Tonight I went to WrestleMania!

Tonight I went to WrestleMania with my Nephew. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done, and I encourage anyone to go. I hope you’ll come back and read what I write about it later, because I think it will be fun. but right now I’ll just let you know how the night went, and how it felt live.

Pre Mania-the atmosphere is something special. The open air was a neat novelty, and even though it was a little chilly at times, I think I preferred it. I didn’t watch The Miz Match, and I love The Miz, but I was buying a shirt, and it wasn’t Mania. It just wasn’t. It was the prelim, and you could tell. I caught the tail end and was happy about it.

1st Match. The Shield Vs Big Show, Sheamus, Randy Orton

I hate multiple man tag matches, but The Shield are pretty good at them, and I thought this was a pretty good opener. The crowd went nuts, of course they did. It was the first match. They did a nice quick intro for all the good guys, which is great, as I wouldn’t want Orton’s 4 minute walk that early.  Watching Big Show Live is awesome he’s like a looking at a horse among people. He’s a landmark. The Shield entrance is fun live as everyone looks to see where they’re coming from. The match was solid for a first bout. The Shield kept quick tags, and a few big moves from all the faces broke up the offense in a fun way. The finish terrific. Seth Rollins jumps from the ropes into an RKO, only for Orton to catch a spear and give The Shield the win. It was great. The catching RKO, even though we’ve seen it a lot, and better versions, is great live. It was probably the best move of the night stunt-wise.

2nd Match. Mark Henry Vs Ryback

Great Match live. Big loud smacks from both of them when they hit moves. The crowd was really in to it. A lot of good fan support for both. In the end Ryback went for his finisher, couldn’t get it. Henry fell on him in a kind of clumsy makeshift splash and got the cover. It was nice unconventional end. When Henry walked back towards Ryback the crowd loved it, but when Ryback fought back and did hit is finisher, the crowd went nuts. It was terrific live.

3rd Match. Team Hell No Vs Dolph Ziggler and Big E Langston.

Pretty solid match. Very short. Ended with a Daniel Bryan Flying headbutt. People loved the quick match. Big E’s not any good yet, but he is really strong and it’s fun to look at freaks. Again, I dug the unconventional finish. I was pretty surprised by this one. I thought the team was breaking up. Their wasn’t enough Ziggler in the match though. Not to be a mark, because I’m really not the fan a lot of folks are, but he didn’t hit much of his charisma stuff. Even though the actual wrestling was pretty good. If Ziggler and Big E stay together. I want the team to be called Big E/Ziggy. You should too.

4th Match. Fandango Vs Chris Jericho

Jericho got the first fire works of the night, and definitely the biggest response up until that point. The match was okay, just weird. Everybody new Fandango would win, you don’t lose a debut, but nobody wanted him to. Fandango won with that Top Rope Leg Drop he does. It’s a fun spot live, and I can see it working because it can come fairly quickly. He’s alright. I don’t think the gimmick can last. No real surprises. Jericho’s amazing live and he was kind of wasted.

5th Match. Alberto Del Rio Vs. Jack Swagger

Zeb Colter had the first mic time of the night, and called out foreigners who spoke Spanish, Italian, and Greek (God Damn Greeks!) He also said he hated NY and walking around it made him sick. It was pretty great. It wasn’t sincere hate, just “that’s the bad guy” hate. It’s pretty infectious with 80 some thousand people at a time. The match itself wasn’t much. Del Rio got the win with the Cross Arm Breaker. There were a couple of submission exchanges that looked really slick live, But I’m not sure how they played on TV. Kind of short, nothing stand out. Del Rio’s one of the best, and Swagger’s alright too, but this one felt a little hollow. Swagger came down on a Gator and the crowd loved that, but Del Rio got a little washed out in the production. His face personality is a lot quieter than his heel, and it didn’t come through so much. Still. Not Bad.

6th Match. CM Punk Vs. The Undertaker

CM Punk’s entrance being played live by Living Color was terrific. It blew the crowd away. Diddy had just gone on about a half an hour earlier, and it was great, but this dwarfed it. Undertaker’s entrance was 100% the best of the evening. He’s had better, but this one was really good. A bunch of creepy zombie like hands came out of the ground and groped at Taker as he strode towards the ring. His fireworks and pyro were huge. They heated MetLife Stadium. It got warm, noticeably warm, even from my distance, which was substantial.

What a match! Best of the night. As expected. As delivered. Some great spots. CM Punk pulled Undertaker off of “Old School” only to hit it himself later. It was stellar. While Punk had Taker in the Anaconda Vice, Undertaker did his creepy set up and locked eyes with Punk in one of the coolest Taker moments in recent history.

the Urn Cheapshot, (And urn juggling pre-match) by CM Punk was terrific. Fine Ending. Taker caught Punk in a Tombstone. Great Match. I’m glad he was wrestling a smaller guy, and got to show off some of his power moves. The high flourishes really pay off at an event this huge. This was the first match the crowd seemed really vested in. And it was the first one with some real drama to who would win. People were actually relieved at the end. Or pissed. It was hard to follow.

7th Match. HHH Vs. Brock Lesnar

the crowd was NOT into this match early. Had nowhere near as much energy as Taker’s. I think people expected the Brodus Clay/Tensai Vs. Rhodes Scholars, and there was a bathroom/merch shop exodus right before hand. Luckily, the intros of both of these guys are super long. Great walks to the ring and cool set for HHH, but the match itself didn’t take off for a while, even though they seemed to try. There was no response until Lesnar smashed a chair into the stairs to make some noise, and drew some attention. Some good outside action. Lesnar made good on breaking the announce table Undertaker and CM Punk couldn’t with a big belly to belly suplex. He did it again onto the rubish that was left over and it was sloppy. You probably shouldn’t do that to your boss. I really thought HHH was going to get hurt. A couple of long submission trades were good, and added some drama. There was an Excellent HBK kick to Heyman to prevent him from interupting. Some good inside/outside the ring action. Ended with pedigree to the stairs. Not bad, just couldn’t follow Undertaker. I’d have liked more weapons, as it was the only “special rules” engagement of the night. But it was good, if not surprising.

8th Match. The Rock Vs. John Cena

The Crowd Went Crazy! Man did they hate Cena! Big anti-Cena sentiment. Lousy match. They pretty much just traded finishers or near finishers for 20 minutes. No real drama or high points in action. Cena had a pretty solid mock to The Rock while attempting a People’s Elbow. Sadly, That was probably the best part of the match. Rock looked better than he did at Royal Rumble, but not great, and Cena just didn’t present much. The crowd hated him. I’ve never been surrounded by that much good natured animus. When he won with a Rock Bottom reversal to an AA, his fans, who’d been pretty abused by then, went nuts. And they deserved it. The over-all end was mostly boos. But the Cena raising Rock’s hand at the end kind of forced a begrudging clap. It was Crappy finish, but an alright event.

I had a marvelous time, and I’d give my WrestleMania an A. an A+.

It was great. Even though the PPV was probably awful.

Objectively: a C, Maybe a D, but I think Taker’s match makes certain it passes. Other than that match though, nothing surprising, no swerves, no terrific high spots that will stand out forever.  an Awful PPV.

Best experience of my life.

The World in a Pistachio Shell

I grew up in a house full of candy. Five older siblings had filled it up into a veritable Candy Kingdom, and, for the most part, ruled benevolently over their empire. My sisters allotted Nutty Buddies and Hershey Kisses freely and fairly. There were rumors of a tyrannical reign under my older brother Pete; who had hidden candy caches and doled out brutal violence to any wayward pilgrim found searching. But I never had to endure that regime. My sisters shared everything, probably too much. I was a fat kid made fatter by the indulgences of my nearly grown up sisters. In fact, the only thing I really remember ever being off limits, were pistachios.

My sisters laid particular claim to those curious green (and somehow I remember red) kernels of saltiness with their shells still on them. They were forbidden. And as such. I wanted them more than anything else in the whole world. I was a picture perfect little brother.

My chubby fingers couldn’t pry them open, so I’d use my teeth, infuriating my mother. I didn’t really even like them, I only wanted them because I couldn’t have them, and getting into trouble, made them even more alluring.

It was years later, after I’d gained the manual dexterity and phalangal strength required, to pry them open, that I’d learn to like pistachios. And years later, after a failed attempts to mimic sophistication, that I’d learn they were my favorite ice cream, or at least, favorite ice cream not involving brownies, caramel apples or other autonomous desserts.

Something about pistachios and pistachio ice cream still seem comically sophisticated to me.

Pistachios are a favorite snack. I received a three pound bag for the holidays, and it’s been riding shotgun with me since. Some would argue Pistachios and cigarettes aren’t a choice breakfast, and they’re probably right, but in my head… it’s still classy… I’m a goon.

I love them. This knowledge will ultimately ruin the big reveal in this story, but I hope that won’t detract from it. It’s a story about the best pet I’ve ever had, or sort of had, in my entire life.

Juji, short for Juliette Harpsichord: Queen of New Jersey, was my sister’s dog, and I won’t lay claim to her. Juji loved Charlotte first, and best, and most, but she was fond of me. Charlotte begrudgingly admits this, and it bothers her a great deal. She hates that the little Yorkie could acknowledge anybody else even existed, but she did, and she loved me. Charlotte was first, I was second, and most of the world was a distant 3rd. Charlotte’s husband was 4th. Juji hated him. Juji hated him with all four pounds of her body. 64 ounces of “Fuck That Guy.”

A lot of people hate little dogs, and reacted negatively when they first read “Yorkie” a moment ago. Well, those people are idiots. I love little dogs. They’re energetic, playful, and their shit can be cleaned up easily.

A lot of little dogs are a-holes, but that’s because most people who have little dogs let them be a-holes. They buy them and put them in tiny apartments and don’t train them or give them any attention. They grow up to be miniature neurotic messes, and it isn’t their fault. But Jufi didn’t suffer that fate. She was terrific. Well cared for and well trained. She was amazing.

She was loving, and smart, and weird. She stayed playful into her double digit years, and enjoyed the company of loved ones and strangers. Unlike many tiny dogs, Juji had a lot of speeds. She could play and raise hell, or curl up and waste a day. Most importantly, she took her ques for her people, and accommodated as best she could.

On lazy days, Juji loved to sleep in what I came to call “people nooks.” Any curve in the human body were a tiny dog could nuzzle in and rest, she would; the crotch, behind the knee, or between the neck and shoulder. Her favorite spot on me was the armpit. She’d curl up and sleep. I’d wake up at night with a dangerously high, point specific, body temperature, and All the Love in the World.

When a person wasn’t available, Juji nested. She’d hide in blankets and sweatshirts left on couches and chairs. To this day, I find myself checking cushions before I sit down as to not crush her. I used to hear a tiny yelp and see an offended Juji jump out defiantly, give an exasperate head shake and continue with her day, now interrupted. After many scoldings, I adjusted, and the adjustment still holds, years after her passing.

She was a bright dog; a couple of basic tricks, and she would come quickly when you called her. My favorite of her behaviors were naughty; every morning Charlotte’s husband would come to put her in the cage for the day. She’d march along happily with him, even get a bit ahead of him to feign compliance. Then deke one way and bolt towards my room where I slept on a couch. He wouldn’t chase her there, and she knew it. She’d nuzzle into a people nook and sleep triumphantly.

Her amicable nature, and tiny stature, allowed her an unfair place as favorite dog. It’s easier to treat a 4 pound dog to couch time or treats than a 40 pound hound or even a 20 pound show dog. She got to accompany me to stores and in the car. She got a lot of people food. Not a great habit, I know, but… she was awesome, and my principals are easily compromised by clever girls. I’d feed her anything she was interested in.

Will Juji eat a grape? Looks like it. Gummie Bears? God Damn Right? How’s she feel about Banana Chips? For’em.

My favorite thing to split with her were apples. I’m not going to lie to you. You’ve never laughed at anything until you’ve seen a tiny dog muscle her way through a chunk of Granny Smith.

She wasn’t the healthiest of girls. Not from the food, that she took in stride, but from when she was little. She fell off of a bunk bed, and the bump to the noggin stuck with her some. She had seizures occasionally. Not often, but once or twice a year. They were short and not as violent as I’ve seen, but she had them, and they were always, so, so scary.

One day, while watching an episode of “Deadwood,” a show I thoroughly enjoyed, but Juji argued “tried too hard” she started to shake. Badly.

She was wedged in under my armpit, and started to rattle like a little heart attack. I’d been there before, but this was bad. She’d get up, fall over, and paw helplessly at her face. She’d dig and cry and look at me with sad scared eyes. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever seen. Unlike most seizures, this one didn’t pass. Normally, Juji would suffer through one, and then recover. She’d be tired and groggy, but, for the most part, fine once it passed. This one was prolonged and particularly mean.

Juji scraped and dug at her face, she pawed helplessly and trembled and cried. She spasmed through the show. Brief moments of clarity came, and she’d whimper and nuzzle into me looking for comfort. Then, out of nowhere, she’d lapse back into agony. She’d roll and cry and run her face against the ground. I cried a little too. I loved that little idiot.

That day my nephews had a football game. I coached their little kid teams. When my sister got off work I handed her her sad little quivering dog and went to coach the boys. We won (our team was almost unfairly good) but it was really hard to focus on the game. I sort of watched the field while one eye was always on my sister at the sideline, with Juji in her lap. The most disturbing thing was the way she’d periodically recover for just a moment. She’d have moments of comfort and normalcy. She’d start to jump and play before falling back into those dark painful shudders.

My sister cried too. “This isn’t like the others,” she said sadly after the game. “I know” I answered grimly. She wasn’t okay, and she wasn’t going to be. Even if the seizures didn’t kill her, she’d been shaking and suffering now for nearly 3 hours, maybe more. Her brain would be damaged, probably mush. Her organs and body too. I don’t know exactly what spasms are, but I’m sure they wreak havoc on a body. She was such a brave little girl, and even then, in such agony, she had fleeting moments of … fun. My heart broke. They loaded the boys in the truck, and my sister’s husband drove them home. Charlotte and I drove to the vet, to start the sad process of letting Juji go.

We got to the vet and were simply broken. My favorite dog… my favorite animal, people included, was dying.

The vet was a tiny bearded man who somehow always smelled terrific. He was always so professional, and kind. He was patient, and accommodating. He placed his hand lovingly on her neck and stroked her under the chin. He looked into our sad scared pup’s eye and felt her jaw and chest. He looked into our sad scared eyes, and gave a slow and understanding look. Without saying anything or making a deal of it, he slowly reached into his pocket and took out a skinny metal object. He kindly slipped it into her mouth.

And pulled out a pistachio shell.

The little idiot had scarfed down a few, most likely left in a bag on the couch and a shell had wedged into her gum line. It was clearly my sister’s doing, as I never left stragglers.

Once the shell was removed Juji let out a pleasant series of tiny barks and ran around the little metal tray she was resting on. She shook her tail and butt as happily as she could, and tried to eat the shell the vet now held in his hand. She was incorrigible.

It could have been the happiest moment in my life, which is embarrassing, but honest. Juji lived a few more years, and died happily with my sister. And this story is just another happy reason I love pistachios.

Man Math: Would you trade your wiener to be a super-genius?

Would you be two inches shorter to lose 30 lbs? Would you give up 10 lbs of muscle for a beard? Would you go bald for a bigger dick?

I’ve been playing this game the last few days with a bunch of different guys, and have found out a lot about people. I’m going to tell you some of my findings, and then tell you some of my “math.”

First off, this game’s only fun with boys. Girls suck at it. All they ever want to trade for is being skinnier or having eyelashes like gay guys’. This is “rock, paper, scissors” and they only throw “diet pills.” It’s because there are a million ways for dudes to be attractive, and just a few for girls. Sorry ladies,the world’s unfair. So, if you’re a girl… play it for your dude (real or imagined), and this can still be fun.

Second, understand that everybody has a predisposition to like where they’re at, and has a biased exchange rate. Men Really have different ideas about who they are and who they want to be. I was wrong about that. I thought everybody wanted to be taller, but they don’t. And I thought everybody wanted arms like cannons, but that’s not the case, a lot of scrawny dudes didn’t want muscles. I was more shocked to learn that not everybody wanted a giant porno-dong. I thought everybody wanted a bigger dick. I sure do. I’m happy with mine, but I won’t pretend for second that I wouldn’t take a monster cock that I could chase people around with. I’m glad everybody’s so happy with themselves, I really am, but my ideal me is about 9 feet tall with a shock of grey hair and a beard that trails behind me like a wedding gown… just a few feet past where my wang ends.

I guess not everybody wants that…. or they’re liars.

Anyway, let’s start with some rules:

When I propose changes, they obey basic physical laws. First off, if you’re gaining height, you’re also going to gain weight. So when I say, “gain 20 lbs” I mean proportionally fatter. So I’ll refer to it as “x number of pounds fatter” not “heavier.” Also, that fat is applied pre-transformation, and undergoes the same proportional changes. So, say you’re  a 5’8” dude that weighs 200 lbs and I ask, “Would you gain 50 lbs to be 6′, the weight would be applied at 5’8” and adjusted accordingly. It would probably work out to be actually about 100 lbs of mass… but you’d look 50 lbs fatter than you look now. Also, the weight, height, muscle, whatever works the way you’d like. There’s no Evil Genie/ Monkey’s Paw type thing going on here. You’re not going to get 40 pounds of muscle all in your neck, or just longer calves.

Also, the fat or muscle applied is where your body is at naturally. You couldn’t just work the fat off one time and be back to normal. You’d have to work at it to stay in shape. The muscle works the same way. If you didn’t work it, it wouldn’t look good, but you’d have it, or build it easily. What you did is really up to you. (I like to believe I’d jog more if I was already 30 pounds lighter, or lift more under the opposite circumstance … but I probably wouldn’t.)

All right, the findings/musings:

Height:

I’d like to be taller. I’m pretty tall now, but I’d like to be taller. But because I’m already tall, there isn’t much I’d trade for it. I’d be willing to be 20 lbs fatter for 2 inches. That’d put me at 2 meters, and I’d like to be “foreign tall.” I might be willing to go super fat to be 7′. Like 80 lbs. That’d make me a monster. I’d probably pro wrestle. I wouldn’t trade muscle mass for height. I wouldn’t want to be tall and weak.

I’d drop an inch for 10 lbs thinner or or 10 lbs of more muscle all the way down to 6′. That would still  leave me fairly tall, and being a skinny guy or beefcake would make it worth it I think.

Weight:

Weight’s tough for me, because I’m very insecure about being a porkchop. I was a fat kid, and now I’m a fat adult. I don’t feel that fat… but that’s just because America’s getting fatter, and I’ve stayed about the same. (I’ve told you before, Old Fat is like Old Money… we’re  just better than newcomers, I don’t know why.)

I would add fat for muscle at equal rates up to 300 pounds. So, 25-30 of each. I’d be fine being a Hoss, and I don’t think it’d make me that much less attractive. It probably isn’t healthy… but I’d trade a few years at the end of my life to unscrew bolts with my bare hands.

I wouldn’t lose muscle to be thinner. It would probably be a fair exchange, but I’ve always identified myself as a strong dude, and while I’m probably really not… I need to be able to pretend I am.

Hair:

This only really applies to bald and balding guys, but it’s important, more important than I realized. When dealing with hair, let’s just assume the best; it’s the hair you want, no questions asked. Just so long as it exists in nature. No awesome Medusa locks or Repunzel cilia.

I’d go bald to be 6’10″, and maybe you could talk me down to 6’8″. I’d also go bald for 20 lbs of muscle.

I’m thinning a bit now, and I’d give up an inch to make that go away. I wouldn’t get fatter or weaker for it. I’d also give up an inch to guarantee that when I’m older my hair will turn white or silver. I think that looks awesome.

Beard:

This one baffles the ladies. It surprised me a little too. Beards are awesome, but I didn’t realize how much they meant to people who can’t grow them, Or to people with rocking ones. I guess I’m in the middle. I can grow a beard, but it’s blond. I’ve grown a beard and shaved it 4 times in a year and people still say, “I’ve never seen you clean shaven before.” Yes you have… I just never look “baby faced,” and even in wolf man form, a blond beard’s not that disguising. Anyway, in this game, it’s the beard you want. Whatever that is. If you want a bad ass Kimbo Slice, that’s the beard you’ll grow; a Brad Pitt Tibetan style, done. The women I’ve talked to about this are always shocked at a beard’s importance, and write it off as caveman stuff. Maybe it is, but they are masculine, even if they only impress other men. Can you think of any god’s that don’t have beards? Just Apollo and the bad guys. I guess I took mine for granted.

I wouldn’t trade much for a perfect beard. Maybe an inch of height to have a flawless and faster growing one… also… it’s bright red like a viking’s.

I’d give up my beard for 4 inches of height, or twenty pounds of muscle.

I wouldn’t give it up for a full head of hair.

Penis:

This is a tricky one. Every person I ask explicitly informs me that they’re happy with their penis. But, when I ask if they’d take another inch for free… they all say yes. But figuring out what it’s worth is hard. First off, let’s say 1 inch of penis can mean a lot of things. Is it one inch longer? around? what? So for this math, 1 inch equals 1 cubic inch; probably less than an inch longer, but certainly an inch bigger, however you need it or want it.

Unlike the guys I’ve talked to, I’m more than happy to admit I’d take an upgrade if it was offered. I’d trade an inch for an inch down to 6 foot. 4 inches would be crazy, and I’d never wear anything but sweatpants. I’d give up my beard for a couple of inches, and I might even go bald.

I would give up an inch of penis to be 20 lbs lighter or have 10 lbs more muscle, I figure having a slightly smaller penis would be worth it for something that would allow me to use it more.

I wouldn’t trade penis for height, because I wouldn’t want to be taller with a smaller penis… that’s a two pronged assault that isn’t fair. It would look worse than it was.

I’d willingly give up an inch of penis if it was just from the tip, and made it’s face look like Richard Nixon. I’d do that in a heartbeat… but I don’t think it’s true to the game.

IQ

This is a late addition, and the hardest to apply. We don’t have a sound system for gauging intellect, but the IQ test is our best current measure. So, I’m just going to say IQ points. It’s not going to make you know stuff, just learn faster and reason better. As with muscle or fat… it’s your job to adjust. The average IQ is 100. 55′s slow. 145′s a genius.

This is a hard one, because I’m not certain where mine is… but I don’t think I’d make little trades with IQ, at least not with everything.

I don’t think I’d trade penis to be a little smarter, and I’m not sure I’d trade 10 lbs of muscle for 5 points. That seems like a fair exchange, but a smarter mouth might just get me into more fights I’d then lose.

I would trade height, go bald, or lose my beard to be smarter; I’d even gain weight.

Also, if the offer is left on the table indefinitely, I would trade a lot of anything for a lot of IQ. If it was 20 lbs of fat for 5 points, I’d trade way past reasonable. I’d be a 900 lb Batman Villain, and perfectly happy with that. I’d be more than happy being an evil genius dwarf, or weakling. I’d even trade cock down to whatever size it was still safe to pee at. I’d just bang the robot chicks I figured out how to build. Or make a ray gun that shrank vaginas.

So that’s my math game. It’s fun, and it’s easy. I’d love to hear your trades and your takes on this. And if girls can make a valid answer to the game, I’d Love to hear it. I’ll play it. I’ll even post it.

UFC on Fuel

It’s been a while since I made a fight pick post, but I’ve been actively picking fights with my buddy on the web. That’s way easier than this, but… It’s been too long, so here it goes. First of all, let me voice my discontent with the UFC right now. There’s too much.It’s not what I fell in love with. The UFC’s become a sport; with rules and strategy and meathead fans. The fighters were Always athletes, but they weren’t participating in a sport, or playing a game, they were fighting. Now the sport has evolved and, while I can’t argue that today’s fighters aren’t better, it’s less fun. At least for me. The more Mainstream the sport goes, the less fun it is for me to watch. It used to be that being a fight fan took effort. If you met a fan, you knew he went out of his way to watch, and probably fought or trained a little too. Now, it just means he likes sparkley shirts. It’s on every week, so people don’t have to work to follow it, they can just go to B-dubs and holler. I think Dana’s super happy with it’s homogenization and weekly sporting events. I feel like it’s lost a lotof it’s heart, and most of it’s edge. I’m very happy to see the fighters getting paid, I can’t argue with that… I just wish the sport had stayed what it was. The Ultimate Fighting Championship. Anyway, there’s my gripe. Here are my picks:
This fight takes place in England, and has a lot of Brits on the card, so, if anybody’s teeth get busted, it shouldn’t matter.

The card starts out with an exciting welterweight fight where Duane ”Bang” Ludwig will beat Brit tough guy Che Mills. Mills is a great fighter, coming off a hard loss to Rory MacDonald, but Ludwig’s lost two in a row… and might be fighting for his job. Both of these guys are kickboxers, and it should make for a great opening bout.

Duane Ludwig by KO

At Lightweight, Handsome Matt Wiman’s going to lose to the impressive undefeated Paul Sass. I love the way Sass fights, and while Wiman’s one of my favorites, I think he’s going to lose to this punk kid. This is probably Sass’s hardest fight to date, and I don’t think he’ll finish, as primarily a submission dude, and Wiman’s never tapped, but I think a couple near chokes will give him a squeaker decision.

Sass by Decision.

At Bantamweight I see Yves Jabouin losing to Brad Pickett be decision, because good bantamweights can’t finish fights against each other. These two tiny old men will go 25 minutes, and Jabouin will do more damage, but Pickett is a more exciting fighter, and that’ll win the judges, and the crowd. I like watching Brad “One Punch” Pickett… even though they named this submission fighter incorrectly.

Pickett by decision.

Two exciting Brits scrap in the next fight at 170. The Hitman takes on a practitioner of Gypsy Jiu-Jitsu.  John Hatheway fights John Maguire. Hathatway’s last 5 wins have been decisions, and his new measured style’s probably going to trip up the Gypsy, who needs folks to come at him hard. Maguire might have bigger wins on his record, but Hathaway has more, and I think he’ll sneak another one out, but, I’ll be pulling for the Gypsy.

Hatheway by decision

At Welterweight Dan Hardy’s going to knock out Amir Sadollah. I like Sadollah, he’s a great fighter, and a terrific ambassador for the sport, but he shines against better athlete/dumber fighter types, and Hardy isn’t that. Sadollah’s great at catching folks in mistakes, and while Hardy looks like a dude who makes mistakes… he isn’t. I love the glove throwing Hardy. I think he’ll pick Sadollah apart at a distance, and keep Amir in his guard when it goes to the ground, until a midround TKO.

Dan Hardy by TKO

Heavyweight is an exciting fight. The nearly 7 foot Stefan Struve will most likely choke out Stipe Miocic. People don’t trust Struve, because he’s taken some serious knock outs, but people forget he’s strung together 8 UFC wins between those knockouts. I can’t blame you though… watching tall guys get knocked out is awesome. Miocic is undefeated, and awesome, but I don’t think he’s trained to fight an anomaly like Struve. (How do you train for a guy like this?) Miocic could catch him, and send the 2.12 meters of Struve to the ground… but I think he’ll get caught in a crazy triangle, and tap.

Struve by Submission.

Fight of the Night: Pickett VS Jabouin

Knock Out of the Night: Ludwig

Submission of the Night: Struve

All Time Survivor Series…

Survivor Series was always my favorite PPV. This year it’s in Indianapolis, and to help get excited, I’m going to post my dream match-ups game with a Survivor Series Theme. These matches take place in Chronopolis, the fictional city in comic books that exists outside of time, so you can steal people from any point in history. Rules are: you can use anyone from any era, but you can only use them once. You can either have 5 matches with 4 man teams, or 4 matches with 5 man teams, your discretion. Must explain your teams and the variables linking them together. You must post winners. I’ll give you a grade. I’d also like for you to grade mine. Here they are.

The Main Event. This is an easy one, it’s the pro wrestling staple: The Americans Vs The Foreigners

Representing the Americans, is the Team Captain HULK HOGAN. He is a real American, a fight for what’s right American. Also on the team, my least favorite, but pro-troop idiot JOHN CENA makes a strong 2nd man. Next, is my Olympic Hero, proudly clad in the red, white, and blue, KURT ANGLE, Then, though not in our colors, but rocking the black and gold, the American Dream, DUSTY RHODES, and finally, the 2 x 4
wielding flag waving man-child, HACKSAW JIM DUGGAN.

Those Filthy Foreigners endangering our American Values will be the 500 lbs threat from the Far East, YOKOZUNA, the dangerous and terrifying threat from the Middle East and my current favorite person
on twitter, THE IRON SHEIK, the godless monster from Russia, NIKOLAI VOLKOFF. Then, representing the evil empire that spawned us, out of the United Kingdom, WILLIAM REGAL. And finally, representing the greatest threat to our country and pro-wrestling villainy staple, Canada, EARTHQUAKE. The bad guys, to cement their evil, will be accompanied by MR. FUJI, (still young enough to scrap, but crafty
enough to manage)

Hulk Hogan                 Vs.         The Canadian Earthquake
Kurt Angle                                 The Iron Sheik
Hacksaw Jim Duggan                 Yokozuna
John Cena                                 Nikolai Volkoff
Dusty Rhodes                            William Regal

Order of Elimination: The Americans storm the ring and clean house for a minute, but in all the chaos that ensues, Fuji and Regal blind Hacksaw with Powder and take him out Early putting them up 5-4. Dusty
comes in furiously and after a series of elbows across the board, gets planted by Earthquake and then a Yokozuna Bonzai Drop. Bad guys 5-3. Hogan runs in and delivers a big boot to avenge his ally and takes out the Biggest threat from the foreigners, who still lead 4-3. The villainous team uses quick tags to wear down the Hulkster who tags in Cena, who makes quick work of Regal. 3-3. Cena wails on on the aliens
for a while delivering all 5 of his moves, but when Mr. Fuji distracts the refs, a sickle from Nikolai, lets Iron Sheik slap on his Camel Clutch and forces Cena to tap. Foreigners 3-2. He celebrates for just a moment before being picked up and put down by a Angle Slam. 2-2. Nikolai comes in and blasts Angle with another sickle, but catches a big boot while gloating over his victim. A quick legdrop later, and America leads 2-1. Fuji does all he can to to turn the tides, taking out the ref while other import villains charge the ring; The Orient Express, Kozlov, Davari, maybe even a turn coat Slaughter, but Hulkster and Angle manage to fend them off with an assist from the returning Hacksaw and Rhodes. Angle manages to trap Mr. Fuji in an Ankle Lock while Hogan drops a legdrop on the Earthquake to cement American
Dominance in the squared circle.

Survivors: Hulk Hogan, Kurt Angle.

The high mid-card match pits two of my favorite gimmicks against each other. Masks vs. Facepaint. Nothing captures a kids heart like mystery, and these two things made me want to be a wrestler every bit as much as physique and character. This match isn’t as bound by the goodguy / badguy paradigm as it is by the conflict of awesome vs more awesome.

The Masks consist of co-captains BIG VAN VADER and KANE. Two monster type wrestlers not just tough enough for 1 mask, but two a piece. They approach the ring with a full-on theater mask, and then strip to a smaller working mask. Double masked bad asses make for a solid team and these are early 90′s Vader and late 90′s Kane, both in their prime. Partnered with them is one of my all time favorite performers, MANKIND. His mask was legitimately scary, and this is the crazy beating Undertaker Mankind in his prime, not the beat up hobbled one. The final two Masked Men represent the Luchador Tradition, and while there might be better representatives, I’m going with the two I know and like best, REY MYSTERIO JR. (right at his first title reign,) and SIN CARA. This team is probably the best on my fictional card.

The Face Painted are a powerhouse team Captained by THE ULTIMATE WARRIOR. His taloned eyes were iconic to the point that I could still identify them anywhere. That shape belongs to the Warrior the way the octagon belongs to the stop sign. Backing up the warrior is one of the greatest champions of all-time, STING. I could happily take the Blade-Runner, partner to the Warrior, Sting of my youth, but The Crow knock-off sting is probably the best loved, and the one we’ll use here. Adding some unneeded muscle to this team are the greatest tag team of any era, and true trail-blazers of the painted face front, LEGION OF DOOM, HAWK & ANIMAL. Rounding out the team is one of the men who truly frightened me as a child, the amazing, mist spitting, GREAT MUTA.

Kane                               VS               The Ultimate Warrior
Big Van Vader                                     Sting
Mankind                                              Road Warrior Animal
Rey Mysterio Jr.                                  Road Warrior Hawk
Sin Cara                                             The Great Muta

Order of Elimination:  You would think a mask would aid against a mist spit, but you’d be wrong. Sin Cara gets misted and then put away hard by The Great Muta. Painted Faces 5-4. Muta doesn’t last long though, as Japan’s favorite Big Van Vader crushes Muta with a Power Bomb then a Vader Bomb for the cover. 4-4. Rey Mysterio Dazzles with hits on all the painted faces and a double 619 on the former Blade Runners, but he eventually gets folded in half by a Doomsday Device. Painted faces 4-3. Kane even ups the score by with a Tombstone to Animal onto a chair, brought into the ring by Mankind. As Hawk checks on him, Mankind slaps on the Mandible Claw to push the masks up 3-2. Vader comes in again like a bull, but can’t match strength with the warrior, and exhausting himself, he falls prey to a Stinger Splash. 2-2. Sting locks up Mankind in the Scorpion Deathlock but can’t bring him to tap. A hobbled Mankind can’t escape a gorilla press body slam from the warrior. 2-1 Painted Faces. Kane and Sting have a showdown we never got to see, and the earlier wear and tear by Mankind certainly shows as Kane makes short work of The Stinger. A big chokeslam brings it down to Kane Vs. Warrior. The two bounce between against the ropes and collide into each other, with no one capable of getting the upper hand. Eventually, after several kickouts and finishers, another gorilla press/splash combo seals it for the team with the painted faces.

Survivor: The Ultimate Warrior

The next match is one of my personal favorites, and embodies the spirit of this contest. This one is “Voodoo VS Karate.” The theme comes from one of my favorite Tom Waits Songs. And in it, the scariest characters from wrestling take on the real life badasses or martial arts themed characters.

Team Voodoo is headed up by Big Evil himself, THE UNDERTAKER. Backing him up are PAPA SHANGO, a character who honestly spooked me as a child (when he hexed Ultimate warrior in the mid 90′s it, coupled with my parents delving into Super Christianity at the time, really terrified me) and THE BOOGEYMAN,… Papa Shango light. Added the team are Indy and Mexican favorite VAMPIRO, who, though never huge in America, interested me a great deal. Rounding out the team is KAMALA. His witch doctor attire fits him into this group well.

Team Karate is headed by two real life fighters, BROCK LESNAR and KEN SHAMROCK. It’s true that Lesnar used little “martial arts” in his first run in the WWE, but his current gimmick does, and that’s the one I’m using. Shamrock did a beautiful job of blending the real world with the world of sports entertainment, and he’ll be doing it again in this match. Backing up the UFC vets is RICKY “THE DRAGON ” STEAMBOAT, who’s karate ended mostly with posing… awesome posing… and we’d get a lot of it. Similarly, ROB VAN DAM’s educated feet would land a bunch of blows on the dead men. The final addition is a favorite of mine, TAJIRI.

The Undertaker                     VS                Ken Shamrock
The Boogeyman                                        Brock Lesnar
Papa Shango                                            Ricky The Dragon Steamboat
Vampiro                                                   Tajiri
Kamala                                                    Rob Van Dam

Order of elimination: Things are crazy early as the match starts with a brutal all out brawl. The refs have yet to establish order when RVD frogsplashes Kamala through an announce table. He rolls him into the ring as the bell sounds, and the Ugandan Giant is covered for the pin. Karate 5-4. Vampiro enters and deals some serious damage to RVD, but he makes the tag to Tajiri who locks Vampiro in the Tarantula before tagging in Lesnar who and makes the evil man from south of the border tap. 5-3. Lesnar and Shamrock make quick work of the Boogeyman. 5-2 Papa Shango battles well against the two UFCers, Tajiri, and RVD, but can’t overcome the numbers. An F-5 into an Ankle Lock forces Papa Shango to submit, and it’s now 5-1. The real life tough guys crowd The Undertaker who calmly climbs into the ring. The huddled masses of evil congregate ringside as the lights flicker and give out. When the lights return the 4 fighters who have been in the ring convulse helplessly as purple goo spills from their brow. Tajiri’s pants catch fire, and Ken Shamrock vomits spiders. Ricky Steamboat, who hasn’t yet locked up with any of the evil watches nervously before realizing his task and leaping valiantly at The Undertaker. It’s brave, but not enough. Undertaker scoops him up and Tombstones him. The others are unable to continue, and Taker stands victorious.

Survivor: Undertaker

The opening bout of this card is a simple one. One of the first factions of the faction era The Nation of Domination, a black-militant themed stable, versus wrestlers I think look racist.

The Nation consists of FAAROOQ, ROCKY MAIVIA, D’LO BROWN, AHMED JOHNSON, and MARK HENRY.

The Racists, BIG BOSSMAN is southern, and a cop, so he’s in. LUDVIG BORGA got elected into his country’s parliament on a pro racism ticket. TED DIBIASE is the Million Dollar man. I don’t think I need to explain much more on that one. TREVOR MURDOCH. I think everybody who has a Taz tattoo is a bigot. And finally. VINCE McMAHON.

Faarooq                 VS           The Big Bossman

Ahmed Johnson                     Ludvig Borga

D’Lo Brown                            Vince McMahon

Rocky Maivia                         Ted DiBiase

Mark Henry                            Trevor Murdoch

Order of Elimination: Faarooq and his crew tag in and out quickly to knock out Big Bossman, Borga, Murdoch out quickly… but the two millionaires sow some vicious discord among the Nation. A giant brawl ensues.

Survivor: No Contest… Racism is ugly.

So there’s my Dream PPV. I hope you’ll make your’s up too. I’ll read them, and tell you which ones are my favorites. I’d love to hear which of mine you dig as well. Play by the rules. Have fun.

Class Clown Warfare

I feel like the world’s been bitchy the last few weeks. Maybe it’s just transference; I feel bitchy, so I see it in everybody else… or maybe I even seek out bitchy to validate my bitchiness… but regardless of the cause… I’ve certainly felt surrounded by it the last few weeks.

I’m blaming it on the election.

I’m blaming it on Republicans and Democrats. But, mostly Republicans.

I think election years are essentially America getting its period. We’re all edgy and contentious. We continually bring up things that happened years ago, and our arguments don’t really have to make sense. Also, we look fat.

Election years are tough, because, if polling is right, we’re about 50/50. Which means, if two folks are next two you on the train, you hate one of them. Or at least think you’re smarter than him. Or question his patriotism.

I’m probably affected less than most. I already dislike most of you fascists.

This election holds little importance to me. Regardless of what Obama and Romney, or CNN and Fox say, this isn’t; “THE MOST IMPORTANT DECISION ANYBODY’S EVER MADE ABOUT ANYTHING!” or “THE CLEAREST CHOICE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL THE UNIVERSE HAS EVER FACED!” I feel tired, and frankly, manipulated. I’m am disheartened that elections have devolved into superbowl advertising. And I don’t trust anyting.

I laugh at the notion of Mitt Romney being billed as a self made man. If my buddy took over her mom’s bakery, I wouldn’t say she was a trailblazer. And if my dad ran for president before I did, I’d mostly call myself unimaginative.

But I don’t hate Romney. I don’t. I think he’s milquetoast, but there are worse things. Truth is, I’m still kind of in a warm “he’s not Bush” afterglow.

Anybody who wants to argue “Obama’s the worst” can fuck right off. I’m fine with hating the president. I really am. He’s done a lot of things that some people don’t care for, but when somebody states “he’s the worst.” I’m done listening.

That was the last guy.

You’re a pest.

You’ve probably never been so angry twenty times this week, and whatever Hollywood movie had the biggest budget this summer was the greatest movie ever made.

Romney’s shifting stances are hard to deal with. He slipped from reasonable to idealogue. and that frightens me; Pro-choice to fetuses for Jesus, and sensibly addressing gun control to “out of my cold dead hands” posturing… but I understand… he REALLY wants to be president. If not… he’s nothing but a billionaire father of 30 with great hair destined to get his own planet in the afterlife. Who could be happy with that?

I won’t pretend for a second that I’m impartial. I’m not. I’ll be voting democrat. I’ll probably be voting democrat for the rest of my life. Probably. Until something better comes along. I’m scared of Republicans. I remember in 2000 everyone kept telling us how Bush and Gore were the same guy. Rage Against the Machine even made that snarky video where they amalgamated the two. Then we got Bush… and he showed us what a Republican really was. A pro-stupid war machine that thought books and compromise were for faggots, who, by the way, ought not be faggots on my watch.

I don’t think Romney’s him… but… I think he could be. Or at least… I’m afraid he could be. The Republicans didn’t do themselves any favors throwing up Palin as a candidate last time around. I don’t buy that vision of America. I don’t want it. I don’t think he does either, but he might have to dance with every suitor who brought him to the ball. And a lot of those will be line-dances.

Paul Ryan frightens me. I don’t think he’s dumb… I think he just believes in free markets the way I believe education and discussion will solve all of our problems. I know I’m wrong… but I still believe it. So much so that it influences me to say and do things based on principle, not reason. (Ayn Rand would vomit… on an orphan.) I think Right Wingers have a romantic notion that heads of industry are enlightened world bearers that will bring us into a golden age. A golden age that, I’m afraid, only exists in thier incorrect assessment of the past. The fact is, I think it’s always been terrible, and we’ve always been dumb, and working with the problems we have now, using the knowledge we’ve learned from the past is our only option… not holding onto outmoded beliefs.

I don’t think Obama does that spectacularly well… but better. At least he’s consistant when it comes to saying it’s going to be tough… not just encouraging us to trust him.

Officially, I’m disappointed. I hate his refusal to slow down the American War Machine. (We’ve been at war about 40% of my life… and I’m getting old.) It’s hard to feel like America is some shining beacon of hope and opportunity, when we can’t seem to quit killing strangers.

I don’t think poor people want us to spend our money killing strangers… they might want to do it… but that’s just because it’s a reliable job, and a surefire way to make sure you belong in the 1%’s America. The wealthiest americans benefit from expansionist endeavors… and… well… if it’s your idea… you pay for it.

Mike Huckabee told me last week that the top 5% of Americans pay 57% of ALL the taxes and expected me to be outraged. I’m not. They have at least 57% of the say in what we do. You want that influence? Pay for it. The rich in this country are getting richer… and it isn’t helping us. I don’t know what “letting them keep their money” will do to improve that.

I won’t rail against them though… I don’t hate the rich. I hate the folks who think they ought to be in charge.

That being said… I don’t think Obama’s government’s terrific. I hate the idea of more government. I spent a weekend interacting with government employees… and they’re the pits. Folks so emotionally detached from their job they literally seem to want it to not work. They seem to delight in a “bad day at the office.” I’m nervouse for America… but I don’t think that’s new. We’ve been here before, and we’ll be alright. We’re Goddamned Americans right?

I think all we really need to do… is quit voting for handsome guys. Quit electing candidates who are attractive or “look political”. It’s a fundamental failure in reasoning to think a handsome person’s going to fix something. Don’t look for handsome people to institute change, the system works for them. Do you think Romney understands real hardship? The tall handsome independently wealthy guy? I don’t. At least Obama’s black… so folks in the south think he’s a criminal. And midwesterners assume he grew up poor. That had to be bothersome… but I’ll bet he could still charm his way out of most of those encounters.

I don’t know what America really needs right now. But I think we can agree a revolutionary isn’t going to be prom king. The only handsome revolutionary I can think of is Che, and he never bathed… so that explains that one.

It’s voting time America. And you should probably go out and try to be heard. If nothing else, to feel better about yourself. I’ll vote for my guy. I won’t, “Hold my nose and vote.” I’ll “Cross my fingers and vote.” Hope for meaningful change that probably won’t come. Maybe next time we’ll be lucky enough to get an ug-o.

Optimism? … sounds like a trap. How Deconstructive Theory has ruined my life.

If you stare at something long enough, it quits being beautiful. You can’t see it for what it is, only for what it’s not. I think the same is true of knowing things. When you understand something… you see the little ugly bits that make it not perfect, and you can’t look away from them. Even flawless and irrefutable things; A mother’s love, music, WrestleMania. They all fall apart on close inspection. They have blemishes and tired eyes that make them less than you want, or even need them to be.  A mama bear’s love for her cubs make her eat your baby up, and snap your wife’s back in half. Bad move camper dad. The Nazi’s marched to the only classical music that anybody still gives a shit about. Robust works of beauty and power ideal for marching over skulls to or pushing people into holes. And one time, Lawrence Taylor wrestled Bam Bam Bigelow in the main event…  fucking terrible.

So maybe at least ideas or pursuits can be good? Curiousity must be a beautiful thing, it is what made us what we are. Ingenious apes with capacity and drive to do things. But, it’s also what got us kicked out of the Garden. It’s what made us split the atom, and it might be what ends us all. And it’ll end us Ugly.

So why look and why wonder? I don’t know. I understand the allure of not knowing almost fully. Not wondering about one’s place in the world, not struggling to find something certain seems like the better option. But, I can’t not wonder. And I can’t lie. At least not to myself. I can lie to other folks just fine, but I’m suspicious of everything I say.

In an era of weaponized religion and faulty gods, of screaming liars and sanctified bastards, I find it hard to love or believe in anything. When I think about the fact that every era has been an era of weaponized religion and sanctified bastards… it makes it even worse.

I don’t necessarily dispair at it. I… resign to it. I even like it in some masochistic way. It feels a little like being behind the curtain. Which can be great… but… you do miss the play.

Religion, Politics, Art. Sports, War, Movies. Rules, Laws, Social Contracts. Politeness, Honesty, Appropriate Behavior. Love, Nonsense, a Human Connection. All can be dissected. All are kind of lies. Natural tendencies that can be exploited, knowingly or not, by these curious monkeys. All are a little bit gross.

I wrestle with what’s good and what matters. And I’m pretty sure it’s Nothing. If you zoom in or zoom out far enough… nothing. And nothing is not reassuring.

A logical argument to this stance is that if nothing is good or true, why not pursue things that make you feel good.

But with nothing true to strive for, nothing makes me feel “good.”

Things I like I know aren’t perfect. I just like them. Things I see as ”true” are only true from my perspective, And my perspective is formed and shaped by a million contributing factors, and if those factors were different, my opinion probably would be as well. I don’t know if I’d love the Counting Crows if the summer of ’96 had been colder, or if my High School Girlfriend had had smaller boobs. Probably… but maybe not. If I had fallen in love to something more popular, it’s very possible I wouldn’t hold such contempt for garbage music, or assume that an artist can’t sing the same line 40 times and call it art. (Fuck you John Mayer)

I don’t know if I’d vote democrat if Coal Companies hadn’t fucked my grandfather to death, or if G.I. Joe had had a character who wrote a poem. Probaby, but maybe not. If Frank Miller hadn’t made Ronald Reagan a badguy, or if Nancy Reagan didn’t put all those people in jail… maybe I’d be more passionate about a smaller government (which is an idea I like) and less passionate about gay marriage (which honestly affects me not at all… but I pretend to care so very much about.)

I just

don’t

know.

My feelings are big long math equations that I can’t understand.

And I do understand math. At least a little. At least better than average. At least enough to know I really don’t.

At it’s heart… it’s simple. And I’m dumb… or at least… predictable.

And if we’re predictable… why watch?

We’re just a machine winding down to a halt. And that’s scary. But… maybe if you look long enough at scary, at ugly… you can see beauty in that too. The reverse of what I started with.

You’ve got to stare right at the ugliness first. And… that’s hard to forget. And really hard to get through. But it helps.

So… when I’m at my worst, with nothing transcends the oceans of grey that too much knowledge can bring about… I think about bugs.

Little. Stupid. Bugs.

Gross. Ugly. Bugs.

They live lives like heartbeats. And they never go anywhere. Those that do don’t even have eyes or memories to know they’re doing it. They live in shit and eat garbage. They ruin stuff that’s good. They buzz in your ear. They bite you on your legs and drive you crazy. They toil, and they die.

And they make me very happy. Because they don’t even know it.

Lightning bugs are my favorite. They’re something I like. And something I believe in. They’re the closest things I know to magic.

I know it’s just science. It’s just checmicals in their asses that light up all funny. I know they’re doing it mostly to get laid. And they might not even enjoy it. I even know some have learned how to trick other ones into landing, and then eat them up. (They mimic other lightning bugs “come get some” flashes, then, when they land, they eat their heads. Beautiful.)

I understand what they are. They are nothing. And they are awesome. There is no reason for such beauty. They do not know me. I do not know them.

So I don’t believe in much. But I believe in Lightning bugs. And that’ll do.

When my friends or loved ones hold on to religion or politics that conflict with my sensibilities, I do my best not to fight any more. I don’t know anything. And… if it really doesn’t matter… why fight. I know my friends and family aren’t dumb. Not by a long shot. They just… maybe… have a little more hope than I do… or… are more willing to submit to things that they don’t know. At least not fully. That’s belief right? Embracing something you can’t prove.

Every intelligent man, woman, or child is an agnostic. Openly or not. I realize this is an unfair position I’m taking. The same way the church co-opts moral folks from other sects to allow for a just god. They didn’t know the love of Jesus, so they’ll get purgatory or something, not hell. Only the zealots and the ones in charge like flexing their damnation muscles when confronted with the paradox of moral non-believers.

If one Knows Jesus, I’m envious. The same is true of Allah or Buddha or the Virgin Sophia. It brings peace and guidance.

But if someone Knows their moral code is right. Knows it as a fact. They’re most likely an asshole. They’re ascribing their wants as the will of a something easier to believe in than themselves. As a root for their own desires, and as a means to justify them.

The sad fact is, I’m envious of them too. Just frightened. It must be sweet to know you’re always right, because you’re on the right side. It’s terrifying to think what one can accomplish when one Knows he or she is justified.

If you take the moral highground. You’re just consenting that your argument would lose on equal footing.

I want to know my positions are right… not just advantaged.

But that sure is hard.

It’s easier to be entertained than to understand. It’s easier to be reassured than to be challenged. But I still find myself wanting to be on the other side of the curtain, to know I’m right.

So no, I can’t trust things that are bigger than I am. I can’t, or I won’t. They scare me because their beauty is terrifyingly awesome. Maybe I’m too dumb. Or too stubborn. Or too little to matter. But I won’t hate them anymore. And I won’t let them break me or my belief that nothing’s true, And that that’s okay. I won’t try to exchange their something for nothing. That is a terrible exchange. I will hold them. I will love them. And I’ll think about bugs.