RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Sunday, September 4

Ultimate 100: 70 thru 66

Not sure what will give first - the end of this compilation, or my motivation to continue with this losing project. It's like water filling a rowboat, and I'm trying to scoop it out with a bucket, but damn, it's hard to care. I might just jump out the boat and see how far I can swim instead...
#70: PETE WILLIAMS vs. MARK COLEMAN - Old shit. The clock counts up instead of down. I am not paying attention. Every time I look up, two white dudes are hugging each other on the ground beside a chain link fence.
Oh wow, they had a whole long match and now we're in a three-minute overtime. This really is old shit, and I haven't paid attention to a fucking ten second piece of it. Luckily though, I looked just in time to see Mark Coleman get kicked in the head, have his eyes roll back into his head, and fall into a lump against the edge of the cage. God Bless America.
#69: B.J. PENN vs. CAOL UNO - I saw this fight one time before, and honestly am having a hard time paying attention to this shit tonight. I would rather drink my spring water with a splash of mango peach juice in it, and just kinda chill, maybe read some Chinese poetry, sitting around on the couch naked and all. But I can't take off my shorts, because I'd feel weird watching MMA naked. But fifteen seconds in, this was over, as Penn dropped him, punched him, then split the arena before Uno was even revived. Slow motion replay of the entire match took like twenty seconds, and ends with Uno in a lifeless hump with one eye open and one shut in a lump.
Haha, they make B.J. Penn come back in, and Dana White has a crewcut of dark hair at this point in his life. He look stupid.
#68: LYOTO MACHIDA vs. TITO ORTIZ - Hey, I think this is our first time seeing the bigheaded Ortiz, who beats his porny wife. I can't stand Ortiz, and he and Jenna Jameson as a married couple actually caused me to join Al Qaeda for about seven months a couple years ago. But then I realized they didn't actually smoke hash anymore when training to be assassins, and I felt it wasn't true to Hassan I Sabbah's teachings, so I left.
Lyoto is called The Dragon, which means he will win, because a dragon punch against a giant watermelon head is no for-real fair match. The crowd is chanting "TITO! TITO! TITO!" though because your average MMA crowd is half-drunk and half-retarded. Unfortunately it's the same half of them that is those two things, so they can carry on normal human lives, yet be completely dim-witted, and still function.
Again, I didn't care, but the crowd got loud because at the end of the first round Lyoto took down Bighead McGee and then started dropping elbows, punches, and knees to that huge noggin. When the commentator resets things and says, "Tito Ortiz, Lyoto Machida," linguistically it sounds like foreign jibber jabber while negotiating with day laborers. I mean, no offense to foreigners. I'm just saying it had an interesting linguistic rhythm, and English is what I've known all my life. And even more specifically, I've known southern dialect of English, which is slurred and drawled out and lacks a good rapid hard linguistical rhythm, because most of the last consonants in words are sort of left off in order to have a nice drawl. I think it's the humidity maybe, it makes our tongues thick with saliva.
The fight is already to the third and final round, and I have not commented much at all. That's what I'm going for here these five fights. I don't think you care for play-by-play. I don't even think anyone is reading this. It's going to be one of those things that sits on the website forever, and nobody looks at, then all of a sudden, like in the middle of January, some dude will send me an email and be like, "Dude! I read your Ultimate 100 stuff and it was the best thing I ever read. You are crazy!" and it will be true because the dude will be like 11, and I will have helped corrupt him, just partially, but this will be a gateway into deeper and darker dungeons of the internet. I can't help that though. Things are what they are at this point.
Minute and a half left and Machida is destroying Tito Ortiz, and it looks Ortiz, who has lost all three rounds, is content to just finish the match and go home to his skeletor wife's crumpled vagina.
Haha, Ortiz got a triangle armbar doohickey with half a minute left, but Machida squirmed away from watermelon doom, and made it to the final airhorn. Both men are on their knees and give each other the bow of honor. Fuck honor.
#67: SHONIE CARTER vs. MATT SERRA - Oh man, one of the seasons of The Ultimate Fighter I watched was Shonie Carter. That dude is a hoot. He is wearing some garish speedo with all sorts of international flags, and already Matt Serra has a giant strawberry on his thigh. They are rolling around back and forth doing flippy flop shit, which means this is technically superior according to the commentators. Matt Serra is a grapple beast, and though Shonie is a virile and strong proud black man, the little midget dude from the northeast is putting on him. But Shonie did one of those spinning back fists while Serra came charging in when the spin went on, and got clobbered on his forehead with Shonie's biceps, which almost knocked out Serra. It was straight up kung fu bro, like you would expect from a black guy with a fu manchu.
Serra keeps catching Shonie in strange near-submission shit, but Shonie can just very calmly shift himself around and get out of it or at least minimize the effect so it doesn't make him have to quit, or TAP OUT in the parlance of mixed martial artistry.
Actually, I just watched closely for like two minutes, and this really is a fun fight. Shonie has gotten his ass kicked, so to speak, even though it's mostly technical ass-kicking and not literal one, but he might be able to outlast Serra's onslaught, and Serra is getting tired. We shall go into a third round and this may be a case of Carter just surviving long enough to put away Matt "The Little Tiny Intense Dude" Serra. Oh man, they seem to be tired, and drop to the ground in the guard right away. I hope this is not a five-minute group hug final round to get a split decision. Carter has underwear or a jock strap or something puffing out the back ass cheeks of his international speedos, and it makes it look like he's wearing a diaper. Maybe he is, who knows?
With like 15 seconds left in the last round, Shonie actually nails one of those spinning backfists, and Serra goes down blank-eyed, so Shonie shimmies in celebratory glee, and it is over very amusingly. Kong fu ass brotha.
#66: GEORGES ST. PIERRE vs. B.J. PENN - Oh man, my least favorite two dudes from the previous 30,000 fights NOW GET TO FIGHT EACH OTHER! THIS IS GOING TO BE EPIC! Epically suck. And gay. Although while they got their pre-fight instructions, Penn was just standing there, but St. Pierre was kinda lurching like he was about to punch or pounce or something, so I automatically have to say B.J. Penn is the lesser of these two evils. Still though.
I muted the TV and put on some Van Morrison Astral Works instead to listen to, and oddly enough, just like pornography, UFC is far more tolerable with the sound off. Whereas normally about two minutes in, you're like, "ugh, how fucking long am I going to torment myself by trying to get through 37 minutes of trifling bullshit for that four minute part that's cool," with the sound off you can just tune in and tune out and eventually you develop an extra sense to where your peripheral vision knows that awesome shit is about to happen. See, I just looked up and... well, nothing awesome happened. Just stupid Georges St. Pierre trying to move in and punch Penn upside his coconut. As the first round ended I did notice that Penn's trunks have a pretend black belt around the waistline with pretend straps screen-printed down the front like it was a real black belt. That's fucking stupid. And between rounds St. Pierre has some dude massaging his temples like reiki. That's strange, and out of place, and makes me uncomfortable to be honest with you.
Every time I look up, it's Penn on his back and St. Pierre moving all around on top of him, so without the sound on, I have to assume St. Pierre has dominated this fight. Yeah, the round ended and I just saw a highlight reel of St. Pierre concussing Penn, cracking his ribs with a knee, and just straight bitch-punking him. In a battle between two evils, the lesser of two evils never actually wins, because evil wins, and the lesser one tends to suck, so why am I even watching this stupid evil shit?
Fuck, the third round ended and they are talking to the dudes in their corners, meaning this is a five-round affair. I think I will go to sleep on the couch. SEE YOU NEXT TIME ANYONE WHO ACTUALLY SEES THIS WITH THEIR EYES AND CAN PROCESS THE MARKINGS INTO COMMUNICATED LANGUAGE!
(Whoa, I woke up and St. Pierre must have won because him and two other dudes were wearing matching shirts and were bouncing around in a circle with their arms interlocked and heads leaning in on each other in some weird ass French Canadian celebration jig. It kinda freaked me out. No one should wake up from starting to fall asleep and be greeted with something like that, because once you see something, you can't unsee it. That's inside me forever now.)

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