At Mad Monkey, the individual with more experienced is the coach, and he or she is responsible for supporting any less experienced individuals in achieving their goals by providing training, knowledge and guidance. Terms like sifu, sensei. master, or professor don’t need to be attracted to the coach we are all equals.
Now, if you absolutely can’t stomach calling us “coaches,” we’ve got an alternative we can all get behind: Jedi. Let’s face it, it’s way cooler to imagine your coach holding a lightsaber while yelling, “Move your feet!” And honestly, who wouldn’t want to train with someone who could channel the Force while also teaching you how to block a kick and snap some limbs?
Picture this: You’re sparring, your coach calmly mutters, “Do or do not, there is no try,” and then bam—your roundhouse kick finally lands. Magical, right? Plus, it’s scientifically proven that you’ll train harder when pretending to be in a galaxy far, far away. (Okay, maybe not scientifically, but it feels right.)
Founder | Coach
The Totally, Absolutely True Origin Story of Crazzylegs
Ah, Crazzylegs. A name that strikes awe, confusion, and maybe a little indigestion into the hearts of martial arts enthusiasts everywhere. But who is Crazzylegs? Where did he come from? And why does he know so much about primate-based combat tactics? Buckle up, friends—this is the saga of a man, a wrong bus stop, and some hyper-intelligent time-traveling monkeys.
Once upon a time (okay, fine, like 20 years ago), young Crazzylegs was your average Canadian kid. Until the day he got off the wrong bus stop in the middle of nowhere, somewhere just shy of Winnipeg but a million miles from civilization. With no cellphone (as they weren’t invented yet), no map, and only his questionable sense of direction, he wandered aimlessly through the unforgiving wilderness.
Three days in, dehydrated, exhausted, and really starting to regret not packing extra granola bars, Crazzylegs collapsed. Was this the end? Would his tombstone read, “Here lies Crazzylegs: He trusted Winnipeg Transit”? Not quite.
Crazzylegs woke up to find himself not in heaven (or Winnipeg General Hospital) but in a cage. On an alien spaceship. Surrounded by super-intelligent time-traveling primates. Yep, actual monkeys, but with brains bigger than most IT departments and a penchant for world domination. They explained, in fluent English of course, that they were not aliens.
No, these primates were from Earth’s ancient past, long before the ice sheets rolled in and wiped out their highly advanced civilization. And yes, they traveled through time. Because, duh, that’s what you do when your banana supply starts running low.
Instead of, you know, just giving Crazzylegs a ride home, these primates decided he’d be the perfect test subject for their “Project Monkey Martial Arts 2.0.” They implanted combat memories into his brain—basically downloading centuries of their greatest tactical knowledge into his noggin. And when that wasn’t enough, they threw him into virtual simulations where he fought off armies of holographic apes using moves that would make even Bruce Lee question his skills.
Crazzylegs became an unknowing repository of ancient primate kung fu, judo, and some stuff that doesn’t even have a name yet. But here’s the catch: when the primates returned him to Earth, they wiped his memory. So, Crazzylegs went back to his life with no recollection of his time aboard the spaceship—or his newfound, superhuman combat potential.
For years, Crazzylegs lived an unremarkable life. But slowly, something weird started happening. He began having visions: flashes of battles he’d never fought, techniques he’d never learned, and moves that definitely weren’t covered in his high school gym class. It was as if these long-dormant memories were bleeding through his subconscious, one ridiculous backflip at a time.
At first, he chalked it up to bad sushi. But soon, the skills started coming through in real life. He could suddenly disarm opponents using techniques that felt second nature, even though he’d never practiced them. The pieces began falling into place, and Crazzylegs realized the truth: his brain was slowly unlocking the combat knowledge implanted by those time-traveling primates.
Here’s the thing about Crazzylegs: he’s not selfish. Sure, he could’ve used his secret monkey martial arts to become a cage-fighting legend or the world’s greatest action star. But instead, he decided to share this incredible gift with anyone willing to learn—because, honestly, the whole brain-bleeding-from-memory-overload situation is kind of a ticking time bomb.
So now, Crazzylegs is on a mission to pass down the ancient wisdom of the primates. He’s here to teach you how to fight like a monkey on steroids before his own brain short-circuits from the sheer amount of ridiculous knowledge crammed inside it.
Because it’s hilarious, that’s why. Let’s be real: there are too many martial arts instructors out there writing bios that read like the plot of a bad action movie. They claim to have trained with ninjas on mountaintops or achieved enlightenment while fighting grizzly bears in Tibet. Crazzylegs? He’s just leaning into the absurdity. If other instructors want to be mysterious, he’s here to give you a laugh—and maybe teach you how to flip someone over your shoulder while doing it.
Crazzylegs’s Martial Arts Experience:
The bullshit years that were the 90s or my teen years. i bounced around from wrestling, karate, aikido, capoeira, boxing and tae kwon do. Never staying for more then a year at any one place and not going to lie most coaches were shit and i didn’t learn much in those years.
The advanced primate memory implant years