in 1947 are very funny. Especially the Americans, who
fought the Japanese in World War 11, should know that. MacArthur was
the big honcho in Japan from August 1945, until the Korean War, and he
declared right away that there was to be no more budo in Japan until he
declared otherwise. He even rounded up all the samurai swords he could
lay his hands on and had them dropped in Tokyo Bay. They would be worth
hundreds of millions of dollars today. He was not messing around and
nobody dared disobey his rules.
Around 1948, judo started again at the old Kodokan on Suidobashi.
Karate was done mainly by the Shotokan, where sparring matches were not
allowed until the late 1950s, and by the Goju Kai and Wado@ryu, where
the sparring was so soft that a split lip or a nose bleed would throw
the officials into a state of shock. So while there might have been
some professional boxing clubs where fighting was done on a knockout
basis, a karate championship in Kyoto done on such a basis was
absolutely out of the question.
When hearing stories about the old days, remember that the Japanese are
great storytellers. If the story is good, they don't check to see if it
is true. Even today, I meet people who heard from their fathers or
grandfathers about the roughhousing I supposedly did in my younger
days. It doesn't amaze me anymore and I am tired of telling people that
the stories are impossible because if you hit somebody, you were hauled
into a police station, charged, and sent to jail or kicked out of the
country. I admit I had a few fights, but always with witnesses saying
that I did not start it.
As for Oyama's alleged 270 American bouts, remember that he was in the
States as a professional wrestler. Since when are professional
wrestling matches on the level? All Oyama ever told me about those days
was that Americans were crazy, that their wrestling was phony and
prearranged, and that as fighters, they were weak. My guess is that
most of what he did was just break bricks and things between matches.
If he had ever fought any of the American professional wrestlers,
really fought them, I think he would have beaten most of them easily.
The story about Oyama fighting bulls is not true. He never met a real
bull, for he never visited Spain. I also doubt that he was gored, for
he never told me about it and he used to tell me everything. Kurosaki
Kenji was there and he told me what happened. They went early in the
morning to a stock- yard in Tateyama Prefecture. Workmen prepared a fat
old ox for Oyama by hitting one of its horns with a hammer so that it
was quite loose. Oyama did not kill the ox he only knocked off the
loose horn.
Oyama showed Bill Backhus and I the 16mm "bull fighting" movie in 1959.
1 told Oyama never to show this film in Europe because it looked too
phony and everyone would laugh at him. As far as I know, nobody saw
that movie again.
Even Oyama's famous world championships of the 1970s were a joke. By
then, foreigners were not allowed to win. To prevent it, Oyama had all
the gaijin fight each other first, and of course pitted the best
against each other. Because everyone wanted to win, the injuries were
terrible. Meanwhile, he put the leading Japanese against low quality
Japanese from his own school, who knew their place and of course didn't
try too hard. So they had it easy.
Occasionally, in the finals, the referee would give a good foreign
fighter a decision over a Japanese fighter. Oyama would stand up all
red in the face. Then he'd call the referee over to his table and chew
him out and reverse his decision. This was against all the rules of
sportsmanship. Read Nakamura Tadashi's book or go talk to him in New
York. It is very emotional and very sad.
Oyama was a strong man in his young days, but I never saw him fight
anybody, not even in his own dojo. So his "countless encounters"
and "challenges" were all before my time. Kurosaki Kenji tells me that
they were all before his time, too, and that goes back to 1952, when
they both trained at Yamaguchi Gogen's dojo in Tokyo. So I think maybe
he never fought in his life.
But he was a great teacher who trained many good fighters and his books
were very popular. When I read his first book, What Is Karate? (1957),
1 was really impressed. I was in his second book (This Is Karate, 1965)
and had the opportunity to look into the way he did things.
The thing that amazed me most was "the monkey business" (Oyama's own
words) involved in the breaking tricks. I didn't know about this when I
did my first breaking demonstration in Holland. Since I had read in
Oyama's book, What Is Karate?, about somebody breaking twenty-five
roofing tiles at once, I simply brought some tiles I had found along
the road. I thought that twenty-five sounded like a lot, for these
things were heavy and felt strong. So I only put eight on top of each
other and gave it my best. I made it but nearly broke my wrist. Of
course I wondered how that kid managed twenty-five.
Well, I found out while working on the book, This Is Karate. I went to
the pile of tiles they had prepared for punishment and picked up the
top tile. It felt like paper, it was so light, and on its underside was
a baked-in line along the length of the tile. So the middle of the tile
was maybe a millimeter thick. No wonder a 110-pound chicken could go
through twenty-five of them!
The bricks were no different. They were specially baked and ii some-
one leaned on them they would crumble. His wood was also very
lightweight. As for that famous bottle trick, first you prepare the
bottle by rolling a sharp stone around the bottle's neck. That way when
you hit it, it breaks along the carved line.
Kurosaki Kenji was the only one who really impressed me with his
breaking tricks. Using his head, he broke two red bricks from British
television. The nasty cracking sound horrified everybody watching. I
was a good breaker, too, but I paid the price for my mistakes. Which
brings me to the ice-breaking trick. When you break ice blocks, be
careful. If you aren't, you'll hit the edge of the ice with your wrist
rather than your shuto (knife-hand) and break your wrist instead of the
ice. This happened to me in 1975.
During a demonstration, Loek Hollander had arranged for each of us to
break several big blocks of ice. What I did not know until years later
is that he had arranged for workmen to cut his blocks almost in half
using diamond strings and then refreeze them so that nobody would
notice the cuts. On the other hand, my blocks were solid. Anyway, Loek
broke his three blocks so easily that I forgot the rule about the wrist
and immediately broke the little bone under my wrist. I was so angry
that right away I hit again and went through the ice anyway. I was in a
plaster cast for the next six weeks.
As I said before, in 1963 1 opened my own budo club called the Budokai.
Kurosaki Kenji came over in 1966, about the time Oyama started calling
himself "the Godhand." Even the Japanese press laughs at that one. In
1990, we changed the club's name to Kyokushin Budokai and, in 1966,
some friends and I renamed it the International Budokaikan. Today it
has many associated clubs and some real good fighters.
In the Budokai we teach no kata, only fighting. Excepting Donn Draeger,
I've never known a kata champion who could beat by grandmother in
randori if she had her umbrella. To keep injuries down, we provide
students with a lot of coaching and supervision. But, as the Japanese
method of slapping people into line doesn't work in Europe, we don't
make anyone do anything he doesn't want to do. Therefore, the standards
are only as high as the individual makes them. Which can be very high,
as the teams we send to full-contact tournaments usually win. For
instance, in Tokyo in 1993, Chris Dolmen, our only 9th dan, became the
first world champion in "free fighting." From 1994 to 1997, Budokai
teams won the Japanese All-Round Karate Championships in Tokyo. As a
result, the Japanese no longer allow us to compete.
Unfortunately, there isn't much money in teaching budo this way. Today
I'm retired, but to earn a living when I was younger, I took a fifteen
percent partnership in a casino. The work kept me very busy, especially
at night. I acted in seven movies, too, but the movies pay poorly in
Holland so eventually I quit. Between the workload and the political
squalor within the European Kyokushin Kaikan, in 197 1, I told Oyama
that I was too busy to lead the organization and to give the job to
Loek Hollander. Oyama was real@ ly upset. He pleaded with me, but I
wanted to stop. Finally he gave in and Hollander got the job. Hollander
then went and filled his pockets and killed the Kyokushin 'Kaikan. I
now think that giving up the leadership to Hollander was the stupidest
thing I ever did in my entire life.
In 1976, some buddies and I were in Korea getting decorated for our
service during the war. Afterwards, my wife and I went to Tokyo where I
visited the Kyokushinkai honbu dojo for the first time in years. On the
street in front were guards. The place looked like a yakuza
headquarters - and for all I know, it is. Although he called
himself "the Godhand," everybody else called Oyama "Mr. Ten Percent."
This was due to his relations with various politicians and businessmen,
including one Time magazine called the Godfather of Japan. In
The "Young Lions" of Mas Oyama's Kyokushin Karate Headquarters (1985),
Necef Artan tells how Oyama's students spent four hours a day going
through Tokyo "asking shop keepers to display posters in their
windows." Such activities would be protected rackets in Europe or
America. But in Japan, politics and the yakuza are like a hand and a
glove on a very cold day and one never does business without the other.
Anyway, I went in the door and up the stairs to Oyama's office.
Although Oyama wasn't there, the old memories came back and I got all
choked up. The young black belts posted as guards obviously didn't
recog, nize me, even though my picture was hanging on the wall. One
went to stop me, so I gave him my best cold look and told him in
Japanese who I was and added that if he touched me he would be a
cripple instantly. The poor kid nearly had a heart attack, as Oyama had
told them all kinds of stories about me. When I left, some of the kids
touched my arm or shoulder and said they were honored. I talked to
Oyama on the phone later the same day and afterward we ate dinner at an
expensive Kobe beef restaurant.
When Oyama went to wash his hands, his wife told me that he wanted me
back with the Kyokushin Kaikan. So when he returned, we talked and I
told him I would try again if he would first get rid of Loek Hollander.
He wouldn't and that was that. The last time I saw Oyama alive was in
1983. 1 was visiting Korea and a Korean general asked me what I did for
work. When I told him, he said that he had a friend visiting from Japan
who was a famous karate teacher named Oyama. Surprised, I told him my
story. The general laughed and said, "Now I know why your name was
familiar - you're Bluming, the Beast from Amsterdam!" Then he called
Oyama and arranged for us to meet. The old man was really glad to see
me and we had a good talk. He said he would send me a first class
airline ticket so that I could come to Tokyo the following year. He
even agreed to get rid of Loek Hollander. But in November 1983, 1 got a
letter from the Kyokushin Kaikan saying that it did not want me back,
and that I should look after my own business. It seems that Loek
Hollander had told Oyama at a world conference that I was a gangster
and had held up a bank with a drawn pistol. Now I admit that I was a
partner in a casino, but that's hardly the same as being a gangster.
What's more, if I were robbing banks with drawn pistols, then I
wouldn't have been selected to serve as an honorary bodyguard for Dutch
Prince Bernhard in 1986, 1991, and 1996. But anyway, Oyama believed
Hollander's story, as have a lot of other people. Shortly before his
death, Oyama discovered that I'd been right and Loek Hollander had been
wrong. That's why today you'll find no articles about Loek Hollander or
a picture with his name under it in any of the Japanese budo magazines:
Oyama forbade it. To make things right, Oyama even sent Maeda Akira,
7th dan, to Holland in the autumn of 1993. In April 1994, 1 was
scheduled to go to Tokyo to talk to Oyama when I received a fax saying
that he had just died of cancer. I cried and cried. I was so sad,
angry, and frustrated.
During the following months, I had several meetings with the new
Kyokushin Kaikan leaders. Loek Hollander was still there and he and his
cronies still struck me as more interested in money than in budo. Mean-
while, the Japanese walked and talked like the hottest thing on earth -
and still couldn't put together a team that could win against shoot-
boxing, which in my eyes is a very weak kind of freestyle fighting. So
that was the end of that.
As for Mas Oyama, in the teaching of the Buddha it is written, "Can a
student be angry with his teacher?" The more devoted the student, the
more privileges he has! But those privileges do not include lies. To a
stranger I might sound bitter but I am not. Mas Oyama turned my life
around, all for the best. He had a good heart and was an excellent
teacher. As for every- thing else, I wish the politics in the various
judo and karate organizations would have been less. I wish I'd been
born a better diplomat, as maybe that would have helped. I wish Oyama
hadn't died, as his death means I can't talk to him anymore, or tell
him the love I still have for him because of the old days. I wish the
Japanese weren't so nationalistic and conceited, and that they would
have given Donn Draeger the credit he deserved as a teacher, coach,
fighter, and writer. What makes me saddest, though, is to have to admit
that so much of what passes for budo is really nothing more than monkey
business.
MAS OYAMA STORIES
By JON BLUMING
In the past, I've avoided discussing the "famous" Kyokushin Kaikan
karate business. I needed some time to think about saying anything now,
too, as I wanted to be strictly honest toward the memory of my
old "friend and teacher, Mas Oyama. He did a lot for me, introducing
me to the karate world and giving me a new purpose in life. This
changed my life completely for the best. For me, Oyama was like a
father I never had. In the old days, he showed me all the things you
need to be a teacher and helped me through some rough times. On the
other hand, I am tired of all the phonies who did not go the straight
way.
So, let me tell it like it was.
Published accounts describing Oyama preparing for the big karate
championships in 1947 are very funny. Especially the Americans, who
fought the Japanese in World War 11, should know that. MacArthur was
the big honcho in Japan from August 1945, until the Korean War, and he
declared right away that there was to be no more budo in Japan until he
declared otherwise. He even rounded up all the samurai swords he could
lay his hands on and had them dropped in Tokyo Bay. They would be worth
hundreds of millions of dollars today. He was not messing around and
nobody dared disobey his rules.
Around 1948, judo started again at the old Kodokan on Suidobashi.
Karate was done mainly by the Shotokan, where sparring matches were not
allowed until the late 1950s, and by the Goju Kai and Wado@ryu, where
the sparring was so soft that a split lip or a nose bleed would throw
the officials into a state of shock. So while there might have been
some professional boxing clubs where fighting was done on a knockout
basis, a karate championship in Kyoto done on such a basis was
absolutely out of the question.
When hearing stories about the old days, remember that the Japanese are
great storytellers. If the story is good, they don't check to see if it
is true. Even today, I meet people who heard from their fathers or
grandfathers about the roughhousing I supposedly did in my younger
days. It doesn't amaze me anymore and I am tired of telling people that
the stories are impossible because if you hit somebody, you were hauled
into a police station, charged, and sent to jail or kicked out of the
country. I admit I had a few fights, but always with witnesses saying
that I did not start it.
As for Oyama's alleged 270 American bouts, remember that he was in the
States as a professional wrestler. Since when are professional
wrestling matches on the level? All Oyama ever told me about those days
was that Americans were crazy, that their wrestling was phony and
prearranged, and that as fighters, they were weak. My guess is that
most of what he did was just break bricks and things between matches.
If he had ever fought any of the American professional wrestlers,
really fought them, I think he would have beaten most of them easily.
The story about Oyama fighting bulls is not true. He never met a real
bull, for he never visited Spain. I also doubt that he was gored, for
he never told me about it and he used to tell me everything. Kurosaki
Kenji was there and he told me what happened. They went early in the
morning to a stock- yard in Tateyama Prefecture. Workmen prepared a fat
old ox for Oyama by hitting one of its horns with a hammer so that it
was quite loose. Oyama did not kill the ox he only knocked off the
loose horn.
Oyama showed Bill Backhus and I the 16mm "bull fighting" movie in 1959.
1 told Oyama never to show this film in Europe because it looked too
phony and everyone would laugh at him. As far as I know, nobody saw
that movie again.
Even Oyama's famous world championships of the 1970s were a joke. By
then, foreigners were not allowed to win. To prevent it, Oyama had all
the gaijin fight each other first, and of course pitted the best
against each other. Because everyone wanted to win, the injuries were
terrible. Meanwhile, he put the leading Japanese against low quality
Japanese from his own school, who knew their place and of course didn't
try too hard. So they had it easy.
Occasionally, in the finals, the referee would give a good foreign
fighter a decision over a Japanese fighter. Oyama would stand up all
red in the face. Then he'd call the referee over to his table and chew
him out and reverse his decision. This was against all the rules of
sportsmanship. Read Nakamura Tadashi's book or go talk to him in New
York. It is very emotional and very sad.
Oyama was a strong man in his young days, but I never saw him fight
anybody, not even in his own dojo. So his "countless encounters"
and "challenges" were all before my time. Kurosaki Kenji tells me that
they were all before his time, too, and that goes back to 1952, when
they both trained at Yamaguchi Gogen's dojo in Tokyo. So I think maybe
he never fought in his life.
But he was a great teacher who trained many good fighters and his books
were very popular. When I read his first book, What Is Karate? (1957),
1 was really impressed. I was in his second book (This Is Karate, 1965)
and had the opportunity to look into the way he did things.
The thing that amazed me most was "the monkey business" (Oyama's own
words) involved in the breaking tricks. I didn't know about this when I
did my first breaking demonstration in Holland. Since I had read in
Oyama's book, What Is Karate?, about somebody breaking twenty-five
roofing tiles at once, I simply brought some tiles I had found along
the road. I thought that twenty-five sounded like a lot, for these
things were heavy and felt strong. So I only put eight on top of each
other and gave it my best. I made it but nearly broke my wrist. Of
course I wondered how that kid managed twenty-five.
Well, I found out while working on the book, This Is Karate. I went to
the pile of tiles they had prepared for punishment and picked up the
top tile. It felt like paper, it was so light, and on its underside was
a baked-in line along the length of the tile. So the middle of the tile
was maybe a millimeter thick. No wonder a 110-pound chicken could go
through twenty-five of them!
The bricks were no different. They were specially baked and ii some-
one leaned on them they would crumble. His wood was also very
lightweight. As for that famous bottle trick, first you prepare the
bottle by rolling a sharp stone around the bottle's neck. That way when
you hit it, it breaks along the carved line.
Kurosaki Kenji was the only one who really impressed me with his
breaking tricks. Using his head, he broke two red bricks from British
television. The nasty cracking sound horrified everybody watching. I
was a good breaker, too, but I paid the price for my mistakes. Which
brings me to the ice-breaking trick. When you break ice blocks, be
careful. If you aren't, you'll hit the edge of the ice with your wrist
rather than your shuto (knife-hand) and break your wrist instead of the
ice. This happened to me in 1975.
During a demonstration, Loek Hollander had arranged for each of us to
break several big blocks of ice. What I did not know until years later
is that he had arranged for workmen to cut his blocks almost in half
using diamond strings and then refreeze them so that nobody would
notice the cuts. On the other hand, my blocks were solid. Anyway, Loek
broke his three blocks so easily that I forgot the rule about the wrist
and immediately broke the little bone under my wrist. I was so angry
that right away I hit again and went through the ice anyway. I was in a
plaster cast for the next six weeks.
As I said before, in 1963 1 opened my own budo club called the Budokai.
Kurosaki Kenji came over in 1966, about the time Oyama started calling
himself "the Godhand." Even the Japanese press laughs at that one. In
1990, we changed the club's name to Kyokushin Budokai and, in 1966,
some friends and I renamed it the International Budokaikan. Today it
has many associated clubs and some real good fighters.
In the Budokai we teach no kata, only fighting. Excepting Donn Draeger,
I've never known a kata champion who could beat by grandmother in
randori if she had her umbrella. To keep injuries down, we provide
students with a lot of coaching and supervision. But, as the Japanese
method of slapping people into line doesn't work in Europe, we don't
make anyone do anything he doesn't want to do. Therefore, the standards
are only as high as the individual makes them. Which can be very high,
as the teams we send to full-contact tournaments usually win. For
instance, in Tokyo in 1993, Chris Dolmen, our only 9th dan, became the
first world champion in "free fighting." From 1994 to 1997, Budokai
teams won the Japanese All-Round Karate Championships in Tokyo. As a
result, the Japanese no longer allow us to compete.
Unfortunately, there isn't much money in teaching budo this way. Today
I'm retired, but to earn a living when I was younger, I took a fifteen
percent partnership in a casino. The work kept me very busy, especially
at night. I acted in seven movies, too, but the movies pay poorly in
Holland so eventually I quit. Between the workload and the political
squalor within the European Kyokushin Kaikan, in 197 1, I told Oyama
that I was too busy to lead the organization and to give the job to
Loek Hollander. Oyama was real@ ly upset. He pleaded with me, but I
wanted to stop. Finally he gave in and Hollander got the job. Hollander
then went and filled his pockets and killed the Kyokushin 'Kaikan. I
now think that giving up the leadership to Hollander was the stupidest
thing I ever did in my entire life.
In 1976, some buddies and I were in Korea getting decorated for our
service during the war. Afterwards, my wife and I went to Tokyo where I
visited the Kyokushinkai honbu dojo for the first time in years. On the
street in front were guards. The place looked like a yakuza
headquarters - and for all I know, it is. Although he called
himself "the Godhand," everybody else called Oyama "Mr. Ten Percent."
This was due to his relations with various politicians and businessmen,
including one Time magazine called the Godfather of Japan. In
The "Young Lions" of Mas Oyama's Kyokushin Karate Headquarters (1985),
Necef Artan tells how Oyama's students spent four hours a day going
through Tokyo "asking shop keepers to display posters in their
windows." Such activities would be protected rackets in Europe or
America. But in Japan, politics and the yakuza are like a hand and a
glove on a very cold day and one never does business without the other.
Anyway, I went in the door and up the stairs to Oyama's office.
Although Oyama wasn't there, the old memories came back and I got all
choked up. The young black belts posted as guards obviously didn't
recog, nize me, even though my picture was hanging on the wall. One
went to stop me, so I gave him my best cold look and told him in
Japanese who I was and added that if he touched me he would be a
cripple instantly. The poor kid nearly had a heart attack, as Oyama had
told them all kinds of stories about me. When I left, some of the kids
touched my arm or shoulder and said they were honored. I talked to
Oyama on the phone later the same day and afterward we ate dinner at an
expensive Kobe beef restaurant.
When Oyama went to wash his hands, his wife told me that he wanted me
back with the Kyokushin Kaikan. So when he returned, we talked and I
told him I would try again if he would first get rid of Loek Hollander.
He wouldn't and that was that. The last time I saw Oyama alive was in
1983. 1 was visiting Korea and a Korean general asked me what I did for
work. When I told him, he said that he had a friend visiting from Japan
who was a famous karate teacher named Oyama. Surprised, I told him my
story. The general laughed and said, "Now I know why your name was
familiar - you're Bluming, the Beast from Amsterdam!" Then he called
Oyama and arranged for us to meet. The old man was really glad to see
me and we had a good talk. He said he would send me a first class
airline ticket so that I could come to Tokyo the following year. He
even agreed to get rid of Loek Hollander. But in November 1983, 1 got a
letter from the Kyokushin Kaikan saying that it did not want me back,
and that I should look after my own business. It seems that Loek
Hollander had told Oyama at a world conference that I was a gangster
and had held up a bank with a drawn pistol. Now I admit that I was a
partner in a casino, but that's hardly the same as being a gangster.
What's more, if I were robbing banks with drawn pistols, then I
wouldn't have been selected to serve as an honorary bodyguard for Dutch
Prince Bernhard in 1986, 1991, and 1996. But anyway, Oyama believed
Hollander's story, as have a lot of other people. Shortly before his
death, Oyama discovered that I'd been right and Loek Hollander had been
wrong. That's why today you'll find no articles about Loek Hollander or
a picture with his name under it in any of the Japanese budo magazines:
Oyama forbade it. To make things right, Oyama even sent Maeda Akira,
7th dan, to Holland in the autumn of 1993. In April 1994, 1 was
scheduled to go to Tokyo to talk to Oyama when I received a fax saying
that he had just died of cancer. I cried and cried. I was so sad,
angry, and frustrated.
During the following months, I had several meetings with the new
Kyokushin Kaikan leaders. Loek Hollander was still there and he and his
cronies still struck me as more interested in money than in budo. Mean-
while, the Japanese walked and talked like the hottest thing on earth -
and still couldn't put together a team that could win against shoot-
boxing, which in my eyes is a very weak kind of freestyle fighting. So
that was the end of that.
As for Mas Oyama, in the teaching of the Buddha it is written, "Can a
student be angry with his teacher?" The more devoted the student, the
more privileges he has! But those privileges do not include lies. To a
stranger I might sound bitter but I am not. Mas Oyama turned my life
around, all for the best. He had a good heart and was an excellent
teacher. As for every- thing else, I wish the politics in the various
judo and karate organizations would have been less. I wish I'd been
born a better diplomat, as maybe that would have helped. I wish Oyama
hadn't died, as his death means I can't talk to him anymore, or tell
him the love I still have for him because of the old days. I wish the
Japanese weren't so nationalistic and conceited, and that they would
have given Donn Draeger the credit he deserved as a teacher, coach,
fighter, and writer. What makes me saddest, though, is to have to admit
that so much of what passes for budo is really nothing more than monkey
business.
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