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So it Begins… (9/2011)

There are a lot of things in this crazy world I don’t understand. I don’t understand the military budget of the United States government versus the educational budget. I don’t understand how Superman became so popular, when you’re reading a comic/watching a film about investigative reporters who can’t figure out who this Superman is when it is a guy they have known the whole time (only he takes his glasses off). 

I don’t understand fighting when there isn’t a purpose. Sure, the fighters make money and suffer brain damage in the long run. But I would rather beat the shit out of someone who did something to me, than I would just for money. And if I did fight them, it’d be far from the confines of the precious “octagon” that these MMA fighters choose to fight in.

“Wait bro, pretend I am ignorant. What is MMA?”

MMA stands for Mixed-Martial Arts. These fights are often found on TV (and pay-per-view), where dudes in shorts beat the ever-loving shit out of each other by punching and kicking their way to brain damage. I guess it’s pretty cool. They don’t wear gloves like boxers do, so you know things are gettin’ hurt real good.

Every MMA fight I have ever accidentally watched, however, has always caused me concern. You see, the fighters start the match in full fury. Throwing punches and kicks like you couldn’t believe. But, as to be expected, eventually the fighter gets tired. And then the other fighter gets tired too. So they like, lay on the ground, missionary-style, and rub their crotches together for what feels like an hour. It may be the most homoerotic thing this side of 300. I have even seen matches where the fighters do this longer than they actually fight. And the people at Buffalo Wild Wings go nuts; drinking their beers and eating their chicken wings.

Idea, Improved (9/2011)

I feel like that if I were a referee to one of these things, I’d call it once the dry-humping started. There is no point going on after that. Eventually one of the dudes will call it quits. I feel like it is the dude who can handle another dude’s junk grinding on his for only so long before he can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t quit because he is hurting; he quits because too much junk-on-junk action hurts after a while. Like rubbing two sticks together for a while, eventually a fire will start. And that is no good for business.

We Didn’t Start the Fire (9/2011)