I sit next to a Russian born guy named David Komeroff, in my Information Systems class. He says he fights MMA. I believe him, mostly because he looks ugly as hell. He also drinks a half a gallon of water each class and rocks a sweet mohawk. I have tried to talk with him about the sport, but it always ends in silence. He knows I'm a poser who enjoys movies like Warrior, that I only know one submission's name (rear naked choke...sounds so tuff), and couldn't bust a grape. I struggle with things to say. He is super ugly though.... mean ugly. Like angry dog ugly. He doesn't appreciate all the hype that the sport is getting now. I think he has to act like that though, makes him look like an artist. Artists always hate their own work.
I've tried to fight giving into UFC, sticking to my roots in boxing. I came from a family where boxing was part of my fathers upbringing. My grandad boxed. He taught his two boys to box. Once, my Uncle beat the skin off a man's forehead in a sparing session. I boxed a few times, like a animal, when we laced up at the house. Even my high school had a big fight night, where kids would just sling their arms at each other for a fundraiser.
Grandpa would PPV the fights. I remember watching Holyfield, De La Hoya, Mosely, Tyson, and Jones Jr. I was taught that boxing was strategy, pure, based on scoring rather than brutality. A fighters mind was better than his fists. However, for a long time now in the US, there has been a cultural shift away from boxing. The pastime paradigm is losing its edge, and Dana White is more than ready to take over.
The main argument against UFC/MMA is that it is too brutal. You can use your elbows for heavens sake! As I have watched, as limited is my experience and expertise, it seems to me that the fighters in UFC take less of a beating than boxers. Most MMA fights usually have three, five minute rounds, and unlike boxing, you can submit your opponent. In boxing a fight usually has 12 rounds of three minutes, maybe more. Imagine getting jabbed in the face for just 15 minutes in MMA, as opposed to 36 minutes in boxing. UFC was designed for quick, punishing matches. Boxing was designed for a drawn out war, ending in a decision or TKO (Cuts). Most boxing matches don't end in KO's.
Part of the lack of media coverage boxing has been dealt is due in part to the lack of talent in the ring. Both sports rely heavily on the quality of the fight. There are so many great fighters in MMA mix right now, while boxing has a few in number, and only one that is marketable to the US. The UFC has plenty of big names and exciting prospects for the future: GSP, Jon Jones, Anderson Silva, and Cain Velasquez. Youtube those names.
As a boxing fan I can only hope for Manny and Floyd to fight for the rebirth of boxing here in America. For now, I'll be forced to go to Hooters, watch the UFC, and order awful wings. Food and Service: D.
I've dreamt it.
Time to add another dream to the "I've dreamt this" list.
Last night, which was a Sunday night leading into a Monday day, I had one of the scariest dreams ever. This was a legitimate nightmare. I was in some po-dunk town located in the south. It had to be Arkansas. I got out of my white SUV. I was on my way to visit an old lady. I was a police man. She was under a new program where the inmates live in homes. It was part of a new rehabilitation process, that was supposed to help convicts feel at home, that way when they got out into the real world it wouldn't be a shock. I didn't like it, nor the idea of visiting this old granny (I can't believe I remember this much detail, that shows you how scary this was). Turns out she was a serial killer, living with her dog. She was crazy. I had to run for my life. She was going to cook me into her stew. I woke up in a sweat. I had become a cop!
I've shared something very real with you. Please, don't mock me. Grown boys have nightmares.
Last night, which was a Sunday night leading into a Monday day, I had one of the scariest dreams ever. This was a legitimate nightmare. I was in some po-dunk town located in the south. It had to be Arkansas. I got out of my white SUV. I was on my way to visit an old lady. I was a police man. She was under a new program where the inmates live in homes. It was part of a new rehabilitation process, that was supposed to help convicts feel at home, that way when they got out into the real world it wouldn't be a shock. I didn't like it, nor the idea of visiting this old granny (I can't believe I remember this much detail, that shows you how scary this was). Turns out she was a serial killer, living with her dog. She was crazy. I had to run for my life. She was going to cook me into her stew. I woke up in a sweat. I had become a cop!
I've shared something very real with you. Please, don't mock me. Grown boys have nightmares.
i like to make it awkward... with my stench....
an uncomfortable situation is when you smell your own odor and you can't tell if the other people around you can smell it. this situation gets worse when its hot.
you sweat more.
swass.
you start to smell your feet too. from your tennis shoes. the ones that you exercise in.
i wonder sometimes if it all psychological. am i just so worried about it that i am making up that smell in my head?
soon the tacos underneath my arms are swelling into giant burritos.
i wish we lived in a world of a little more polite honesty. all you have to say is, "uh. you smell a little off. not to be rude. you are a really great person. i thought you should be aware that your human smells, which are natural, are coming into my person space. i am feeling a little uncomfortable. sorry if that hurt your feelings."
i mean, can you really be mad? thats like someone telling you that your haircut, as fashionable as you thought it was, has some uneven lines in the back. i hate when that happens... i didnt pay 15 bucks for an uneven haircut. it honestly cant be that hard. if you cant handle it, then tell me, and just shave my head with buzzers. tell me you cant do it. knock off five bucks, be honest, and ill tip you... like three bucks. maybe four.
you sweat more.
swass.
you start to smell your feet too. from your tennis shoes. the ones that you exercise in.
i wonder sometimes if it all psychological. am i just so worried about it that i am making up that smell in my head?
soon the tacos underneath my arms are swelling into giant burritos.
i wish we lived in a world of a little more polite honesty. all you have to say is, "uh. you smell a little off. not to be rude. you are a really great person. i thought you should be aware that your human smells, which are natural, are coming into my person space. i am feeling a little uncomfortable. sorry if that hurt your feelings."
i mean, can you really be mad? thats like someone telling you that your haircut, as fashionable as you thought it was, has some uneven lines in the back. i hate when that happens... i didnt pay 15 bucks for an uneven haircut. it honestly cant be that hard. if you cant handle it, then tell me, and just shave my head with buzzers. tell me you cant do it. knock off five bucks, be honest, and ill tip you... like three bucks. maybe four.
Whats a tool?
My dearest mother asked my friends and I this question the other day. We were talking about someone being a tool. I don't remember who, or else I would tell you, and then you would agree that they are in fact "a tool".
I didn't know how to describe it. I really wanted to say "douche bag", but that would have offended her virtuous ears.... how do you explain it? Its like salt. Sure I can say a jerk, but that just doesn't completely fit the description. I should have told her this story or drove by King Henry in Provo, and point to a shirtless man playing volleyball with other men (the pool area is near by, but has a gate around it... there is no beach)
In my professional communication class we had to tell our most embarrassing/ scariest/ traumatic story. This kid got up and talked about how he ran over a person. He explained that it wasn't really his fault because he wasn't paying attention, the person he hit was an illegal immigrant working in a man hole, his supervisor wasn't around, the car in front of him quickly swerved, he never saw the guy.... then he said the worst part about the experience is that he was charged with reckless driving and was fined $1,500 and had to go to traffic school.
He hit another human being with his car....and didn't feel sorry for it at all. Here is a speech he gave... its. simply. amazing.
Tool. Douche Bag. Mouth Breather. North end of a jackass going South. A zero.
I didn't know how to describe it. I really wanted to say "douche bag", but that would have offended her virtuous ears.... how do you explain it? Its like salt. Sure I can say a jerk, but that just doesn't completely fit the description. I should have told her this story or drove by King Henry in Provo, and point to a shirtless man playing volleyball with other men (the pool area is near by, but has a gate around it... there is no beach)
In my professional communication class we had to tell our most embarrassing/ scariest/ traumatic story. This kid got up and talked about how he ran over a person. He explained that it wasn't really his fault because he wasn't paying attention, the person he hit was an illegal immigrant working in a man hole, his supervisor wasn't around, the car in front of him quickly swerved, he never saw the guy.... then he said the worst part about the experience is that he was charged with reckless driving and was fined $1,500 and had to go to traffic school.
He hit another human being with his car....and didn't feel sorry for it at all. Here is a speech he gave... its. simply. amazing.
Tool. Douche Bag. Mouth Breather. North end of a jackass going South. A zero.
Uncle Dave-O
I have a nephew, Ethan, who I call E-O. Without anyone telling him, he called me Dave-O right back. He is maybe four or five? Super smart kid, naturally funny, and he likes me-- a perfect candidate to become just like me. Puuurrfect.We were on a family hike near Provo, going to some falls, when I realized that I could help E-O get ahead of the curve. We were racing against his older, and much more competitive brother Ezra and his friend, when they started to insult each other.
"Hey, slow-man..." "What? bumble berry bottom!" "Don't fall off the cliff."
You get the idea. A nun could have done better. I nudged E-O. "Tell them that they will never be successful in life." He did, without hesitation, and they couldn't respond. After a few minutes of silence, trying to process this prophetic message, they threw out "Yeah, well, you can't eat breakfast, cause your teeth are rotten." E-O knew better, he looked at me, eager to learn from a fountain of never ending knowledge. "Say, good luck on your 401K. Oh wait, you'll be unemployed for the rest of your life!" His delivery was sublime. I gave him an approving nod. It was over their heads. E-O was getting excited about the results of these statements. I was too, for he was learning art. I gave him another one to put the nail on the coffin, "Good luck finding happiness with your personality."
I am a good uncle. I am preparing my nieces and nephews for the real world. Gotta know how to throw sticks and stones so they can crush opponents. This is a world of ever increasing competition. Is your posterity going to be left behind?
COMBO!
I tried studying outside, like an adult that loves nature. Too bad there was wind. You know how hard it is to studying in the wind with loose papers? About as hard as Dirty Harry. That is when I realized that studying in the wind is a weird combo... which leads me to:
Julian Smith and Mr. Timn.
So is itching you bottom and then your face. OR getting a water balloon to the face.
As well as making music with tools.
And finally, a techno and a man slave child?
Julian Smith and Mr. Timn.
So is itching you bottom and then your face. OR getting a water balloon to the face.
As well as making music with tools.
And finally, a techno and a man slave child?
Septmeber Game of the Month
I couldn't wait for 10 pictures, which was my goal. I had to post it now, sorry. The game is to take pictures of people asleep. I'm pretty sure people saw me do this, but whateva. You just got "taken".
Super gratifying.
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| First victim. What a sucker. He might be praying actually. |
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| Lance. On my floor. Tuckered out. |
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| Stoned outta his mind. I love this one. Really like the pocket dive. |
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| Ohh. Cute. He has a heavy chin. Its can be exhausting. |
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| Comfortable, son? |
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| Nice improvisation with the blanket/sweater. Notice the dude in the back? |
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| Opened mouth. Mohawk. Purrrrfect. |
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| He's BACK! The face brace. Nice. |
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| These chairs have a spell. Is that a PSP on his lap? |
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| Nice, Drew. Nice. I got owned, again. |
Owned.
I have a broken sternum. I am sure of it.
A woman broke it playing street basketball.
She put her shoulder into my chest as hard as she could.
It hurts to breath.
Women should never play basketball.
They hurt people.
I hate women that play basketball.
Cold shoulder.
Besides being a song by Adele, that everyone should listen to/ like it, I've been getting a cold shoulder from a girl I barely know!
My monster of an Uncle, Rodney, suggested that I should date one of his nieces. No relation. Again, she is not related to me. No, she is not. NO. Nope. Uh-uh. Neva.
He said she was a "10", and that I shouldn't let the grass grow underneath her feet (whatever that means, I don't deal with fertilizer). Rod said that he talked me, made me sound good... so he lied... and anyone can find that out (thanks facebook for making my life transparent)....My uncle then gave me her number. Before I could call her, which should have been immediately, I got a call the next day from my uncle asking me if I had called. He followed up with me because a) this girl is awesome and wants me badly or b) he is worried sick about me. Which leads me to side note....
My family is truly worried about me, not because I am Ute (that does relate to their worries), but because I am not married. I am 24 and single. This is information about me, this doesn't conclude that I will be forever alone. That's not knowledge. Read a book. Then you'll get some knowledge. But I am getting constantly haggled about dating and people are trying to set me up. Call it what you want, I find it obnoxious, just like Tim Tebow. He is really annoying. Back to the story.
I call her. No answer. Hmmmmk. I am thinking. Why play hard to get? I mean, your aunt and unlce, okay, fine OUR aunt and uncle tried to set this up. Can't be a bad thing, right? It's legal! I let it go, kinda, as much as I can. So I don't. I fester.
Then a week later I text her. I was a little bugged that she never returned my call. Wouldn't you be? She texts back saying she is terrible at communication and all that monkey business (an idiom for being a liar). I give her the benefit of the doubt and wait till I am back in Utah to call. I do. She doesn't pick up. Pissed. Me. Off. She responds to my texts, that say stuff like, 'why are you bein lame? C'mon. Be real.' Because I ain't asking a girl out on a date over text. I call her two more times than I ever should have. Why? Pride. The whole thing didn't make sense to me.
What kind of a person doesn't answer the phone? That was rhetorical, but I'll answer it for you, people without hands or manners! What kind of girl doesn't give a mercy date? Again, I'll take this one, a mean one. This affair was set up by OUR aunt and uncle. This was like an invite to Christmas party. All she had to do was show up. Actually, she just had to be picked up. This was more like me coming over to sing Christmas carols to her. I was asking to sing songs about Christmas... Alas, I gave up the ghost.
I can't wait till my uncle sees me and ask, "Well, my boy, how is my niece?" I will look up, gulp my confidence down, and say, "I never took her out." He will look at me, frown a bit, furrow his brow, and then say, "huh." That will be the end of our conversation and relationship. Thanks cold shoulder girl.
I like this. Thehe
My monster of an Uncle, Rodney, suggested that I should date one of his nieces. No relation. Again, she is not related to me. No, she is not. NO. Nope. Uh-uh. Neva.
He said she was a "10", and that I shouldn't let the grass grow underneath her feet (whatever that means, I don't deal with fertilizer). Rod said that he talked me, made me sound good... so he lied... and anyone can find that out (thanks facebook for making my life transparent)....My uncle then gave me her number. Before I could call her, which should have been immediately, I got a call the next day from my uncle asking me if I had called. He followed up with me because a) this girl is awesome and wants me badly or b) he is worried sick about me. Which leads me to side note....
My family is truly worried about me, not because I am Ute (that does relate to their worries), but because I am not married. I am 24 and single. This is information about me, this doesn't conclude that I will be forever alone. That's not knowledge. Read a book. Then you'll get some knowledge. But I am getting constantly haggled about dating and people are trying to set me up. Call it what you want, I find it obnoxious, just like Tim Tebow. He is really annoying. Back to the story.
Then a week later I text her. I was a little bugged that she never returned my call. Wouldn't you be? She texts back saying she is terrible at communication and all that monkey business (an idiom for being a liar). I give her the benefit of the doubt and wait till I am back in Utah to call. I do. She doesn't pick up. Pissed. Me. Off. She responds to my texts, that say stuff like, 'why are you bein lame? C'mon. Be real.' Because I ain't asking a girl out on a date over text. I call her two more times than I ever should have. Why? Pride. The whole thing didn't make sense to me.
What kind of a person doesn't answer the phone? That was rhetorical, but I'll answer it for you, people without hands or manners! What kind of girl doesn't give a mercy date? Again, I'll take this one, a mean one. This affair was set up by OUR aunt and uncle. This was like an invite to Christmas party. All she had to do was show up. Actually, she just had to be picked up. This was more like me coming over to sing Christmas carols to her. I was asking to sing songs about Christmas... Alas, I gave up the ghost.
I can't wait till my uncle sees me and ask, "Well, my boy, how is my niece?" I will look up, gulp my confidence down, and say, "I never took her out." He will look at me, frown a bit, furrow his brow, and then say, "huh." That will be the end of our conversation and relationship. Thanks cold shoulder girl.
I like this. Thehe
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