Although a truly enlightening article about Chuck Norris would probably be written in a language that only a trained Chun Kuk Do artist could understand, no true Chun Kuk Do artist would ever attempt to put on paper the feats accomplished by their Dojo.

I am not a Chun Kuk Do artist (or any other type of artist), merely another pathetic being who is fascinated by the awesome hold Chuck Norris “facts” have taken on our universe.

My own participation in this phenomenon began innocently enough, with no grand design or evil intentions on my part; just a simple desire to scratch the itch of curiosity. I was new to Facebook and was trying to find some old friends. After finding one of said friends I looked over his wall to see if there was anything of interest there. Engraved there, seemingly etched in stone were the words, “There are no steroids in baseball, just players Chuck Norris has breathed on.”

From my own mouth came first a chuckle, then a snort, and finally a burst of hysterical laughter that was probably heard for miles around. As my laughing subsided into painful sighs and I pulled myself back into the chair I wondered; “What was that all about? What was it about that simple string of words that had aroused such deep feelings of mirth inside of me?”

Wanting to know if there were others like me or if I alone was possessed with some strange disease, I called hesitantly down to my brother-in-law, “Want to hear a joke?”

From under the couch where he was hiding from whatever had made those horrible shrieking sounds upstairs he whimpered “Sure. I guess so.”

I read to him the words that had caused such irrational behavior in myself and was amazed to discover that they had nearly the same effect upon him. As he panted for breath, struggling to stand, he managed to gasp, “That’s a….good one. Did you know….Chuck Norris’ tears….can cure cancer? Too bad….he never….cries!”

To compare my first bout of laughter with the second onslaught that now overcame me would be like trying to compare stubbing my toe to being round house kicked in the face by Chuck Norris. There IS no comparison.

For the next several hours I pored over the countless websites devoted to this man I had previously known next to nothing about. Who is Chuck Norris? Where did he come from? How did he obtain such incredible power? Many sites placed him second only to a God. Some sites claimed that he is far superior to any being, going so far as to say that even Supreme Beings ask his permission to perform menial tasks.

By the time I went to bed I knew more Chuck Norris “facts” than nursery rhymes, sports statistics, and hit songs combined. I could tell you that his beard covers not a chin, but another fist. I had learned that Chuck Norris, and not some scrawny scientist, is responsible for deciding what time it is. I was shaken to my core to discover the theory of evolution isn’t real at all, there’s just a list of species Chuck Norris allows to live! I had even learned personal details about The Legend’s everyday life, including what he does while waiting for his order to be served while at a restaurant.

So that was how it began for me. From there it has only gotten worse. When I go into a plumbing supply store I can’t seem to pick up parts without sharing some of these “facts” with those who work there and even other customers. The same is true of the grocery store, the bank, basically wherever I happen to be. It doesn’t even stop at church. I find Chuck Norris “facts”, I read them, and then I share them with the world. It’s almost like a calling or something.

It’s gotten so bad that I even use these so-called “facts” as pickup lines. A typical scenario would go as follows:

I see a girl that I think I should get to know a little better. I make eye contact and approach the girl with as much of a Chuck Norris walk as I’m capable of. When I’m within range (usually about a foot or so from said attractive girl), I put my Chuck Norris knowledge into action.

“Do you know what the quickest way to a man’s heart is?” Here she usually responds with something silly like, “Food?” or, “A woman’s touch?” and even the oh-so-presumptuous, “ME?”

To whichever of these she chooses to use I reply in a very gruff and manly way, “Chuck Norris’s Fist!”

I have yet to get anything other than attempts at roundhouse kicks to my face from this, but I’m sure as I perfect the method over time results will improve.

As I’ve said before; sometimes I’m a little worried that there’s something wrong with me, almost as if my name passed through Chuck Norris’ subconscious thoughts and caused me to loose my powers of reason and self control. But as soon as such thoughts cross my mind someone always manages to put my fears to rest with this simple question. “Wanna hear a Chuck Norris joke?”