Jason Statham is not a man, nor is he a human being. He transcends the categorization of mere mortal, with the ability to shape worlds and break hearts with his fists.
This former footballer/actor/super-lover has a mythos that spans beyond human cognition, on the level of time travel, black holes and European carry-alls. A few brave souls exchanged their lives for the ability to comprehend that which is Statham, and selections from the sagely annal, Variety Magazine, are deciphered — with the help of a Stathamian sociologist simply known as “Arran” — from an otherworldly language of stick figures engaging in violence and strong sexual content:
Excerpts from Book XII:
Statham only has two emotions: relaxed and massacre. When Statham is in the mood for sex, many wonder if he is relaxed or ready for massacre. While Statham clearly is never nervous before coitus, he will tear that ass up something chronic. It’s not a literal massacre, but it’s close.
His tearing up of ass is like him imagining himself brutally beating up a bad guy within an inch of their life — but with his penis. Ultimately, Statham is a tender lover, but you may not walk right for at least a year. This is why Statham is unable to keep a lover for more than a day.
Excerpts from Book XXIV:
Statham’s testosterone-powered seed overwhelm the ovaries so much that their reproductive systems hibernate to recover. It’s what gynecologists have dubbed the “Statham Effect.” It’s also why Statham doesn’t have known offspring, for no Earthly woman has the reproductive organs strong enough to handle the onslaught of Statham’s seed, let alone allow one to fertilize an egg without exploding.
In the unlikely event that a woman’s egg was fertilized with Statham’s sperm, she wouldn’t be able to carry a Statham child to term; the fetus would punch its way out of the womb within a month. This has not deterred many women from trying, though. Unfortunately, the result is always the same: the baby punches its way out, utters “Let’s get CRANKED,” and then proceeds to try and have sex with the midwife. Fortunately, Statham himself has always been there to stop this by killing the baby with a single karate kick to the sternum.
When the baby attempts to sex the midwife, it kills her with its powerful thighs and the translated cries of “I’d like to offer you one: permanently disabled!” Statham, seeing the threat that the baby poses to his throne of ruler of Fuck City, kills the baby, yells at the dying corpse, “Fuck your mother! I let boss know you shit in Superman’s stomach. Dumb ass!” and flees the scene.
Excerpts from Book XXVIII:
The women that attempt to have sex with Statham are not bright, nor know how to navigate the internet to read the detailed reports of Statham’s seed shutting down their reproductive systems. This is how Statham likes it.
However, with celebrity-obsessed television show Entertainment Tonight — due to an extraordinary and unexpected piece of journalism — linking the trail of dead babies and midwives to Statham, he decides to relocate to a place where the women are gorgeous and don’t know how to use the internet and television: Croatia.
While Statham hatches a plan to eliminate the threat of trashy entertainment television like Entertainment Tonight, he spends his time manipulating his seed to not create life. He tests it by tearing that ass up of every Croatian women he deems “fuckable within an inch of their life.” His plan almost works.
The world, of course, is somehow unaware that Statham is actually immortal – that Statham is everliving. Statham still decides to keep his eternal status a secret just to fuck with everyone, as due to his extreme intelligence he regards anyone with an IQ under 364 as “a dopey cunt.”
Excerpts from Book XXX:
As another ripping gag, he decides to fuck Italy. Not all the women in Italy: the actual country.
The fucking of Italy plunges the country underwater — a brilliant maneuver as the genetic makeup of Italian women are the strongest to give life to a Statham that could withstand the abuse that the elder Statham can give.
What Statham didn’t know was that the future mother of his child, Lady GaGa, was of Italian and Martian descent. (Anthropologists are undecided on GaGa’s Italian heritage.) Upon meeting GaGa at a party in Fuck City, he was intrigued by her brazen fashion and extraterrestrial mannerism, wanting immediately to mount her like a Leonardo da Vinci painting in the Louvre Museum.
As he sawed into her like a jackhammer on pavement, his seed was in for the fight of its life, warring with GaGa’s eggs for hours upon end until they burst through with their tiny fists and feet. The division of cells, creating life, were fought with similar vigor, fighting tooth and nail to give life to the growing Stathams in GaGa’s womb — equipped for carrying strong warriors… and other things…
Excerpts from Book XXXVII:
As Statham stared down the remains of the evil clone of Gabriel Yulaw, a bigger threat loomed on the horizon.
There were seven children in their beginning stages of life, each representing the very threat to Statham’s throne of King Shit of Fuck Mountain of Fuck City, and each would have to come out with guns-a-blazing from the very moment of their human lives — which they would.
As cited in Book XXXI, Passages 24-31:
Statham’s seed is especially notable in the field of biology, because in the incredibly rare case when a woman (such as Lady GaGa) has a womb strong enough to carry a miniature Statham to full term, it actually develops a pair of Glock 9mm pistols during the gestation period – one in each hand. The child is also born with the preternatural ability to wield said firearms with such skill that it makes Lee Harvey Oswald look like a mere patsy. (Indeed, legend has it that the Kennedy assassination was actually carried out by a spawn of Statham lost in the space-time continuum — another natural ability of junior Stathams being the bending of said continuum to their whims — but that is another tale entirely, referenced in Statham 17:29.)
On the predestined day that GaGa was ordained to give birth to Statham’s children, she flew to the remains of Italy and had a ceremonial water birth. The seven Stathams jump-kicked their way out of their restrictive womb, shouting “Don’t pop a blood vessel, you little penis!” to their birth mother, scattering around the world by swimming.
This did not please Statham, who until then was unaware of the survival of the children to term because of GaGa’s lead-clad womb and inexpressive Poker Face. He sensed a disturbance that was brought about the children’s births, and he knew that he had to bring them to their end. But he would need help, for even he could not kill seven Statham’s at once. He turned to the one man who could not feel pain — remembering the wise words of one scholarly man: “pain don’t hurt.”
He dug up the remains of Patrick “Dalton” Swayze.
Excerpts from Book XXXIX:
Statham rejuvenated Swayze with the magical words “Get up, you daft cocksucker!”, causing the corpse of Swayze to reanimate just to chastise Statham over the fact that the phrase “cocksucker” is merely “two nouns combined to elicit a response.” Statham knew that he had found the only being completely fucking hardcore enough to team up with.
After being informed of the situation with the Seven Sons of Statham, Swayze opined “It’ll get worse before it gets better.” Statham, humbled (as much as he could possibly be) by the only man to ever star in a movie more awesome than one of his own, had to agree.
And thus the greatest, toughest, mostest awesomest duo in recorded human history (narrowly edging out Hall and Oates) was formed with a single goal: seek and destroy the Seven Sons.