Oscar Wild joins a dojo...

Ah, my dear friend, imagine a scenario wherein one, through a capricious alignment of celestial whimsy, finds oneself in the esteemed company of a gentleman whose intellectual acumen, alas, resembles that of a turnip rather than the sagacious scholars of yore. To usher such a fellow into the sacred sanctum of a karate dojo would be akin to inviting a bull into a china shop – a cataclysmic convergence of clumsiness and cognitive consternation.

In the hallowed halls of martial enlightenment, where the swift mind is as crucial as the nimble foot, one cannot in good conscience extend an invitation to a dunderheaded disciple. Picture, if you will, a protagonist whose cerebral faculties are akin to a befuddled bumblebee trapped in an existential quandary, unable to discern between a jab and a jest.

Karate, my dear interlocutor, demands a dance of dexterity both mental and physical. The subtleties of strategy and the finesse of footwork are a delicate ballet, and to introduce a neophyte of negligible noggin into this cerebral choreography is to court catastrophe. One cannot wield a katana with the finesse of a poet if one's mental faculties are akin to the disarrayed verses of an inebriated bard.

In the elegant parlance of Wilde, to admit a person of intellectual torpor into the disciplined domain of karate would be a veritable fiasco, a spectacle eclipsing even the most absurd of his celebrated comedies. Let the dojo doors remain a threshold to enlightenment, not an unwitting portal for the thick-headed to stumble into a symphony of kicks and contemplation. For in the arena of martial arts, the battle is not only fought with fists but also with the faculties of the mind, a realm where the thick-witted may find themselves woefully outmatched.