Right off the bat, I want to go on record saying that I suspect Oscar De La Hoya is a cocaine addict, which might explain why tonight’s old-timers’ card in Inglewood, California featuring a grudge match main event between eight-years-retired Chuck “The Iceman” Liddell and 43-year-old Tito Ortiz was even happening in the first place. Besides being an obvious cash grab by a boxing promoter obviously tired of playing second fiddle to MMA cards as the sport fades in relevancy and recognition, there’s no other explanation to hold a PPV event for two fighters this far out of their prime years, especially when one has obvious CTE issues and is 48. This was like watching The Wrestler for just under five minutes. It’s something the California State Athletic Commission shouldn’t have even sanctioned.
To see one of the first breakthrough, household name stars of the UFC of yesteryear trotted out with abs toned by insulin shots and HGH, his trademark mohawk thinning in the front and trunks I’m sure were retrieved from a long-forgotten storage unit in the Inland Empire is depressing. Chuck Liddell helped turn MMA into the premiere combat sport internationally, and to watch him hardly recognize where he was during the weigh-ins only to briefly light up again once he heard his name called and got to make what is hopefully his last walk up to a ring is so unfathomably cruel. Maybe he needed the payday, pocketing more than $200,000 to fight Tito Ortiz, his arch-rival whom he beat twice in their heyday.
It was a bloodthirsty time for America, when Ortiz and Liddell’s seething hatred for each other helped drive PPV numbers towards the newly-legitimized UFC. Nu-metal and an aggressive, “kill ’em all” kind of patriotism helped color that whole era of fight sports and masculinity in the US and I think collectively we can agree that it’s a culture that’s aged poorly. Seeing that decay, some fifteen years later, in a first-round knockout that Liddell hardly looked present for is something that might stick with purist elements of the sport’s fanbase, people that have harped for years that this is a legitimate test of athletic skills and not a bloodsport. Continue reading “Golden Boy Promotions MMA Kicks Off Shamefully”
What? Yeah?! What? I’m in here! It’s occupied. Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. No, I wasn’t smoking. Well, ok. Alright. I was smoking. I’m sorry. I had the door closed, I don’t see why you’re freaking out. There’s a fuckin’ vent. This bathroom smells like piss, man!
Oh, stop. The whole bus does not smell like a Marlboro Red. What do you mean we can’t just air it out a little? The windows don’t open? I’ve been on this bus for two and half days and haven’t even realized that. Are you serious? Why is everyone looking at me?
Listen, I thought you were going to stop in Idaho Springs, and then you didn’t. Then, I thought we’d get at least a quick luggage loading break in Vail, but it didn’t happen. Do you really expect me to go three hours out of Denver without a heater? It’s like another 45 minutes to Glenwood, maybe 90 if this Dominican hits traffic. What? He looks Dominican! Racist? I bet you think everyone is fuckin’ racist. Can’t even call a spade a fuckin’ spade anymore.
I don’t remember anyone making this big of a deal when the guy dressed as Jack Sparrow in a nursing home spent an hour and a half loudly arguing with Vietnam Charlie over here about how medicine is a witchcraft perversion of God’s will and that the criminalization of marijuana is orchestrated by Satanists. This motherfucker is wearing a tri-corner hat yelling at Jesse “The Body” over here about fluoride in the water supply and nobody said shit. What? Who did? You? I musta nodded off. Little sorority bitch. Your tits won’t always look that good, sweetie. This is NOT a dye job, you little sorority bitch. I used to look like Geena Davis. White bitch. Cracker bitch. Fuck you! Let me tell you something, pirate boy, I coulda used some fluoride in the goddamn tap water. I don’t have any fuckin’ teeth left.
College ass bitch. Probably went to whore school you stupid whore bitch. Is that your boyfriend? That’s not his only beard, you dumb slut. You think you’re better than me? Rug muncher bitch.
I will sit down! Hold on. Let me get some shit straight. Quit calling me ‘meth lady’ alright? I’m 48 years old and I’m going to Riverside to an inpatient facility, alright? Anyone here been to the 909? I thought it was closer to LA, that’s why I’m wearing this Lakers sweatshirt from 1986 I found at a thrift store in Columbus. I’ve been clean seven weeks but Missouri is a fucking shithole run by rapist pigs that don’t give a rat’s ass if the dealers are out burning people with pipes over a little money owed. Yeah, whatever, Richard. Scar my left asscheek over $38. That’s gonna make it a lot easier for me to pay you back for that last bag. Didn’t you see that Clint Eastwood movie? Why don’t you just slash my face while you’re at it? Fuckin’ kid toucher. Fuckin’ horse fucker. Fuckin’…
Yeah he is! You don’t even know. You weren’t there. I had to leave. Court order.
What are you looking at, fag boy? With your fag hair. Who are you supposed to be, fuckin’ Jimmy Page? Is there vodka in that Red Bull you got? Are you watching football? What’s the score of the Rams game? Oh, they’re the night game? Alright. You’re alright. Where you goin’? Don’t ignore me! Faggot. I should hook you up with my homo son, you little queer. Doesn’t even call on my birthday. You like to party? I know he likes to party but he won’t even share with his own MAMA. Fuck Missouri. I’ve got more hairs on my chin than you, fag boy, what are you, a Puerto Rican? Half Pinoy? Fuckin’ bottom bitch. I quit takin’ it up the ass in 2005, what’s your fuckin’ excuse? Teresa Heinz lookin’ punk ass mark ass trick.
So whatever, the bus smells like cigarettes. You used to be able to smoke on these fuckin’ things, one isn’t going to kill you, millennial pansy asses. Half this bus is Mexican anyway. I bet you can still smoke on the bus in Mexico. Greyhound policy? My ass. You can’t kick me off this bus, you fuckin’ Honduran. We’re in the middle of nowhere. The fuckin’ Donner Party died out here and my Trac-Phone doesn’t even get a signal. You want me to just live in a tree? Just squat in some bushes like a fuckin’ raccoon? What are you, Guatemalan? Are you just an effeminate black? What’s your fuckin’ deal?
Who said ‘she knows what effeminate means?’? I’ll kick the shit out of you, bitch. Drop me off at the next Taco Bell. That’s where you should work, you fuckin’ Panamanian. I can’t believe you’re kicking me off this bus. If I’m not in Riverside by Thursday they’re going to revoke my probation and I’ll have another warrant. Stranding me over a cigarette. I can’t believe this shit. Let’s work something out, come on El Salvador. That’s your name now. That’s what I’m calling you. Let me at least stay on until Grand Junction. Come on, man. Don’t stop. We’re on the fuckin’ highway, where’s even a ramp I can walk off this motherfucker? You fuckin’ Grenadian. Fuckin’ Heartbreak Ridge piece of shit.
Yeah, whatever, I’ll get a ride. Next time, I’m taking fuckin’ Amtrak. You just lost a customer. This is going on fuckin’ Facebook, you fuckin’ ni-… You fuckin’ Nicaraguan.
In a macabre twist in the already insanely cruel, dehumanizing, and ultimately pointless process of executing convicted criminals in the US, officials in Lincoln, Nebraska opted to use the opiate Fentanyl to kill Carey Dean Moore this week. Moore was convicted of killing two Omaha cab drivers in the late ’70s and was regarded as one of the longest-serving death row prisoners in the United States. The drug, popular among traffickers as a cutting agent to increase potency in heroin, has been largely responsible for skyrocketing overdose rates during an opiate abuse epidemic that’s raged for more than a decade. Eric Stoltz was evidently prophetic as drug dealer Lance in Pulp Fictionthat heroin was coming back in a big, big way.
The United States has had a real hard time executing people lately. Many pharmaceutical chemists in Europe stopped most exports of sodium thiopental in 2010 either because they were fundamentally opposed to the death penalty or because they no longer wanted their products associated with executions. This has led to barbaric experimentation with various drug cocktails leaving condemned men the victims of botched executions, arguably violating statutes against cruel and inhumane punishment as well as strengthening the cases and increasing the numbers of death penalty opponents.
There’s something fundamentally childish and simultaneously dystopian in watching, on average, 200 people per day in 2017 overdose on drugs, looking at the problem of obtaining chemicals used for executions, and deciding that there’s a solution there. Just as the heroin and crack crises of the ’70s and ’80s were very much manufactured, controlled demolitions of targeted communities, it’s not a stretch to say that between deliberate corporate over-prescribing of opiate pharmaceuticals at the turn of the century and the subsequent “crackdown” there’s been a concentrated effort to criminalize wide swaths of the (primarily poor) population at the benefit of a for-profit prison and drug rehabilitation system. It goes without saying that there’s no greater form of social or population control than a populace completely strung out on opiates.
What irony, of course, that a drug wiping out everyone from the American underclass to suburban teenagers to celebrated artists is now being employed to execute the nation’s most neglected social caste: prisoners. Even sweeter, state agencies are likely using dubious, less-than-legal methods to obtain the drugs, topping off the contradictions of a drug war that has seen the rapid end of marijuana prohibition in almost half of the country (despite thousands remaining in cells over its trafficking and cultivation), the research and eventual prescription of MDMA, ketamine, and psilocybin to combat veterans and others suffering from PTSD, and the proliferation of microdosed LSD to programmers in Silicone Valley working on the nation’s next most useless (or eventually globally nefarious) tech export.
Very early Monday morning in Aurora, Colorado, 73-year-old Richard “Gary” Black woke up to find a woman on his porch attempting to retrieve her 26-year-old son, who she said was on drugs and not likely in control of his actions. Black raced upstairs, where he found that a nude man, later identified as the 26-year-old Dajon Harper, had dragged his 11-year-old grandson from the living room into a bathroom, where he was strangling and attempting to drown the boy. Black, a Vietnam combat veteran, started to beat the man and reportedly tried to gouge out one of his eyes in an effort to free his grandson to no avail, went and retrieved a handgun, and shot Harper dead.
Black’s wife had been on the phone with 911 and police reported hearing gunshots as they approached the house. Black walked into his living room, where police shot him dead through a window from outside the house. Police reportedly didn’t identify themselves but claimed for “around thirteen seconds” they screamed at Black five times to drop his weapon. The whereabouts of Harper’s mother during the incident are presently unknown. Black reportedly suffered hearing damage from his time in Vietnam, as well as further degradation due to old age, and also likely had very little auditory function after firing a handgun inside of a bathroom. Aurora Chief of Police Nick Metz has blamed Mr. Black’s actions for his death, despite the as-of-yet unnamed police officer being involved in a fatal shooting in June and recently returned to duty.
The same police department that took in Aurora theater shooter James Holmes into custody alive murdered a man defending his family in his own home, from outside the house, who was an entirely different ethnicity and wearing specifically described clothing than the suspect detailed during the emergency phone call. That’s an indictment of incompetence and poor training that underscores the “fearful”, wanton bloodlust of police culture in America, where academies constantly drill a shoot-first-ask-question-later mentality with phrases like “better to be judged by twelve than carried out by six.” Anyone paying attention in the last thirty years knows that phrase is far accurately “better to get several weeks of ‘paid administrative leave’ and no charges.”