[ WP ] A sumo wrestler must save the White House from imminent destruction .

As world champion, it was said to be a very great honor to visit the president of the United States. 
 
 Kenji was not so sure. He thought that he would be bigger, stronger. More formidable. 
 
 But the man he saw looked as though he could be blown over by a strong wind, and even members of Kenji's entourage could have pushed this tiny man out of a ring. 
 
 Still, he supposed that he, himself, would not want the responsibilities of being a leader, and perhaps you had to be small to desire such things. Surely, one should want to be a leader in order to do so well. 
 
 But most of all, Kenji was bored. His expensive tailored suit was not very comfortable, and while he supposed he looked good, he felt more at home with less on. 
 
 Kenji began scanning the crowd. He was certain he would be the biggest and strongest man there, but perhaps someone could pose a challenge. He had wrestled with several Americans during the world championships, and one of them had been quite good. Not good enough, but better than many others he had wrestled. 
 
 Most Americans seemed so small. Everyone says that Asians are small, but they seemed no different than the Americans to Kenji, and they all looked the same. His older brother traveled a lot, for business, and he had said as much but deep down Kenji had always assumed he was just trying to posture himself as well-traveled. 
 
 One man caught his eye. He was not especially big, but he looked different from the rest. He was not well-dressed, like Kenji, but he was over-dressed all the same. Wearing a heavy jacket, yet it was not cold out. In fact, Kenji had been drenched in sweat since donning the suit. The man did not seem- well, he did not know if he could say that the man did not seem *bothered* by the heat, the man seemed distressed, but did not seem to be suffering from being overheated. His behavior was strange. 
 
 Kenji looked around. How did nobody else seem to notice this man, and his odd dress and behavior? Did he only seem strange because Kenji was an outsider? Surely a strange man was strange whether he was strange in Japan or here, in America. 
 
 Kenji sighed. He did not come all the way out here to listen to a stick man speak for some time and to observe strange Americans. His translator had apologized for not being able to keep up with the president's speech, and Kenji had grown tired of his paraphrasing. 
 
 The strange man with the large brown coat began moving in the crowd. Kenji's eyes followed the man as he bumped into others, who occasionally muttered and offered mild protests. He was approaching the podium. Kenji recalled that the president was supposed to have some of the best guard forces in the world, surely this man would have attracted attention by now. He could see the men he presumed were Secret Service, but they did nothing- they merely stood before the podium, looking out at the crowd. 
 
 Kenji furrowed his brow. The odd man was getting closer now. He was nearing the edge of the crowd, and the only thing separating him from the podium would be the rows of seating. Kenji was in the third row, and due to his respectable girth, he had opted to sit on the outside edge. 
 
 As the man cleared the crowd and Kenji finally got a clear look at him, the man's jacket opened briefly. His powerful, insatiable stomach dropped away within him: he saw wires, tape, and what appeared to be blinking LED lights beneath the mean's jacket. 
 
 The man continued on his approach to the podium, but Kenji was resolutely certain that this stick-man president's loyal guards would attend to the mad-man before things went out of hand. Surely it was under control. America was a respectable nation, after all. 
 
 As the man passed by, the scent of chemicals, burnt plastic, body odor and old sweat filled Kenji's nostrils. It was the smell of a man with a sick mind. He reached the first row of seats and having done so, spread his arms wide, as if to imitate the Jesus that Americans worship. 
 
 Kenji knew what had to be done. 
 
 `` Sore wa bakudandesu!'' 
 
 Kenji rose swiftly, and ripped his shirt and jacket from his torso in a single mighty swipe with both of his hands. The strange man turned to see the mighty Kenji, who threw himself at this foul, strange, sad man with no mercy. 
 
 As he fell into the man, he knew that he might be sacrificing himself for the stick-man president, and for the others who had come to listen to him yap that day. He had wished he could continue to be champion for some time to come, until he had fathered enough children to guarantee that one of them might be world champion one day, like him. 
 
 But it would not be. He would give his life to save the American president. He would die with much honor. 
 
 Kenji opened his eyes. 
 
 The strange man's skin had gone a shade of deep purple. His eyes were bloodshot, and all of the veins stood out on his face, frozen in a gape of terror, a cry of fear never having had the chance to leave his mouth. 
 
 Kenji was surrounded by men, many of whom had their guns drawn. Stupid men, of course *now* they have their weapons ready. Kenji struggled to get up, but finally rose to one knee, and stood above the strange, crushed man on the ground. 
 
 Whatever electronics he had hoped to use to trigger his explosives were no match for the might of one Kenji Aoyagi, and had been smashed into smithereens. The blinking lights blinked no longer, and several bits of plastic had become stuck, imprinted into Kenji's ample and vigorous belly. 
 
 The American stick president approached, through the circle of armed men. He locked eyes with Kenji, nodded, and said, `` Hello. Domo... ahh... domo arigato.'' He then bowed before Kenji, who respectfully returned the bow. 
 
 Perhaps America was worthwhile after all.
