Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Beliefs



"Religion is the opium of the people."-Karl Marx

We live in a world full of beliefs. Some believe that some book which claims that some talking snake convinced some naked chick in some magic garden to eat a fruit from some forbidden magic tree that had some forbidden knowledge which angered some insecure all knowing deity that made it so that we had to deal with the unkind harshness of reality that involved AIDS, Justin Beiber, Taylor Swift, Cancer, and the Boston Red Sox winning a World Series Title. We have people that believe in capitalism which was perfectly summed up by a quote I read that simply said, "Capitalism is the belief that there is no such thing as too much." It can also be summed up as the belief that there is always room for a Jell-O----or a Big Mac---with the fries---and the shake---yes, the muthafuckin shake, because in our pussified society we also believe that there is no such thing as too big of waistline since we also believe that having too big of waistline isn't due to being an unmotivated lazy fat ass but a disease. Yes, a muthafucking disease.

Let me explain something, Malaria is a fucking disease because it can kill you due to no fault of your own. The bubonic plague is a fucking disease because it can kill you due to no fault of your own (it's the fucking flea that lives on the rat's fault). Child Support is a disease, because it can kill you due to no fault of your own even that's what makes you want to put a gun in your mouth. Actually now that I think about it all of these can be faults of your own. Disease really is a fault of your own because they start with the greatest disease that inflicts all of us, even myself since belief is the entire point of me writing an article which is trying destroy the entire concept of belief and cram that idea into the hole that is your brain. Belief is a disease for many reasons but most of all it is due to the fact that it gives rise to two symptoms in the form of optimism bias and cognitive dissonance. These symptoms become readily notable when smashed in the face with Robert DeNiro, playing Al Capone, in The Untouchables with the Lousiville Slugger of reality.

Optimism Bias is the condition in which no matter how much the odds are stocked against you that you somehow think you will be that special little snowflake that defies the odds. Smokers for instance are a perfect example of this. I mean they see the surgeon generals label. They see all the truth ads. They see their relatives on oxygen tanks from decades long smoking habits or ones having their death gurgles from lung cancer but low and behold they have a pack of Parliament Lights and a lighter on the ready for when they go outside to cry about how their loved one could be so fucking stupid while they put a P-funk to their lips and light up to continue the obvious genetic line of stupidity. Why? Because of optimism bias. It's the belief that you are that special little snowflake that won't melt even though in reality all fucking snowflakes melt eventually.

Cognitive dissonance is the symptom that makes you believe what you know is true even when empirical evidence debunks that assumption. For instance, Christians that take the Bible literally and actually believe that the Earth is 10,000 years old. That is an assumption. Empirical inquiry has discovered fossilized remains of organisms as well as used carbon dating on rocks and minerals that put the age of the Earth at around 4 Billion years old. That debunks the claim of the Bible right there and proves that it's bullshit. Now the Christian that takes this science fiction book way too seriously has a dilemma on his hands in the form of assumption versus reality. What do some of these gullible jerk offs do? They come to the assumption that the fossils were placed there as a test from their beloved omnipotent fairy tale pixie with a beard and anger management issues that still loves them. You know what? It is a test. A test from reality to see if they are a fucking moron that suffers from cognitive dissonance and infected with optimism bias. Here are some more examples of belief vs. reality:

1. "Honey, does this dress make my ass make me look fat?"

Belief: "No, honey you're beautiful."

Reality: "Yes, you're fucking fat and you've been getting fatter ever since you started eating that wedding cake and stopped putting out. Start going to the gym and watching some porn you fat, cold bitch."

2. "Why do bad things happen?'

Belief: "Because everything happens for a reason and good things are coming your way."

Reality: "Because fuck you that's why."

3. The government is getting too big.

Belief: "We need a more conservative man in office that will shrink the governments' size."

Reality: "Conservatives want a man in office that will shrink the government so that corporate CEOs can fuck up the economy even more, i.e. the Wall Street crash of 2008, in order to keep the working and lower classes in debt while allowing inflation to be unregulated in order to keep corporate CEOs in power and allowing international banking cartels to keep a strangle hold on humanity."

4. What do cops do?

Belief: "Cops are hired to protect and serve our community."

Reality: "Cops are nothing more than glorified gangsters that collect money through tickets and taxes since they have the government on their side while having no interest in preventing serious crimes, i.e. rape and murder, since solving those crimes doesn't generate revenue. This is why detectives are basically insomniacs since they have to find justice after the fact and crime never sleeps."

5. What is evolution?

Belief: "Evolution doesn't exist."

Reality: "The fact that you are reading this from a lap top or a smart phone instead of trying to figure out what I am saying from smoke signals is proof evolution exists."

6. Abortion

Pro-Life Belief: "All life is sacred"

Pro-Choice Belief: "It's my body."

Pro-Life reality: "Life is about as sacred as that burger you eat from a cow that got processed in a slaughter house and that tomato and lettuce that came from a living plant."

Pro-Choice reality: "Technically speaking it's you, the fetus's body, as well as the father's since you were dumb enough not to use a condom, a diaphragm, or use any form of birth control in the way that it is prescribed. Whether or not to carry a fetus to term should be weighed against a variety of variables such as your ability to be a responsible parent, if the baby could be healthy enough to be brought to term, whether or not it won't have some debilitating birth defect like down syndrome, as well as whether or not carrying it to term would be a threat to the mother's health. All these should be discussed between the father and mother before making any decision along with the fact there are other options like giving the baby up for adoption if the both you feel that dumb cunts like yourselves wouldn't be responsible parents which is fine since there are plenty of people that can't have kids that would love to raise yours in a loving home."

7. College

Belief: "College is the only way to succeed in life."

Reality: "College is the only way to succeed in life if you are an aspiring mathematician or theoretical physicist that needs the funding of tenure to carry on your research in order to decipher the mysteries of our reality. For anyone else it is a Ponzi scheme to indoctrinate you into a society based on capital that was based on the model set forth by the Rockefeller General Education Board whose goal is only to teach you enough to carry out a desired chore and be nothing more than a cog in the worlds socioeconomic wheel that is fueled by greed, fear, corruption, and gullibility. If you have a dream to do something with your life then do it; just figure out how to make money at it. If you fail, get back up, figure out where you went wrong, and fix those mistakes. That's what I do. That's why I passed up on a free ride to Duke, academic scholarship, in order to chase my dream of being a professional cage fighter which failed when I suffered a traumatic brain injury. I was heart broken, I cried and I drank a lot while wallowing in my sorrow which wasn't solving shit.

I started reading Tucker Max novels and found a new dream of being a writer which eventually led to me starting this blog as well as working on a line of science fiction novels which hopefully will generate income and if not then it still wont be lost cause since I took a risk and learned something about myself while giving my life meaning and purpose. I will take what I learned to another endeavor which I have in the making. Following my intuition and not conforming to societal norms makes every day I spend alive an enjoyable one and one I don't take for granted. It's what makes me feel like a human being instead of a mindless drone that is bogged down in a routine of punching in and punching out the clock from 9-5. Take a risk with your life, it might be the healthiest thing you can do for yourself."

8. Same Sex Marriage

Belief: "Marriage is strictly between a man and a woman."

Reality: "Who marries who is none of your fucking business. The only business of marriage that pertains to you is who YOU choose to marry whether it be of the opposite, same, trans, multiple, or beastialilty type. You want to have a polygamist marriage involving your teddy bear, pet ferret, and that meth head with the herp down at section 8 housing then feel free. It's your life and it's your choice. It's also no business of yours of whom others choose to spend the rest of their lives with. If you don't like two guys kissing then don't look."

9. Gun control

Belief: "The 2nd Amendment gives us the Right the bear arms."

Reality: "Rights are priviliges and priviliges are earned. Just because you have a clean record shouldn't guarantee one the ability own a gun. Jeffrey Dahmer, Timothy McVeigh, Richard Kuklinsky, James Holmes, and Gary Ridgeway were all law abiding citizens. They were also mass murderers who suffered psychopathy which allowed for them to process empathy differently from others while allowing them the choice of whether or not to act on it or not. These individuals chose to murder and kill albeit being law abiding citizens until they committed their crimes and while some didn't use guns in their acts of malice the point is that they still used tools to kill and a gun is a tool with which the only purpose is to kill.

Now I'm not saying responsible citizens shouldn't be denied guns outright but still there needs to be a stricter process to gun ownership in order to curb and cut off options for individuals that look to harm others. They may find other methods to kill but at the very least they will have one less option. It's a step in the right direction and maybe if our society starts to take steps in the right direction then psychopaths might run out of reasons to start hurting people in the first place which brings me too.

10. Psychopathy

Belief: "Psychopaths are dangerous individuals and if they haven't harmed someone they will inevitably do so."

Reality: "Psychopathy is a vague umbrella term for a variety of psychological issues that could lead to one becoming one whom murders, rapes, and/or steals. Genetics plays a part in this due to the fact that it allows their brains to process empathy differently than the vast majority of people and according to statistics afflicts about 2-3% of our population and yes many of these individuals have become notorious serial killers, mafia hitmen, and the leaders of genocidal regimes such as Adolf Hitler whom helmed the Nazi regime in Germany that led to the systematic murder of 15 million people by some counts. He suffered from a condition called Asperger's Syndrome which was also called Autistic Psychopathy.

That is one example. There was also another individual whom is suspected to have been afflicted with this condition. His name was Albert Einstein and he the was the world renowned physicist that gave birth the theory of general relativity which is used to this day and helps to explain the nature of our cosmos on macroscopic scales where we can't use Newtonian equations and led to the advent of quantum physics. I myself have Asperger's syndrome and have never become a killer. There are also doctors, cops, professional athletes, soldiers, lawyers, politicians, etc. that can be considered psychopaths and they are also capable of great acts of good or evil just like any of us. They just have an advantage of being able to succeed in whatever endeavor they choose since they also tend to be highly intelligent.

The thing that usually decides what course they take in life is their nurture. If they are raised in an environment infused with emotional and physical trauma then they will more than like veer towards apathy and malice. If they are raised in an environment of love and understanding then they will more than likely veer towards empathy and a desire to help their fellow human beings. I can say for myself that if I wasn't raised in a loving home then my life would have more than likely taken a much darker turn and I'd probably be in jail at this time."


As you can see there is a trend where belief can be seen as a disease that not only hurts us as individuals but hurts our species as a whole. It doesn't have to be though as maybe destroying belief isn't the right idea either. Maybe its just where we aim our beliefs. Most choose to aim their beliefs to some outside source whether it be ideals portrayed by religion, education, government, or society. This is unhealthy because it puts you at the mercy of factors that are out of your control. Maybe a healthier direction is to have belief in yourself and help those around you find to belief in themselves as well because each and every one of us has the ability to change our world for the better and furthermore find a way to move beyond this world to the vast empire of discovery that can be found in the stars and beyond. That is our destiny; to explore and to seek out new frontiers that pushes our intuition and know to how to it's limits. That is why our species is the dominant one on this planet and doesn't have to suffer the fate of extinction that other dominant species have had to endure. You know the Christians maybe right. Maybe the fossils are a test of our faith; the faith in ourselves to free ourselves from the shackles of fate and to set our own course in the great unknown.

Ginger vs. Marines

Occurred-June 2008

I love my country and I have much respect for our armed forces, except for 90% of the Air Force (anyone that reads the story about TattooedCougar will know why). Most of the men and women in my life that have served or still serve the armed forces have been pretty laid back, down to earth people. However like any group of people, there turn out to be a good amount of douches, not as bad as Citadel cadets, but still there are some who have no business being in a bar and doing such acts as imbibing alcohol or sleeping with humans of the opposite sex which could potentially lead to the spawning of more retards that jerk off to R. Lee Ermey and George S. Patton (even though both were legit badasses).



A group of such “wastes of a fertilized egg” came into SushiBar and it was immediately evident that these guys were  fresh out of boot camp.  The first clue to this was when they showed their I.D. they insisted on showing their military ID even though their driver’s liscenses would have been much easier to show. The second clue:

MarineDouche1: “We are Marines dog.” (yes he was white)

MarineDouche2: “YEA WE ARE SERVING OUR FUCKING COUNTRY MAN.” (yes, he was that excited to inform of that)

You know that feeling you get when you see a car wreck about to happen? Well, said car wreck made their way to the bar (all 6 of them with PsychoBitch in tow) and started ordering drinks like they had just gotten back from Fallujah. Honestly I was starting to get a little worried. I’m 6 feet tall and at the time was walking around 190lbs. The smallest person amongst this group of nubile jar heads was approximately 6’2 and around 220. The second biggest guy I had working with me was about 5’8 and 200lbs (and it wasn’t exactly muscle) and the only other qualified guy I had working with me was about 5’6 and 160lbs with a bit of a wrestling background and and had been training jiu-jitsu with me for approximately 3 months.

Needless we were a little bit outsized (not mention outnumbered). And then it happened, the biggest cornbread built jackass out of this retard-jarhead pack decided to take a swing at one of the bartenders, very similar in fashion to how trailer park hoes try to swing on their baby daddy when they find out said baby daddy has another baby mama (I guess someone wasn’t exactly paying attention in the Marine Corps Martial Arts class) . This was enough for me to come up behind him and give him a live demonstration on how the execute a rear naked choke from the standing position to which his “buddies” didn’t exactly improve of. They started trying to surround me so I walked backwards, while still having ShrekJarhead in fully sunk in rear naked choke, towards the bar. I did this for two reasons:
 

1.  Tactically speaking this was the smartest move, because it allowed me to keep any of these Hickwater bootcamp grads from jumping me from behind and kicking my ass.

2.  It  gives everyone in the bar a front row seat to me choking out (now passed out at this point) ShrekJarhead in front of all his pissed off buddies and how awesome it looks.

As I was restricting blood flow to ShrekJarhead’s brain by cutting off his carotoid arteries, ShrekJarhead’s still conscious friends voiced their opinion:

AryanJarhead: (he was the second biggest one with blonde hair and blue eyes) “LET HIM GO MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!”

MarineDouche1: “YEA LET HIM GO DOG!!!!”

MarineDouche2: “YEA WE ARE GONNA FUCK YOU UP!!!!!!”

EEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WRONG ANSWER.

Frank: (with still unconscious ShrekJarhead) “Y’all really want me to let go?”
AryanJarhead: “YEA MOTHERFUCKER!!!!”

Frank: “As you wish.”

I let go of ShrekJarhead and the back of his head bounced off the bottom of the bar with a sickening thud. Everyone in the bar did a double take, like how most people do upon seeing the chainsaw scene in Scarface for the first time. You could have heard a pin drop after this happened and then Aryanblonde decided that he wanted to get froggy and grow some big boy panties:

AryanJarhead: “ FUCK THAT!!!!”

AryanJarhead threw a “hillbilly haymaker” at me which I swiftly ducked, came up behind  him, sunk said rear naked choke in, and had him in lala land faster than Lindsay Lohan at an open bar. It happened so fast that he didn’t even close his eyes before he passed out. I didn’t think it was possible to fall asleep like that, until I saw it in person with my own eyes. It was fucking ape shit crazy. I thought I’d see mermaids fucking before I’d see that, much less me being the awesome ginger ninja doing it. It was Bruce Lee-esque. And then I turn around and see someone upstage me, that I had 6 inches and 30 pounds on. The little guy I had working with me hopped on the back of what was left of the “Big Jarhead 3” but him to sleep with ninja like efficiency. Yea my jaw hit the floor too. And then three cops came running in, I knew one of them that happened to be looking right at me. There were still 3 jarheads left:

Frank: (looking at confused cops and pointing at confused  jarheads) “THOSE 3 RIGHT THERE!!!!”
The cops proceeded to arrest all of the Jarhead’s starting with the 3 conscious ones while I grabbed PsychoBitch that was trying kick HippyTeddyBear in the balls. She was classy. They dragged all of the Jarheag posse outside and had them handcuffed outside. As I walked back inside the bar one of the regulars took one look at me:

HinduRegular: “You’re crazy dude.”

Frank: “I know”

The jarheads were eventually released as I wouldn’t press charges and they learned their lesson. Don’t fuck with ginger’s that have small friends.

Pet Peeves

Pet Peeves

We live in a world where everyone has their sensitivities and buttons that when pushed shove all logic out of the window. Some look for these buttons to be pushed just to stroke their ego in conflict and drama while others happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with every intention to walk away but once those buttons are pushed all thought of retreat vanishes. These are commonly known as pet peeves and are the catalyst for all conflict. Personally I am very egocentric in nature and what most would call a psychopath and being so conflict has different meaning to me. Where most eventually reach a self instilled mental terminus at which they seek compromise to alleviate any conflict. On the other hand once I am in conflict I don't stop until the other side backs down, is terminated, or they terminate me. I am the type of being that relishes in conflict and chaos. It's my narcotic that allows me to put one foot in front of the other. It is my foil, my struggle, and my pursuit.
 
With the advent of social media my addiction has reached new limits as I can now find conflict without even having step away from my laptop. It has become my new videogame with my preferred platforms being Facebook and Twitter. I would say Myspace but just like the old 8 bit Nintendo everyone has fond memories but nobody plays that shit anymore. Instead of having to shoot the digitized versions of some Arab that wants to blow the head of some Marine for Allah or some Marine blowing their head off for Uncle Sam or any other reason we indoctrinate adolescents into the intricacies of urban warfare that is being played some pimply faced 12 year old in Kansas stuffing his over inflated gut with Doritos I decide to go straight for the throat of the sensitivities of those that will more than like make that 12 year old turn emo by the age of 17 and go the David Carridine route minus the masturbation. I get enjoyment at fucking with people's heads and just anyone's heads. I go after the proverbial "big boys" and "big girls" that have an artificially inflated sense of status. These people all have pet peeves which are their buttons which push with enthusiasm for the sole purpose of my enjoyment. Now before I go on about this I feel it is only fair to list my pet peeves so rest assured if any of these pertain to you then you are more than likely someone whom I would seek have some fun with; at your expense:
 
 
My pet peeves:
 
-guys that wear polo shirts
-guys that sell polo shirts
-guys that brag about polo shirts
-guys that get polo tattoos
-guys that buy their girlfriends polo shirts
-girls that wear polo shirts that their boyfriend that wears polo shirts bought them
-anything that involves Polo or just Polo Ralph Lauren in general
-guys having a mid life crisis
-guys acting like they are having a mid life crisis
-guys that are having a mid life crisis that pop their collars that wear sneakers
-guys that are having a mid life crisis that buys their wife whom is also having a mid life crisis enough silicone that can officially labeled as a life preserver if their ship sinks on a cruise to the Bahamas
-Hipsters
-Hipsters that are proud of being Hipsters
-Hipsters that don't want to be cool in the sense of conformity even though being a hipster is the very definition of conformity
-nosy neighbors
-nosy neighbors that get defensive when being questioned about their nosiness
-guys that say "bro"
-guys that call me "brother" that didn't also come out of my mom's meat box
-people that are in the Tea Party
-gay guys that hit on me, especially when asking whether or not I am gay or straight first
-people that are judgmental
-people that jump to conclusions
-people that can only have one sided conversations because they never shut the fuck up
-people that go to public places in a herd
-people that discount the theory of evolution yet believe some socialist hippie became a zombie
-people that knock on your door that ask you if have found anything that doesn't involve money or your dog
-having an ideology
-being a feminist
-being a lesbian
-being a member of PETA
-being a gun nut
-saying the n word (black, white, or whatever)
-being offended by the n word (black, white, or whatever)
-acting like you aren't rascist when you really are rascist
-being religious
-being atheist
-being a republican
-being a democrat
-voting
-doing steroids
-caring about other people doing steroids
-loving Obama
-hating Obama
-claiming Obama is our savior
-claiming Obama is the anti Christ
-claiming Obama is a Unicorn that farts Obamacare flavored Skittles
-Proud Jews
-Proud Palestinians
-Proud Irish people
-Proud Italians
-Proud Germans
-Proud 'Muricans
-People that watch Nascar
-Proud Black People
-Proud White people
-Proud Mexicans
-Proud Brazilians
-Proud anything that you haven't earned through some sort of struggle
-Jarheads
-Meatheads
-Gearheads
-people that are college educated
-Christians
-Islamists
-Baptists
-Episcopalians
-Mormons
-Thugs
-Doo Wops
-Chickheads
-Triflin ass doo wop chicken heads
-Uncle Toms
-people that make excuses
-people that make excuses for people that makes excuses
-people that gossip without any evidence to back it up
-woman that claim equality while still wanting special treatment
-Guidos
-Guidettes
-guys that wear tap out shirts
-guys that wear affliction shirts
-guys that wear Muscle Pharm shirts
-vegetarians
-vegans
-fat people
-comedians that steal jokes
-plagiarism
-plagiarists that get famous (i.e. Martin Luther King)
-people that get offended
-hitting women
-women that complain about getting hit even after they ask for it constantly
-people that mistreat animals
-women that just lay their then complain about you can get them off
-woman that don't give head
-women that refuse to do anal
-women that refuse to go on birth control
-guys that skip on child support
-women that have kids for the sole purpose of collecting child support
-being a grammar Nazi
-supporting the drug war
-supporting the war on terror
-being a cop
-wearing yoga pants and having a muffin top
-having a belief in anything but yourself
-having small tits while acting like you have big ones
 -playing the race card
-playing lacrosse
-playing soccer
-playing any game with goalies that isn't hockey
 
 
 
 
 
That's a cliff notes version but you get the idea. There is a long, loooooooooong, list of thinks that hit my buttons. However just like those commercials for trash bags state, "Don't Get Mad, Get Glad." Where most get butt hurt I see this as opportunity to have some fun at their expense and boy do I. I get death threats, threats to kick my ass, threats to sue me, threats to be arrested, threats to have restraining orders placed against me etc. Why is that they get pissed off while I giggle like a school girl tripping on mushrooms after snorting an 8-Ball? It's one simple reason; I can give it as good as I can take it.
 
So what is the meaning of all of this. Having buttons and things you can be easily offended by will seriously cheapen your life and make you suffer. Besides not everyone can be a psychopath like myself and have fun like I do; it's only like 3% of the population really but then again if people learned to embrace the differences of each other then maybe people like myself wouldn't have anyone to have fun with and we might go cure cancer or something. Just a thought.

Monday, July 29, 2013

The Fight That Ended My Career

Occurred: October 2010 to November 2010

 
We have all watched the Ultimate Fighting Championships and at some level have had an urge to get in there and try fuck starting another man’s face in front of thousands of people. For some fighters they were bitten by the bug watching Royce Gracie (my head trainer’s younger brother) tap out guy’s twice his size, some after watching the Ultimate Fighter. For me? Matt Serra vs. Kelly Dullanty. I won’t divulge into details, but that is THE fight that got me looking for BJJ schools in Charleston and invariably led me to LeblancClone.

 

Fast forward from that young, na├»ve 18 year old to the awesome and wise 27 years old that lives on a ramen diet before you. I accepted a fight against a fighter from Asheville, NC named Johnny Buck. NaiveManager told me they wanted to do the fight at a catch weight of 175lbs and that he had been fighting at Middleweight (185lbs). I asked why he couldn’t do 170lbs and he told me that he was close my size while having never fought at 170lbs and it would be a hard cut for his first time. Being stupid, like I was for the whole preparation for this fight, I agreed to give him 5 pounds and basically give Buck the fight right there, I just didn’t know it yet.

I spent 5 weeks preparing for the fight, which I thought at the time would be enough to prepare for a one-dimensional wrestler that I had a 3 inch reach advantage on. I was about as dead on about this as a trailer park whore is about who the father is on Maury Povich. Papa Frank wasn’t happy about me taking the fight, because RedneckPromoter didn’t get me the fight which for me seemed like a big plus.  One of the reasons why I took the fight was due to the fact that I wouldn’t have to deal with RedneckPromoter trying to tell me how to prepare for a fight. The only fights he had to prepare for were fighting off inmates in Leeds Hotel that wanted to turn him into their bitch, even though I think heterosexual convicts would still have some standards in which guys’ brown eye they planned on ramming.  Also the fact that the fight was going to be aired on Comcast Sports South and for a championship belt was the cincher. I saw it as the quickest way to get my name out to bigger promotions like the UFC and Strikeforce.

 

I wanted to get my name out because I wanted to escape the high school drama that is the Charleston mixed martial arts scene. I didn’t want shady promoters that jerk off to pictures of Don King ruling my life, and I wasn’t afraid to tell them where to stick it. I thought I could fight them and do things my own way. Well the fight world and most promoters are a lot like quick sand, the more you fight them the more you are likely to sink. A lot of fighters don’t realize this because:

 

A.    They allow their ego to get in the way of their logic (what I did)

 

B.     They are just plain dumb (60% of the time)

 

C.     They are just as shady as the promoters

 

I soon found out that it’s possible to have not only a town but an entire state’s sanctioning body that could be all THREE.

 

I would learn this lesson the hard way and it is basically the catalyst for why I’ve chosen to walk away from the fight game indefinitely. The following starts from the night that we arrived in Asheville.

 

I arrived in Asheville the night before weigh-ins with Boze and we got situated at the Brookstone Lodge which is the hotel Michael Allen and Scott Crosby was reserving for all of the fighters. Since I had only been eating rice cakes and drinking water for the week we decided on going somewhere that could keep my mind occupied. What kind of establishment could keep my mind off of food after having already starved myself for a week? We arrived at the strip club, walked in, paid the cover, and took a seat at a table by the stage. That’s when I saw BlairWitch. She looked like what I would imagine if the kid from The Exorcist got molested, developed serious daddy issues, ended up being repossessed by the same demon, developed a great ass, and a chain smoking habit. She came walking up to us out of the dressing room with an outfit that could  have be seen in a Rob Zombie video. She sat next to me. I tried to avoid eye contact out of fear of her pulling a Medusa and turning me into stone. I looked over at Boze and saw something him that I never thought I would see out of him, FEAR.

 

In addition to being an expert in Muay Thai as well as having competed in in numerous K-1 rules bouts, Boze was also a former police officer. He worked on the Jump/Narcotics/Swat teams for the City of Charleston Police department. Ever watch those cop movies where the cops go busting into a drug dealers house and bust the king pin’s head open with a baton? That was Boze’s 9-5. Yet here he is scared of a 5’11 (including her hair) stripper that looked like she beat her batter to Marylin Manson. It was pretty fucking hilarious and I did the only thing that seemed logical while simultaneously making it funnier to myself. I hooked James into the conversation with BlairWitch that had already gotten into voodoo. Also keep in mind that I had only said about 5 words to her. James reluctantly turned around as I started looking for escape routes in case she wanted to pull a Paranormal Activity and break my neck to start a blood orguy oe somwthing. Somehow she eventually grabbed my attention and I started to search my soul infer if I was had been a decent enough Catholic for purgatory at least. She informed me that she liked to mesmerize dudes with her eyes. I wanted to inform that the best way to mesmerize guys is with her mouth during fellatio. I also realized that this is how she might reposes souls. She eventually get a dollar out of me, but she got said dollar because:

 

1.      I saw Paranormal Activity 2 and Legion (fucking scary shit)

 

2.      She had a great ass (If I were drunk enough if would have brown bagged her to the tunes of Static-X)

 

We left the club shortly after and headed back to hotel where I passed out dreaming about food while clutching my pillow like it was a fuzzy wuzzy teddy bear that would keep me safe at night from demonic strippers.

 

The following morning we woke up and I was ready to get to a sauna to get down to 175 and get the weigh-ins over with. We found a gym that had a sauna while noticing that Asheville looked like it was built forest gnomes that advertised McDonalds very well judging from the average physique of the towns folk. We got to the gym and I checked my weight.

 

181lbs…….DAMN, good thing this was at 175lbs instead of 170lbs or this weight cut might have been a problem.

 

The cut was relatively easy and I made 175 in about an hour and a half. A few hours later we were back at the Brookstone Lodge for the official weigh-ins. I was getting pissed off, because Buck still isn’t on weight and the NC Boxing Authority officials were inexplicably giving him more time to cut the weight and allowed him to keep running around the hotel in a sauna suit. His teamalso informed me of that fact so I just waited and got more irritable by the second as well as more narcissistic much to Cain’s (who was also fighting too) and ThaiGuy’s amusement. Buck walked in and stripped down to his birthday suit (with no head’s up or someone saying, ‘Fire in the hole”). Oddly Boze, Cain, Walker, and myself are the only ones that found this odd. I guess grown men in Asheville aren’t bothered by looking at another grown man’s cock. It would explain a lot actually. Buck was still at 176lbs. I was having more balls than brains at this point so this was my answer to the North Carolina Boxing Authority representative about still accepting the fight:

 

Frank: “Fuck it, let’s do it.”

 

At the time Buck looked smaller than me and I figured that I had this fight in the bag (again). As I chugged my Acai juice (try it, seriously) and started putting weight back on I noticed Buck doing the same with a full tray of manicotti that he started devouring like it was a candy bar. I was amazed at how fast he could throw down all that bleached white flour considering if I were doing the same thing after weighing-in my stomach would have been on the verge of exploding. That should have been red flag number 2. He was seriously sucking down manicotti faster than a shop-vac can suck a fetus out of a sorostitute’s uterus. I thought could see him growing bigger by the minute, but I just chalked it up to my usual paranoia and anxiety that I would experience before fight time. Being nervous before a fight is normal, anyone that says the contrary is lying unless you’re Chuck Liddell (because he would fuck random bitches on fight day which is a great strategy by the way) or 187 because fighting for him is like going to Disneyland for anybody else. Also the promoter for the fight and owner of Blackeye Entertainment, Michael Allen, was there. He was also Johnny Buck’s manager which is pretty funny since illegal which he could be overheard admitting to with the NC Boxing Authority Officials within earshot of it. It’s the same reason why Dana White couldn’t manage Chuck Liddell and Tito Ortiz after him and the Fertittas bought out the UFC. This should have been red flag number 3.

 

After the weigh-ins finished I piled into the limo along with the rest of the fighters that weren’t representing the “great city” of Asheville. We headed to the mock weigh-ins which is basically the weigh-ins for the public but don’t actually count, because if they did everyone would over weight due rehydrating and eating like a normal human being. When we arrived I noticed that RedNeckPromoter was at one of the T-Shirt tables trying to push some of his new T-shirts in another desperate attempt at getting rich off of trying to be the cracker version of Don King. The funny thing is he spent a couple years trying to talk me into letting him manage me, but since he had the moral compass of Snooki in an abortion clinic, I was letting my dad manage me instead, because he had MY best interests in mind. In hindsight if I had him managing me for the is fight I’d probably still be fighting and this fight would have never happened.  All we had to do was step on a scale and the announcer would read out what our weight was at the official weigh-ins. I took a seat and as Rashad Evans (yea, the UFC fighter) made a whole speech about how great Asheville was (he was obviously getting paid a lot to do that by the way).  He talked about how he got started in fighting and I already knew the whole story. It involved a shit load of showboating on the Ultimate Fighter in between bouts of pissing off Matt hughes and dry humping. I was ready to get this shit over with. Food needed to be consumed and I needed to get some rest.

 

After the other fighters weighed in I hit the scale and Buck hopped on after me. He already looked bigger than a few hours prior, but still about my size. I also found out in this time that his last fight was against Luigi Fioravanti even though it didn’t show up on the fight finder on mixedmartialarts.com. That was the fourth red flag and the first noticeable one that got past my Sicilian/A.D.D. stubbornness.

 

We rode back to hotel and stopped at Applebee’s which had become a ritual after weigh-ins at this point in my fight career. Unlike the Biloxi fight I didn’t order a shit load of food. My body had the process cutting weight down to a science at this point in my career, and since the North Carolina Boxing Authority liked being more uptight than nun on Ash Wednesday they decided to enforce this 13lb post weigh in cap. Basically from whatever weight that I weighed in at I would only be allowed to add on 13 lbs so I actually had to watch how much food I took in, but I wasn’t as hungry as I thought I would be which made it a non issue. I was too busy over-analyzing the fight in my head which was making me even more nervous which actually worked so far before my fights. I figured the more nervous I was, the smarter I would fight and it had been pretty successful.

 

Fight day arrived, we woke up, and drove to where the fights were and the second weigh-ins were being held. Buck and his people were already there, and he was still about the same size he was the night before. We both weighed-in:

 

Frank: 180lbs

 

Buck: 188lbs

 

I had only put on 5 pounds while Buck had already put on 13lbs which I found kind of odd, but I just keep telling myself that it wasn’t a big deal. After getting done with weighing in, I went back to the Dodge Charger that we rented in Charleston, grabbed the gallon of orange juice that was still in the car and started chugging OJ with reckless abandon. Boze tried getting me to slow down but the OJ had me hooked like a porn star with a trust fund. I swallowed that OJ faster than strippers swallow cum in exchange for crystal meth. After getting done with the photo shoot for the Sportsouth broadcast of the fight, we rode to Waffle House to do my fight day ritual of consuming pork fat and hash browns. Once I was done with this bargain bucket feast we rode up to the Blue Ridge Parkway.

 

Boze spent the whole morning going on and on about how good of an idea it would be to go meditate up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. We had some time to kill before my family arrived so we headed their and meditate while listening to Five Finger Death Punch on the way. After driving around up there we found a spot that seemed like it would work. I basically just sat there with my eyes closed and tried to go through the fight in my head and the only way I could see Buck beating me is by taking me down and dry humping me the entire time. After coming to this realization it was time for us to head back to the hotel since my family had already arrived. After we got back to the hotel my family suggested going to Texas Road House. As we walked in I sensed the path that all steak houses should take. As we walked in we saw a butcher-shop style vendor with all different cuts of meat that were so fresh that I wouldn’t have been surprised if cows were being lined up for a firing squad in the back of the restaurant. We sat down and I realized that I was still backed up from eating at Waffle House earlier that morning. I contemplated dropping some kids off in the pool to make some room. I spent the meal going through the battle between my bowels wanting me to relieve pressure and taste buds telling me to dive in into the red meat paradise before me. Eventually I made a bee line to the bathroom in order to make some room.

 

After that cow carcass feast we drove back to the hotel to get some of our things so that Boze and I could hang out with my family before we had to head to the NC AG Center for fighter meetings. When we got to the hotel we went to Papa Frank and Mama Frank’s room and that’s when my cell phone went off. It was HotTeacher with her impeccable timing, as impeccable as a trailer park whore going into labor during a funeral. She called me because she was worried that I was going to get hurt. I had to deal with her crying and worrying about my well being before I had to go and fight somebody that was trying to seriously fuck up my well being. A college educated woman using whore logic, LOVELY. Just what I needed before a cage fight.

 

After HotTeacher’s lovely distraction, much like getting neutered, me and Boze headed over the NC AG Center, or as we would find out upon pulling up to it, the NORTH CAROLINA AGRICULTURAL CENTER. It was on a FUCKING FARM. We were having a televised fight on a fucking farm that could have been used to shoot beastiality porn. Wow, the sport had come a long way in NORTH CAROLINA (possibly most sarcastic thing I have ever said). We waited around with all the other fighters before we realized Buck hasn’t shown up yet. We walked around looking for the promoter. We found RedNeckPromoter who happened to be selling Johnny Buck T-shirts, which didn’t surprise me in the least. RedneckPromoter went after money faster than a Rabbi that was behind on his rent. That’s when I started to realize I was being thrown to the wolves. We found Michael Allen who told us that Buck was still at his house and didn’t’t have to be there till 7pm. Now things were starting to get really sketchy. We arrived at 5pm for pre fight physicals and didn’t have to be there until 7pm, weren’t told this ahead of time, but all the other fighters had to be there at 5pm. I know hometown fighters are naturally going to have some bias treatment but this was starting to be a little much. The promotion was going out of it’s way to make Buck feel at home, in his hometown. I wasn’t from the “great city” of Asheville but I kind of got the feeling of how the town operated and it was definitely based on the good ole boy system.

 

The good-ole-boy system is basically a southern term for politics. The main concept is from the “I scratch your back, you scratch my back” mentality. It’s a popularity contest basically, much like high school. And in Asheville Johnny Buck was basically Fonzi, except with a tramp stamp. He was basically being treated like the slack-jawed hillbilly yokel folk hero that he looked like while I was being served up as the Natural Light or whatever other shitty piss water beer that jerk offs in towns like Asheville consume.

 

Things just kept going downhill from there once we got back to the Farm/Fight Venue at 7pm. As I was backstage warming up, the North Carolina Boxing Authority officials were watching me like a hawk and I basically had to ask permission to go take a piss or risk getting suspended. Buck on the other hand wasn’t given the same treatment. He was given the exact opposite treatment actually. He was allowed to go anywhere he wanted to and it seemed like the commission officials were as interested as watching him as they were for getting their fat redneck asses on a treadmill.

 

I decided that I was going to take it all out on Buck during the fight. I started thinking about Bushido (“way of the warrior”) and everything I read about in the Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Mushashi. The only thing I could do was keep telling myself “he is going to have to kill me to stop me.” Little did I know how close I was about to come to proving that point. I always admired the Samurai after watching The Last Samurai with Ken Watanabe (Watanabe made that movie, Cruise was just along for the ride) especial was about living and dying with honor. This mentality is honestly what lead me to fighting and carried me through all of my fights up to this point, but I never honestly thought I would actually push it to the limit before cancer or some “secret-STD-that-can-penetrate-double-wrapping”  sent me for a meeting with my maker. And THEN my name was called. My fight was up and I heard “Time is on the Side” blasting on the loudspeakers instead of “Sandstorm” by Darude which was supposed to be my walkout song playing. Apparently NaiveManager never informed “Cornbread” (aka Michael Allen) of my change in song choice, or even show up to Asheville to do this whole managing thing that he was suppose to do (his excuse is because his son had a recital) even thought I was training his other son for free.

 

I made my way down to the cage; I had never felt so alone in my life. I was surrounded by the rabid-drunk off natty light-locals of the “great city” of Asheville, North Carolina. It was like that scene in Return of the Jedi where Luke Skywalker was being walked to the pit by Jabba the Hutt’s goons to be fed to the monster that moved like it had stage 4 arthritis. Replace the Monster with Johnny Buck and the goons with audience who were spinning their towels in a similar manner of Pittsburg Fans whenever they see Troy Palamalu show up in a hair commercial or when Ben Roethlisberger beats a rape accusation.

 

After I walked into the cage I saw Rashad Evans at the announcer’s booth and we caught eyes. As this eyeing session was going on Johnny Buck started walking to the cage and the towel twirling grew to a frenzied (and retarded) pace. They worshipped a guy that looked like Johnny Drama from Entourage but with Down syndrome. And then he walked into the cage and we weren’t exactly the same size anymore. From the looks of him he had put on 30lbs since the weigh-ins. The problem with that was I had only put on about 10 lbs. Now it all made since why his management made such a big deal about not fighting at 170. Judging from how much he grew by fight time he’d have an easier time resisting the urge of pounding his cousin’s g-spot than getting down to 170. It was evident to me at that moment; this whole fight was A SET UP.

 

Me and Rashad did the ghetto hood nod at each other and then I heard the ref asking if was ready. I just realized that times like this are what separate the men from the pussies. I was being fed to the wolves in hostile territory by a shady promoter that was only interested in lining his own pockets and not the safety of the fighters. He picked a guy that he thought his fighter would run right through and look good in his hometown. This fight was suppose to be Johnny Buck’s homecoming party. And I was the barely 4A school that was suppose to get railroaded.

 

Did I pull a rabbit out of my ass and find a way to beat him? Did I get steamrolled like a little bitch? Honestly I don’t really remember. You see about 1:45 into the fight, while I was trying to secure a double-leg takedown, Buck pushed my head down in a direction that would hide my head from the referee and proceeded to launch a knee to my head that can be seen here:

 

 

 

After the knee, all I can remember is seeing my blood going on his leg and realizing that wasn’t good.

 

Approximately 18 minutes later………

 

I’m backstage. My head feels like its swelling by the second, and I’m getting ice on my head from Boze and my mom. Where were the doctors you might ask? Well apparently Michael Allen didn’t think I needed any medical attention so he told the ringside doctor that he could leave without the whole “making sure I was ok thing.” Eventually Papa Frank got some EMTs to check me out and my dad went to get me some ice from a cooler by the concessions table where the people at the table tried giving my dad shit about getting said ice. Michael Allen even went to bow up to my dad for a second before realizing that might night be such wise thing to do a 290lb man that grew up in an all-black neighborhood in one of the roughest parts of New Jersey in the mid 60’s (Clifton, NJ).

 

As I was groggily making my way to the car I was informed that Junior was thrown out of the arena because he happened to be taping the fight for a sponsor we had picked up (Cageside MMA) and an old lady came over telling him that “he had to move.” Junior kindly informed this stupid cunt that he was my brother and why he was taping the fight. Upon learning this the stupid cunt put her middle finger in the camera lens, to which Junior responded by moving her hand. She countered by knocking the camera out of Junior’s hand which broke it and then this hysterical lady started pointing at Junior while claiming that she was pushed by him. Almost immediately 6 guys tried jumping Junior.

 

AnorexicJesus and Subaru choked out two of the guys while PapaFrank was pushing back and strong arming the rest of these hillbilly jerk offs until security arrived to calm everybody down. YEA, there was a brawl outside of the cage while there was a fight going on inside the cage. Who was this stupid cunt that started this whole brawl by getting Junior jumped in the first? Who were these people that jumped Junior and got tuned up by PapaFrank, AnorexicJesus, and Subaru? None other that Johnny Buck’s mom, family, and friends. It gets better. After everybody calmed down Buck’s manager/Promoter for the event, Michael Allen walked over and was told by all of Buck’s people (including his stupid cunt of a mom) that Junior was “taping the fight” and Michael Allen subsequently had Junior thrown out even though there were no rules about taping the fights and the excuse used to have Junior thrown out is that he started the riot even though in all reality it was Buck’s mom that started it.

 

After getting back to the hotel I called HotTeacher for some reason and got back with her while crying (Maury Povich style) about everything that had been transpiring recently, we had gone on break a couple weeks prior, and we got back together right then and there. That’s when I realized that I had a VERY bad concussion. Well that and throwing up in the parking lot of the Brookstone Lodge when we got back there. Whenever I have had a concussion in the past I regressed mentally. The last time I had one was a year and a half prior when I was sparring with 187 and got hit with a right straight that I never saw coming. After I came to I was on the phone with PapaFrank who he got mad about me getting hurt and yelled at me. Where as we would usually just argue back until we both gave up and apologized this time I started crying, because that’s what I would do when PapaFrank yelled at me in my pre pubescent years. A year and a half later it was the same thing except now I was talking to HotTeacher who she was also crying about everything so at least we were on the level.

 

When I got back to Charleston HotTeacher took it upon herself to take care of me for the following week since driving or even walking in a straight line was still difficult for me. PapaFrank having the attention to detail that he did decided to take a look at what footage we had of the fight since he kept wondering why Buck’s mom would want to keep Junior from taping the fight from behind Buck’s corner in the first place. Buck’s mom might have broken the camera but it was a digital camera that stored videos on a memory card which was still intact. He took a look at the footage and called to tell me that I needed to watch it. I pulled up to the tow shop that my dad works at to take a look at the fight and that’s where I saw the illegal knee and elbows to the back of the head that Buck threw.

 

Now I knew why I had no memory. Every time I was about get my bearings back and get back in the fight Buck hit me an illegal strike. This suspicion was further enforced when I had to go to the ER three days after the fight because I was still having bad dizzy spells and had the coordination of Charlie Sheen after a week long bender. When we got to the emergency room I was quickly admitted and had a CT scan run on me. Luckily there wasn’t any hemorahging or fracturing of the skull but I was told that the amount of trauma that I took to my head was equivalent to going through a major car wreck with a HUGE concentration of the trauma to the back of my head. We actually had proof of Buck fighting illegally and promptly filed a complaint with the NC Boxing Authority. We figured it would be a slam dunk and the decision would be overturned to a no contest or a Buck being disqualified. We also had never been introduced to North Carolina politics.

 

After a few weeks of phone calls going back and forth with the head of the NC Boxing Authority (Terrance Merriweather) about the complaint he “invited” us to come up to Raleigh to look at the tape and “see if our tape matched up with theirs” and if we “see what they see”.  Me and PapaFrank agreed to head up there the following morning at 6am which if anybody knows me is really fucking early for me, but I wanted this whole justice thing I kept hearing about.

 

We arrived in Raleigh around noon. After parking in the parking garage we started walking the 5 blocks it took to get to the NC Boxing Authority Headquarters. After having to go through the metal detectors while the military looking cop, who looked like he jerked off to episodes of The Shield watched us from behind his desk. Did I mention that? The building also happened to be a government building and was the headquarters for the city’s police department. In other words the commissioners were also cops. They were just the kind of cops that were too lazy for being on the street and were lucky enough to get assigned to comfy desk jobs where they could jerk off to Cam Newton, play golf, and talk about their fantasy leagues for the rest of their lives.

 

After leaving PapaFrank’s pocket knife with MilitaryCop we got in the elevator and went up to the floor that the NC Boxing Authority’s Headquarters was located. We sat in this room that was much like a waiting room for an upstart doctor’s office minus the attractive receptionist that is screwing around with the doctor in order to get a good reference for medical school. After waiting for about 10 minutes Merriweather and the rest of his crew had us follow him to the conference room they had set up to view what we were told would be the FOUR videos that they had of the fight since they were supposed to be 4 cameras recording the fight as Merriweather said that the promotion was required to by law. What they showed us instead was the edited copy that Michael Allen had sent to them which was the copy to later be aired on Sportsouth for their FightZone program that ran concurrent with Jay Adam’s Brawl Call. Either the NC Boxing Authority though we had the short term memory of an Alzheimer’s patient or they thought we were just THAT stupid. We watched the video with them anyway and I recorded the times at which I noticed an illegal strike taking place, as Merriweather requested. By the second round I nearly had the first page full. Merriweather looked about as clueless as a virgin in a XXX toy store. The funny part about the video is that whenever an illegal strike was about to take place the camera “conveniently” switched to another one who’s view was blocked from seeing the illegal strike.

 

After watching the edited version that Michael Allen sent and which Merriweather accepted as being good enough, we showed the raw footage that we had of the first round before Mrs. Buck destroyed our camera. We pointed out the elbows to the back of the head to which Merriweather’s assistant laid this line on us:

 

DoucheAssistant: “Well, he didn’t change direction with those elbows.”

 

            We kindly responded by inferring as to what the fuck that had to do with anything. We tried to kindly tell them that it was an illegal strike and the direction didn’t matter since these jerk offs were about as skilled at bullshitting as Charlie Sheen is at diplomacy. I guess DoucheAssisstant caught onto the fact that we both had B.A.D. (Bullshit Allergy Disorder) because he eventually got frustrated and stormed out of the room. Merriweather kept on trying to feed us the same bullshit logic that he was trying to get us to buy into based one the fact that he felt, “The knee or the illegal strikes wouldn’t have changed the outcome of the fight.”

 

PapaFrank: (in a non threatening sort of way) “How bout you get kneed in the face and let’s see how well you fight after that?”
 
This knee strike in question taken from a still in the video that we recovered (bear in mind knee strikes are illegal if an opponents knee is on the ground):

 

            The sight of Merriweather’s balls shrinking as he implored PapaFrank to calm down was classic. Keep in mind these guys are cops. I started realizing that maybe this is what’s wrong with the country. The guys that are getting paid by our tax payer dollars to protect us don’t have the mental capacity, compassion, or the balls to do so. Merriweather kept on trying to feed us their BS side of the story with the hopes that he’d actually think we’d buy or at least agree with it. We did neither. Finally we got Merriweather to actually answer about whether he thought the knee was illegal or not (which it obviously was):

 

Merriweather: “Yea the knee was illegal but if you were unconscious you should have told the ref that when it happened.”

 

HE REALLY SAID THAT. I couldn’t believe anybody was that stupid either.

 

            He went on to say how my fight was the first MMA fight he had ever been. Allow me to repeat that. The guy that is in charge of the safety and regulation of MMA in the state of North Carolina, THE ENTIRE FUCKING STATE, had never been to a mixed martial arts bout or event until the event that was owned and operated Michael Allen and Scott Crosby. Oh yea, he also informed us that he only stayed for 10 minutes and left. YEA, he drove from Raleigh to Asheville (4 hours and 6 minutes and yes I actually used Mapquest.com for that), stayed for 10 minutes and left. If he didn’t feel like working he could have just had one of his cronies cover for him right? DoucheAssistant sure seemed like he’d be willing to detach from Merriweather’s nut sack for the night. Why would he then? Honestly I have no proof but all I can think of is that song by the Wu Tang Clan “C.R.E.A.M.” (Cash Rules Everything Around Me). He also went on and claimed that Michael Allen wasn’t the promoter for the event even though a week prior he was telling us over the phone that he was waiting on Michael Allen to get the “raw footage of the fight”. This was starting to sound shadier than Don King’s career. It only got better when Merriweather claimed we weren’t eligible for medical insurance because of the contract we signed, which they had no record of (or claimed not to have), which is a blatant violation of a Federal Law called The Ali Reform Act which technically doesn’t apply to MMA fighters in most states since most MMA bouts fall under the regulation of that state’s athletic commissions but in North Carolina they fall under the Boxing Authority where those laws apply and they won’t enforce it. I wonder why.

 

            We left the meeting with a sour taste in our mouth and Merriweather’s drivel caught on recording. This fight isn’t over yet and there will more than likely be a part II to it. When and if is a matter of uncertainty. What is more certain is the path of my fighting career which is at a dead end now. Since the bout I have been dealing with symptoms concurrent with Post Concussion Syndrome and Post traumatic Stress Disorder which stem from Traumatic Brain injuries that I suffered from the illegal knee and elbows. There is another condition associated with this called Second Impact Syndrome which basically means if I took another bad blow to the head I could die instantly. Kind of hard to train and fight efficiently with that in the back of your mind. Plus after everything I saw from this bout I want nothing to do with the sport as a competitor anymore. For all this talk about boxing being corrupt it seems like MMA is on a similar path.

 

 

 

To be continued……….

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Bros Before Hoes is Bullshit


Occurred October 2008

 

Fucking hot girls is kind of like black jack. You can be an expert at counting cards and have practiced for years but the there is still an element of luck to it. You can have game that would make Derrick Rose look sloppy but if karma is not on your side then you are going to be spending most of your nights whacking it to internet porn. Another thing about hot pussy when it comes to guys, we do have rules which are meant to be broken (liberally). Unless a women is married (and sometimes even then depending on the moral compass of the female involved) a man is going to be weak in front of pussy. Chuck Norris can push the earth down when doing pushups but he still buys hair dye to look good for women half his age.

 

 I was at a barbeque that my buddies, EaglesFan, RastaGuinea, and AngryBelushi. It was the usual run of the mill barbeque (burgers, beer, and football) except there was beer pong (always a plus) and that EaglesFan kept talking about this girl that he was calling Pepperidge Farm Girl.

 

Why was she called Pepperidge Farm Girl (or PFG for short)?

 

Because (According to EaglesFan) her family owned Pepperidge Farms, YES, the company that makes the gold fish, as well as how she had posed in Playboy and was suppose to be in Vogue magazine. YEA, it sounded outlandish to me too. I didn’t really pay too much mind to it though. We spent the day downing beers, watching football, playing Madden (EaglesFan beat me 31-27), and playing beer pong. Nothing special ecept AngryBelushi bitching about how rare I was cooking everyone’s burgers (E.Coli is for pussies), then we had a bright idea.

 

We wanted to go downtown to SushiBar, but we wanted to keep playing beer pong. After much debate and more games of beer pong we decide the best solution is to play beer pong in SushiBar. We gather up our ping pong balls and hop in our cars and head downtown post haste.

 

As we are riding downtown, EaglesFan starts talking about PFG again and finds out that she is going to be hanging out over at CollegePub. I still really pay no mind to it. EaglesFan is obsessed with hooking up with this girl. I’m obsessed with playing beer pong in a sushi restaurant (SushiBar was/still is a restaurant until 10 before turning over into a night club for white guys that wish they were black).

We walk into SushiBar and start putting tables together. The sushi chefs have a confused look, obviously beer pong isn’t a national past time in their native countries. Well, I was going to broaden THEIR horizons and show them how fucking awesome of a game this is. After pushing all the tables together and getting the pint glasses set up, YES we used actual beer glasses instead of Dixie cups (we were playing in style), Me and EaglesFan ordered a couple pitchers of this Japanese beer in order to keep with the theme that we were aiming for, which was invading Asian people with beer pong and show them how awesome American sports can be. It was a peace mission while at the same time imposing our will on them, kind of like how Christians do to little Ethiopian kids, except instead of food packages we were doing it with beer.

The first game started and it was me and EaglesFan vs AngryBelushi and RastaGuniea. I sunk my first shot and so did Eagles fan while AngryBelushi missed his. Apparently my tactic of flashing AngryBelushi with my “Ginger chest carpet” worked like a charm. The game followed a similar cycle. I’d sink my shots, EaglesFan would sink his, RastaGuinea would down his, and AngryBelushi would miss his because the flashing of my chest hair would make him as accurate as a blind hooker getting a facial. Anyways me and EaglesFan were like Peyton Manning and Aaron Rodgers tag teaming on a JV team. And then out of nowhere the Samoans came. I had been playing beer pong for awhile but I also knew enough about Samoans to know they always had a chance to whoop my ass in anything that involved being manly i.e. drinking, fighting, and football.

 

The two samoans, Big and small, and the two of us went shot for shot. At first we were raping them faster than Japan did during World War II but then they started getting the hang of things and started making the games interesting. Eventually the hibachi chefs were having a beer pong battle royale against the sushi chefs and it would have been more epic had they had more practice. To their credit they were picking up the game and nearly landed a bounce shot, sneaky bastards. Eventually everybody in sushi bar that wasn’t a WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) was lining up for a chance to shoot balls at a cup in a game that is called RUIT by people from Maryland, because people from Maryland are fucking weird.

Anyways after our amazing American dominance of a game that was invented in America over teams from other countries that had never even heard of the game before we decided to head over to CollegeBar so that EaglesFan can meet up with PFG with AngryBelushi in tow. When we walk into CollegeBar we find PFG and then AngryBelushi decides that is appropriate time ask:

 

 

 

AngryBelush: “IS THAT PEPPERIDGE?”

 

Yes, he is really that stupid.

 

EaglesFan makes small talk with her while I play wingman and she informs us that she is about to head back to her place for a party in a few and that we are all invited, even AngryBelushi amazingly.  We head to back to EaglesFan’s place to have a few more beers and do some game planning. The plan is as follows:

 

1.      Arrive at PGF’s house and begin owning her frat boy friends at beer pong so that EaglesFan looks more awesome to PFG

 

2.      After getting PFG’s panties wet from our beer pong dominance, EaglesFan will make his move and get inside of said wet panties and pound her tuna box like its Eagle’s offensive line (I love NFC East humor)

3.      Ruthlessly hit on PFG’s ugly friends until I can rock one of them with the shocker and make EaglesFan smell my fingers because I am in fact the one that has to hop on the grenade for him

 

4.      Upon relieving said ugly chick of her dignity and self esteem I will take a walk of shame to my car and head home while hopefully having sweat out all the alcohol from said beer pong dominance so that the Charleston Police Department doesn’t pull me over and have me stay in Leeds Hotel (City Jail) for the night or day depending on how long it takes get one of PFG’s friends to put out. It was a great plan n theory but as you will see all well laid plans go to hell eventually. However this plan going to shit couldn’t have worked out better for myself. Here is how it unfolded from when we left EaglesFan’s house around 3 AM.

 

3:01: EaglesFan pulls out of his drive way with me following

  3:06: EaglesFan is driving down I-26 like stole it with me trying to keep up

 

3:08: It occurs to me that trying to keep up with a 05’ Ford Mustang in 94’ Jeep Cherokee while more than likely still over the legal limit isn’t the best idea.

 

 3:10: I decide to slow the fuck down, EaglesFan speeds up

 

3:11: I lose track of EaglesFan, luckily he told me where PFG’s house is.  I decide to slow the fuck down.

 

3:18: I pull up to PFG’s house and walk up to the driveway and notice the sound of college kids happily killing brain cells and Britney Spears blaring.

 

3:19: I notice a group of frat boys playing beer pong, they are wearing polo, lacoste, have popped collars, and gelled hair and are bragging about shit that their parents bought them. I am already wanting to start fist fucking their faces but figure fucking them up in beer pong is a more diplomatic way of killing their pitiful MTV inspired souls.

3:23: Me and EaglesFan square off at the pong table against two PFG’s friends from the Frat boy mafia. One of the frat boys has buck teeth, has a weird accent, and claims to be from Alabama. If it looks like shit and smells like shit.

 

3:35: The only thing that rivals the douchiness of these jack-offs is their skills at beer pong. The game has come down to the last cup. The frat boy duo miss both of their shots, which has been a rarity so far. Next is my shot, I try to be fancy and do a bounce shot to kill their self esteem in style. I miss. EaglesFan is up. He sinks it. Well played frat douches but the people with actual personalities tend to win actual competitions.

 

3:50: Since 95% of the people at PFG’s house are pussies they all start leaving because they have “class in the morning”. Like I said, pussies.

 

4:00: It seems that close knit battle with the the Frat boy mafia took a lot out of EaglesFan as he promptly passes out leaving me and PFG as the last two standing. She has the bright of playing wine pong (beer pong but with wine instead for those who don’t get the concept of the term “no-brainer”). Sensing that this could lead to sex with her since EaglesFan fumbled the ball (just like his favorite team always does) I agree.

 4:05: PFG is really fucking good at this game and promptly whoops my ass in the first game. Im really competitive and hate losing, even in the face of pussy. I ask for a rematch. She grants it.

4:20: This is one of the closest games of any alcohol themed pong game I have ever played. We are down to the last cup. I sink my shot and she misses hers. I win. We both agree a rubber match is needed to decide who is going to the drunker of the 2 in my favorite game called “Drunken Sex with Hot Girls”.

 

5:00: This game has been going on for 40 minutes. The fact that I’ve been drinking for over 14 hours at this point is starting to catch up with me and the bong hits PFG took along with our wine pong battle is starting to catch up with her. I honestly forgot who won the game. I do remember that she is eye fucking the shit out of me at this point. I go along with this “hint”.

5:27: We have spent almost half an hour flirting and she goes to her laptop to show me how her family started Pepperidge Farms. In my head I still call bullshit but I act amazed because I know doing so can lead to casual sex.

 

5:45: Me and PFG starting using our tongues to see if each other flosses. I start taking her shirt off and unbuttoning her bra, 19 seconds, a new record. She asks me if I have a condom. I look in my pocket and do which is a relief because I’d have to look through EaglesFan’s pockets to find one.

 

5:46: A topless PFG and myself walk by still passed out EaglesFan. Something resembling a conscience makes me turn around and say “Sorry [EaglesFan]” from her bedroom. PFG looks confused, I close her door and start sucking on her tits and she forgets the previous 5 seconds have passed.

 

5:47-8:15: I pound PFG’s G-spot like I’m assuming it has never been worked before. This assumption is based on such comments like “I can’t believe you don’t have a girlfriend” and  “I have never cum like that before. Obviously un-circumsized gingers have an advantage over circumsized frat boys. I pat myself on the back. I don’t get off because my low sensitivity mixed with that I was still over the legal limit, even though I sweat out most of it on to PFG’s back while hitting it from behind. Overall very awesome sex. I am almost pissed that I didn’t bust one in her seeing as how she is rich and my dad would always say, “You can marry more money in 5 minutes than you can make in a lifetime.” In hindsight she could probably pay for an abortion since she was, well rich. And when I say rich I mean “Martha’s Vineyard rich” seeing as how she told me that’s where she grew up.

8:15-8:30: She starts getting depressed and I don’t understand why. She explains she just did this whole “cheating on her boyfriend” thing. I ask her where her boyfriend lives. She says in New York City. I tell her that since he is living at a totally different lattitiude he is probably impregnating starving models and artists. She is still depressed, I hop in the shower and she joins. Most of the conversation revolves around her having just cheated on her boyfriend. I tell her about BBDebutant, whom I was currently on a break from, it helps a little bit. We make out a little bit and I get dressed and leave.

 

 

 

 

8:31: As I’m leaving PFG’s house I have to creep by a still passed out EaglesFan. I start to feel bad. I stop acting like a pussy and walk to my car. The combination of binge drinking, 3 hours of rigorous sex, and sunlight makes my eyes burn. I nearly throw up. I hold it back.

 

10:00: I arrive at my neighbor’s doctors office for my appointment. I guess he smells the mixture of alcohol and sex reeking off of my body. He asks me if I had a long night. I tell him I just got done banging a hot, tall blonde, that claims she has posed in Playboy. He asks me if I use a condom. I tell him I did. He resists the urge to give me a high five.

 

Did I turn out to be a lousy wingman?  No. I did my part by helping EaglesFan get in position to take the ball to the endzone (ball being his dick and endzone being PFG’s pussy). However just like his favorite team he fumbled the ball, and like my favorite team (NY Giants) I picked up the ball, ran it to the endzone, and did an end zone dance that would have made Chad OchoCinco jealous. However I did feel a little bit of guilt over the whole thing seeing as how EaglesFan was a friend after all and invited me over to his house for a barbeque and I ended up fucking the girl he had been pitching a tent over all day. I eventually called him and told him what happened. His response:

 EaglesFan: “ I knew that girl was a whore.”

 Yes she was. I am not disputing that fact. I have two other facts to add though, she was hot and knew how to fuck. Men can stand to their morals and ethics in the face of many things i.e. torture, death, bill collectors, and cops. However in that face of pussy we are all weak and cave in, hence why Bros before hoes is bullshit.

Here’s some photographic evidence to illustrate that point:
 

 

 

I wish the story ended there but its not quite over.  A year went by before I saw PFG again. In that time I that her and BBDebutant had a friend which led to all sorts of fun (sarcasm) drama between myself and BBDeb. However what happened one night while I was out and walking towards SushiBar would leave my brain in a haze that would make me question my existence and path in life. I ran into her and say hey and see if she is in a putting out mood. Her response:

 

PFG: “Hey I have to go a do a bunch of blow. I just got some bad news.”

 

Frank: “Bad news?”

 

PFG: “Well you know that I’m sick right?”

 

Frank: (scared shitless thinking that she is about to tell me she has herpes) “Sick?”

 

PFG: “Yea I have cancer and my doctor told me I have about 2 years to live.”

 

My mind went completely blank right there. I had no response, no witty remark, nothing. I hope she was kidding but then again I doubt someone would joke about having cancer if they actually have it. I didn’t have the balls to call out on it. I haven’t heard from her since. I hope she is ok.