So Saturday night, I watched UFC with some friends. Everyone knows that guy who's willing to spring for Pay-per-view, and he invariably has a large collection of souls conglomerate at his house come fight night. The particular guy I know also springs for pizza, wings, and an assortment of other goods. So it wasn't much of a shock to find myself surrounded by a bunch of other people who suddenly were his "friends" (I'm not one to talk though; I only see this guy once every couple months: UFC night). Being the guy with the wallet, my buddy might get a disproportionate impression about how many friends he has. I'm not knocking him. Just saying, if I told a bunch of people "hey, come over, I'm buying a hundred bucks worth of really awesome stuff for you," I wouldn't entirely trust their generous praise and outward friendliness.
Let me describe to you the fights. The first three ended so fast, I thought they were just the preview commercials, and I missed them entirely. I was making humorous quips about robots or dinosaurs or something, and next I know, I'm alerted to the end of the
third fight. At this point I decided to take my shoes off and sit down, before I missed all of the fights. The first title fight consisted of Tim Sylvia and Jeff Monson .... JESUS CHRIST I hate these fucking myspace ads where you're supposed to pick some guy's fucking nose hairs; who the fuck is excited by this? Is every single myspace user in the world a fucking barber with a nose fetish?..... Sylvia and Jeff Monson circling one another for 25 minutes. Tim Sylvia won because he threw a couple of punches, and only did that because Big John McCarthy told the bitches he was gonna kick their fucking asses if they didn't stop prancing around like little girls in a flower field. Seriously, those two guys put Gandhi and his so-called pacifism to shame.
The last fight was between Matt Hughes (I always want to pronounce it Matt Hugs, because it's adorable) and George St. Pierre (I thought it generally took a Papal decree to make someone a Saint, but whatever). Teenage girls apparently want to fuck George (who's name I have the irresistible urge to pronounce "Gay-org"). I don't get it, are they turned on by the fantasy of him dirty talking to them in fucking
French? So yeah, we had high hopes for this fight. It started out pretty well. St. Pierre was so fucking intimidated by Hughes, who had the same patronizing smile the entire first five-minute round. Seriously, I could just
hear him giving advice like, "nice punch George, but try turning your fist a little more next time... There you go, good job kiddo." And it didn't get any better than Matt giving him a
high-five after St. Pierre threw his classic spinning back kick. I half expected them to crack open beers on the spot and just hang out for a while, laughing it up like old college buddies. Matt's smile was wiped off his face when St. Pierre almost knocked him the fuck out at the end of the first round. Saved by the Bell isn't just a classic early 90's sitcom.
You can tell that Hughes didn't take the fight anywhere remotely in the vicinity of serious. OJ expressed it succinctly with, "It's like he got up that morning and was like 'you know, I think I'll go to a title fight today'." Once again, Hughes' smile was smashed off his face by St. Pierre's bony Canadian shin. This time he was out for good. Still, everyone will wonder: Did St. Pierre legitimately stomp Matt's ass, or did he have an advantage because he
kicked him in the motherfucking balls twice. Can't wait for
that rematch, especially the pre-match interviews.
Matt Hughes: You know, some say that I didn't take the last fight seriously. I want to remind you that he kicked me in the balls more times than a fucking world-cup Soccer player.
Oh, today's comic is about beer and fire and stuff.
~Fuzzy
Read the comic!
Comments
GSP OWNS YOUR SOULS
Post new comment