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19
Sep
The weigh ins for UFC 103

I’m sitting on a plane right now headed to Dallas, Texas to witness and commentate on UFC 103. Today I’ll announce the weigh ins where 26 fighters will step on to the scale, dehydrated and nervous, 24 hours away from swinging their bones at each other and attempting to strangle each other unconscious. The weigh ins are always an interesting part of fight weekend because you get to see the fighters face to face a full day before combat. Some guys look dried out and sickly from the weight cut, and just looking at their physical appearance often influences betting lines. It’s a sophisticated thing, this weight cutting, and many of these fighters have it down to a science. Looking to squeeze out every extra edge, it’s not unusual for guys to weigh in a full 20lbs lighter than they’ll be the next day for combat. The weigh ins are open to the public, and always packed with rabid mixed martial arts fans, as well as an abundance of affliction t shirts and tribal tattoos. Women will scream and cheer. Men will puff out their chests and flex when their favorite fighter takes the scale. Excitement will fill the air, building with each subsequent weigh in until it climaxes with the main event stare down. Some folks will want to get their posters signed by their favorite fighters, but this the age of the internet, and when it comes to fan requests the digital photograph has far surpassed the autograph. These days everyone’s phone has a camera, and everyone wants a picture of them holding their fist up standing next to Randy Couture on their facebook page. That is easily one of the weirdest and goofiest things about MMA fans; the fist-up pose with the fighter. I can’t think of another sport that has a pose that the fans take when they get pictures with the athletes where they mimic the activity they enjoy watching. It’s not just a few guys striking this dopey pose, either. It’s the majority. I can completely understand if you’re a fighter yourself, and you want an image of camaraderie with one of your sporting idols, but if you’re an overweight short order cook who’s never even taken a tae bo class, do the world a favor and keep your ******* fist un-balled when you’re standing next to Anderson Silva. Another unintentionally hilarious aspect of the MMA culture is the abundance of retarded macho “fight wear” T-shirts. The enormous financial success of enterprising clothing companies like “Tapout” have given birth to a rise of ham-handed imitators where each one tries to out retard the next. Images of chained up pitbulls and skulls are the norm with shiny foil letters to make sure you can clearly read the “Break my dick off in your ass – fight wear” label. At the last UFC in New Jersey I actually saw a guy in the audience with a shirt that said, “Some guys are strikers, some guys are grapplers… I’M BOTH!” Good lord. Someone please find that poor **** and give him a hug. The doucebaggery isn’t limited to T-shirts, either. I had one guy email me that actually wanted to sell me an pendant that was an MMA glove smothered in diamonds. The name of his company? “Hard as diamond – for those who are.” No ********. Could you even imagine the near fatal levels of meathead you would have to be infected with to walk out of your house with a diamond encrusted fighting glove around your neck? On paper it doesn’t even seem possible. You would think that if you were that retarded there’s no way you would be able to scrape together the kind of money you would need to purchase such an expensive monstrosity. The only way I could see it happen is if maybe the buyer in question won the lottery, or possibly won a huge settlement in some brain damage inducing accident at the local toilet factory or something. Talk about your small target markets. I emailed the enterprising young jeweler back to say that I wasn’t really interested in the glove, but I wanted to know if he could possibly make me a gold pendant of a dragon ******* a pit bull in the ass – covered in diamonds. I also wanted to know if the dragon’s tail could possibly be constructed in a manner that would allow for it to be detached and double as a **** ring. I eagerly await his response. The weigh ins went well, with a couple fighters above the weight limit. Hermes Franca is fighting Tyson Griffin in a very exciting lightweight battle, and Hermes informed the UFC that he wasn’t able to make the agreed upon 155lb class so they settled on a catch weight of 159. I’m not sure why he showed up heavy, but it could be because of illness, or maybe an injury. I’m sure we’ll find out after the fight. Tyson had no problem with Hermes not making the weight since because of this failure Hermes forfeits 15% of his fight purse to him. Former light heavyweight champion Vitor Belfort is facing former middleweight champion Rich Franklin in a fantastic main event between two seasoned veterans. Vitor showed up ¼ of a pound heavy, but made the weight easily on the second try. The only other failure to make weight was by Efrain Escudero, a former winner of the Ultimate Fighter who is facing the very tough up and coming Cole Miller in a bout to be televised live on Spike TV. Efrain struggled to make the 155lb limit, but eventually got there. Should be an awesome night of fights. There’s 13 fights total, with 2 of them featured live on Spike TV at 9est, and then 5 or more of them airing on pay per view depending on how many early knockouts or submissions there are during the main card. As I finish this up, it’s 12:30 and I’m just waiting for my waffles and eggs to digest so that I can head downstairs to the gym to get a workout in before the show. I really ******* love these UFC events, and I look forward to each and every one of them. Being a commentator for the UFC is truly one of the greatest jobs on the planet and it’s my all time favorite sport to watch by a long shot. I’ll take some pictures and video and have it all up for you guys tomorrow.
5 Comments
01
Sep
Fire at the Clift Hotel

It was 4:30 in the morning at the Clift Hotel in San Francisco when the alarm went off. It woke me up from a deep sleep, and at first I was completely bewildered. I thought it was the clock radio alarm in my room, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to shut the ****** off. I was pressing buttons, looking for a volume control… but the ******* thing wouldn’t stop it’s screeching. I turned on the light, and as my eyes were trying to adjust enough to read the controls on the clock a voice came over the loudspeaker: “Attention, there has been a fire reported in the building. Please evacuate immediately.” I thought at first it was some sort of a recording, but then I realized that it was just a live woman reading it in a mechanical voice. I realized this when she kept the mic keyed open in between announcements, and I heard a much less calm and robotic man’s voice behind her saying, “We’ve got to get these people out of the building!” The whole crazy picture was starting to come together. The hotel is on fire, and I’m on the 15th floor. ****. I threw on my clothes, stepped out into the hallway, and was prepared to make a mad sprint down the stairs, but I encountered a river of sleepy travelers funneling into the single file stairwell. ****. The people were nervous and more than a little out of it, and the line going down the stairs was moving maddeningly slow. It was one of those stairwells where you could see straight down from the top floor all the way to the bottom, and if you were so inclined you could really freak yourself out by leaning over the railing and thinking about how far a fall it was. I looked down the well as the line slowly shuffled down the stairs, and at each floor more people were jamming into the herd. There was smoke obscuring the view of the bottom, and as we slowly creeped down this retarded single file pathway to safety I kept my eyes peeled onto that smoke as we went down, holding at bay all thoughts of drastic measures until I saw flames. People were moving so ******* slowly. It was a very nerve racking and helpless feeling. My humanity and my chimp DNA were having a tense conversation in my head. The humanity side was looking at all these people that were having a hard time walking; old people, obese people, the chronically timid that wilt under any sort of ordinary, every day stress, never mind being a part of a slow chain of hundreds of people making their way down a single file staircase into a hotel fire. People were freaking out, and my humanity was feeling for them. It must be a terrible feeling to not only be afraid, but to feel like you’re slowing down hundreds of able bodied people from getting to safety in time. My chimp side, however, was ready to climb over their shoulders and run on the top of their heads all the way to the bottom. The chimp in my head reported ready and able, “Just say the word, boss. We’re ready to take over at the first sign of the flames.” The chemical smell of fire extinguishers filled the air. People were covering their mouths with their robes and t shirts. I could hear humanity turn to the chimp, not quite dismissing him anymore, “Hang on, lets just see how this plays out.” Some people were really freaking out and not handling it well. It took at least 2 minutes to get from the 15th floor to the 12th floor, and it seemed like it was slowing down. The announcement got more specific: “A fire has been reported on the second floor. Please evacuate the hotel immediately.” 10 more floors until the fire, and we’re ******* crawling. ****. One guy stopped. He just stopped walking, and slack jawed with fear turned around to face his wife, “What is happening? What’s going on?” It was at that point that humanity and the chimp started to sound rather indistinguishable in my head – “Move, you ****.” “Just let me yell at him, I won’t touch him…” He stopped in his tracks only for two or three seconds, but the urge to murder him was extreme and immediate. He stuttered backwards a few tiny steps, feeling the will of the crowd, and his wife turned him around and pointed him down the stairs. “I don’t know, just keep walking.” She said. He turned over his shoulder to look at her like he might argue with her, and decided to just keep walking. I focused on him intently as he re-merged with the crowd, and as I studied his dopey shuffle I imagined reaching through his asshole, pulling out his guts and his skeletal system and wearing his skin like a fire suit to run through the flames. This fantasy distracted me for the next 30 seconds that it took to make it half a flight lower. Maybe it’s going to be OK. Hopefully we’ll make it out. Keep it together. The painfully slow march down to safety continued. It was around the 10th floor where the worry really cranked up a notch. It was taking ******* forever to get down, and if I look down and see that we’re walking down into the fire, what the **** am I going to do? Do I keep walking and hope to get through it without getting burned? Do I run back upstairs and hope they can get the fire out before it reaches the upper floors? Just the thought of that was ******* terrifying. What if the fire was out of control? As we slowly got down to the bottom I was relieved to see how calm the hotel staff was. That was comforting. They were guiding people outside, and as I was stepping out onto the street, one guy who worked there informed me that some drunken douche bags on the second floor were horsing around and one of them started blowing off the fire extinguishers. There was no actual fire. Relieved, I got outside and walked across the street to find my friends. We were all a little shook up, and as we stood out there on the street lined up on the sidewalk with hundreds of other disposed travelers, lit up by the flashing lights of the fire trucks, it really struck me how random things can be sometimes. We were lucky as ****, but it could have just as easily been a real fire. Our reality had been severely jostled. There was a sleazy little rub and tug massage parlor on the side street across from the hotel and one of their “masseuses” stepped out for a cigarette and to take a peek at all the commotion. She was wearing a short skirt, and had some disaster of a tattoo on her fat tits that you could see spilling out over the top of her sports bra. She looked over and made eye contact with me, and as she took a drag off her cigarette I imagined the smell of a thousand ***** on her hand mixing with the fumes of the Newport she was smoking, and I thought to myself, “That might be the saddest smell in the whole world.” I suggested that we all go in for hand jobs – my treat – to try to relax us after our ordeal. We joked about the sweet pleasure of being handjob number 1001 for the day, then we all agreed that probably none of us would even be able to get it up. As ****** up as the night had been so far, it would be far worse if it ended with my limp dick being tugged on impatiently by a stinky runaway. I went back up to my hotel room an hour or so later, feeling humbled and thankful. Redban wrote about it on his twitter, but to me it just felt a little too personal.
7 Comments
25
Aug
Escape from LA

“LA is like a graveyard from the future.” – Hunter S. Thompson For the last 15 years of my life I’ve lived in the overflowing hive of humanity known as Los Angeles, California. I moved there in 1994 as a poor comedian seduced by the chance to make money, and stayed longer than I ever would have predicted. I had some great times in that hot, stinky, ****-hole of a city, but there was a part of me that always knew I was going to have to escape eventually. I would always give out the advice to anyone that asked, “LA is like a hot chick that’s completely crazy; it’s fun to play around with her for a while, but don’t get crazy and ******* marry her.” Well, not really heading my own advice I lived with that crazy bitch for 15 ******* years until I finally escaped to the Rocky Mountains last month. I always knew I would eventually leave, but I wasn’t sure how it was going to go down. I had several escape scenarios I would play out in my head that varied in severity and likelihood from evacuating due to wildfires and earthquakes all the way to a suitcase nuke leveling the city and bio-terrorism triggering the zombie apocalypse of 2012. In the end, I just decided to leave because I could, because it felt like it was a good time, and because I decided that for the first time in my life I wanted to live somewhere that I could see the stars at night. Whenever I wanted to really see the stars I had to go on vacation, because looking up at the night sky in LA or any other city all you see is darkness and a handful of really aggressive stars that insist on being seen through the thickest of pollution. When I say pollution, I don’t just mean the filthy air – and GOD DAMN LA has a lot of that – but light pollution as well. It’s something that we very rarely think about, but all those city lights drown out the the visibility of the stars. You don’t even realize what a tragedy it is until you see what you’re missing. I was always vaguely aware of its effect on paper, but I never really appreciated how dramatic the the difference was until I took a vacation to the big island of Hawaii a few years ago. We went up to the keck observatory visitors center, and at 9,000 feet above sea level the stars were so ******* incredibly vivid that the sheer jolt of the vision felt like it jump started some dormant section of my consciousness. You could call it beautiful, but that would be just as weak as calling the ocean wet. Not just awe-inspiring, but kick-you-in-the-dick humbling in a way that borders on a full blown psychedelic trip. I just couldn’t believe that’s what it really looked like. I can remember really clearly getting out of the car, looking up at this impossible vision in the sky and saying out loud, “My god, is it like this all the time?” The milky way was so clear and vibrant that it looked like a photo from an astronomy book. There weren’t just the standard few dimly flickering constellations to try to play “connect the dots” with, instead the entire night sky was an infinite swarm of magnificent nuclear explosions. It was impossible for me to stare up at it and accept my default perception of the Earth as this stable, static thing of permanence. The thick, stained curtain of ******** that covers my standard view of the world instantly evaporated before my eyes, and space stripped down naked in front of me and revealed its true self. I wasn’t simply a guy on vacation standing in a parking lot in Hawaii looking up at the pretty sky, I was a drone caught in society’s trance – an ignorant passenger unaware that I was really on a immense, organic space ship flying through infinity. It was both amazing and terrifying at the same time. I found this picture online, and it’s exactly what the stars looked like up there. Just a few hours earlier I had been sitting around in a hotel room zoned out in front of the TV with my laptop open, trying to pay attention to “the world.” I’ve spent countless hours doing the exact same thing, watching CNN or Fox news with a look on my face like the whole country just farted, absolutely convinced that everything I was paying attention to was very important stuff that demanded my focus. I was listening intently to other drones speaking passionately about taxes, or politics, or some other mind numbing ********, and I was convinced that this was important stuff that I was supposed to be paying attention to. I’ve often wondered since that night whether or not cities would function the same if we could see all the stars from them. It’s way easier to put the blinders on and pretend that it all makes sense if you don’t have to look at a cosmic masterpiece above your head every night. I’ve escaped. I now live in a place where it’s so quiet that the silence itself has a specific sound. Without the background noise of city life you can hear the actual sound of silence – an unexpected noise that’s somewhat like a high pitched vibration that you can’t really compare to anything else. The vibration of the mother ship. I’ve been writing like crazy since I’ve got here. That was all a part of the “plan.” The latest and greatest chapter on my journey through the universe, and I’m going to document it all here. Much, much more to come. Mad love to you all.
4 Comments
18
Aug
Weak sauce, youtube

Youtube in it’s infinite wisdom decided that my piss drinking video was too ****** up for their service. I guess I could see their point if it wasn’t so easy to find stuff that’s way more disturbing on their servers, like these shirtless young black men attempting to seduce mentally challenged women by humping a couch. That’s OK, but me taking part in one of the oldest forms of natural medicine in the world; urine therapy – that’s over the top? Kinda weird, especially when there’s dozens of videos also on the subject readily available on youtube right now. This is the letter that youtube sent me alerting me of my indiscretion. Since I’m not sure exactly what they were upset with since all they’re saying is that I received a “community guidelines warning strike”, whatever the **** that means. I’m assuming from the tone of the warning that it was given because someone falsely claimed that they saw my ***** in the video. We’ve gone over the high definition version of the video with a fine tooth comb, and even brought in special dick sniffing dogs just to be safe, but the bottom line is that there’s no ***** to be seen in that video. My *****, much like Lyoto Machida, is very elusive. When I put the image in this blog post it ***** up the tables, so I’m just going to leave a link to it. You can view it here: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2572/3832423645_28101a018d_o.png The other possibility as to why youtube removed the video was that they felt like the discussion I was having with a woman in the audience about Spike TV’s decision to censor the word “******” from the otherwise uncensored version of my stand up comedy special. I was talking onstage about the same thing I’ve discussed here in my blog about how a gay man told me that the word “******” is only for gay people to use, and that it’s their “******.” Apparently those two words together were just too much craziness for some folks to handle, and they decided that a rational discussion of context and the intent behind certain taboo words was just way too much to see on the internet. I’m assuming this was the case, because they removed the video from my good buddy Redban’s account as well. He’s the editor and the creator of the video, and here’s what they said to him about why they took it down: “Hate speech” refers to content that promotes hatred against members of a protected group. For instance, racist or sexist content may be considered hate speech. Sometimes there is a fine line between what is and what is not considered hate speech. For instance, it is generally okay to criticize a nation, but not okay to make insulting generalizations about people of a particular nationality. I have neither the time nor the desire to get into how retarded it is that a discussion of the intent behind certain taboo words can be thought of as hate speech, but I can tell you this, if anyone ever said anything resembling that statement to me at a party, I’m definitely not going to ask them if they want to come outside and get high. In fact, I’m not going to ask them anything other than to please politely shut the **** up. If that’s really the way you think, reality itself is far challenging enough on it’s own without any enhancement. Could you even imagine the kind of douche bag you would have to be to say that to someone? “Well, it’s generally ok to criticize a nation…” Douche bag alarms go off, eyes roll all around, and people start looking for the door. Anyway, the bottom line is you can’t see my ***** in the video, there’s plenty of other urine therapy videos all over youtube, and if the words “******” and “******” are really so omnipotent that they can’t even be brought up without it being labeled “hate speech,” than my point has been proven. To satisfy the easily offended we have re-edited the video and removed those horrible, evil words, but kept in the nutritious and healthy act of piss drinking. Enjoy! Click here to view the embedded video.
2 Comments
17
Aug
I drank my own piss

Man, these ******* blog posts have been pretty gross lately, huh? Alien abortion nose clots, and a video of you drinking your own piss? Really? I should have mixed it up with something interesting and different, but the truth is I just moved to Colorado and it’s been taking me a bit of time to get settled in. Everything is on track now, and I’ve been writing, so I’ll have some new **** up soon. I’ve also started writing a book. It’s on my early days of stand up comedy and hell gigs, but as I’m writing it who knows what it’ll actually turn out to be about. Most of my blog updates start out as one thing and then as I’m writing them they become what they eventually are when I publish them, and usually a lot different than what they were in the beginning. Anyway, enjoy the video, and I’ll have some new stuff up this week. Click here to view the embedded video.
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The weigh ins for UFC 103

Fire at the Clift Hotel

Escape from LA

Weak sauce, youtube

I drank my own piss

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