Posts
Brock Lesnar sporting his new tattoo.Brock Lesnar comes from a land where the men still wear cover-alls. Their necks are all red and sizzling from too many hours stooped over in the sun, and they're so backwoods you can almost see the KKK hats on their heads, even when there isn't a hate rally. They're bigots on guard 24/7. . . Lesnar was born on a particularly soggy summer afternoon, on July 12th, and aside from the rain it was a particularly strange day. It was to be the day when a cow gave birth to a human being, the first recording of its kind. All the boys were hanging around, shooting the shit, drinking beers, when they heard quite the ruckus come from the barn. It was old Betsy, the crowned gold cow of the farm, crowing like she was about to give birth. Sure enough, out came Brock Lesnar, half human-half bull. He was the result of a lonely night on the farm, when some tired farm hand yearned for the touch of a woman but found himself to be surrounded only by cows. The fornication resulted in Brock for the cow, and a diseased tool for the farm hand, who pissed fire for months.
He grew up fine enough, and proved to be quite the mule, for where he lacked intelligence he had muscle, and he had a whole lot of muscle. During his days as a kid, he'd shoot up steroids - the kind they use on horses to help fix races, and was fed nothing but proteins - 3 raw eggs in the morning, and 3 more at night. He was fed so ravenously he was practically a wild animal, and by the age of 16 he would run around town scooping up chickens and biting their heads off. He'd eat them while the torso still flapped around molting feathers, the hunt being some sort of a primal urge he could not control. His massiveness lead him to be more profitable in other ventures than farming, as he was found to be a perfect specimen for Day County's favorite sport: wrestling. He became an amateur wrestling champion, and operated much like a machine, winning matches as far up as the college level. But then he curiously took the "fake" professional wrestling route, that make believe opera of the real life thing; which he excelled at. He was undefeated in high school, 33 and 0, and an NCAA wrestling Champion, Pac-Ten Champion, etc etc, with an overall college record of 106-5.
The guy has groped and been around more dick than some of the skankiest of Big Bear townies.
Yet after a stint in professional wrestling, and the hunger that resulted from it (pretending to hit men isn't as satisfying as really hitting them,) he tried to join the NFL. He played a couple of preaseason games for the Vikings, but was cut late when the team finally realized Brock Lesnar just might kill someone - one game he tackled an opposing quarterback so bad the poor sap had to ride the pine and try and find comfort in the crowd booing Lesnar while his innards bled rust from the dirty hit he didn't even see coming. With no chance in the NFL, and the burned bridge he had created for himself with the WWE, Brock Lesnar was kinda left to be alone, with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs. . .
Lesnar, always the good role model, seen here pretending to choke a bitch.
Enter UFC, a perfect arena for a guy like Brock Lesnar to show off his savagery in flashes of anger and pure hatred. His veins flow with a cocktail of gasoline and performance enchancers, he's a giant bull enraged by the color of red, and he's thirsty to turn your face crimson with sores and wounds and cuts that take months to fully heal. He can tend to your face like a man tends to a pillow, he'll soften it up and just laugh while you try and look out at the world through swollen bloody puffy eyes. He's swelled up by all the steroids, and by his ego, and by the limelight, which further swells him up, so he just stands in the ring and looks giant from all the swelling. He looks down at you and he's got fists like sledgehammers; two large 4XL gloves that fly out at you with a vengeance and try and crack up your face like brittle concrete. Its kind of his "M.O." - the wrestling he learned as a teen has been consumed by steroid catalyzed rage, and now Brock simply looks to cracking a man's skull and peeking inside just so he can say he's capable of doing it.
He has only been in 5 matches, and already has the title and all the heat, especially after his crazy antics at UFC 100. Right off the bat he wouldn't shake Mir's hand, a customary sign of respect in the sport often described as "human cock fights." Then after beating him to a pulp in his own hometown, he flipped off the crowd and soaked up their boos like any good spandex-clad professional wrestler would. He literally foamed at the mouth, he stared at the camera with black-empty eyes, and looked as if he were in some sort of ugly hate-filled trance. Then he was given the usual interview by Joe Roegan, the kind where he asks stupid questions to stupid athletes I don't really care to see try and formulate thoughts, as it all just looks too painful. Yet Brock mustered up all the theatrics of play wrestling, and belted out a wonderfully charismatic bit of shit talking:
He grew up fine enough, and proved to be quite the mule, for where he lacked intelligence he had muscle, and he had a whole lot of muscle. During his days as a kid, he'd shoot up steroids - the kind they use on horses to help fix races, and was fed nothing but proteins - 3 raw eggs in the morning, and 3 more at night. He was fed so ravenously he was practically a wild animal, and by the age of 16 he would run around town scooping up chickens and biting their heads off. He'd eat them while the torso still flapped around molting feathers, the hunt being some sort of a primal urge he could not control. His massiveness lead him to be more profitable in other ventures than farming, as he was found to be a perfect specimen for Day County's favorite sport: wrestling. He became an amateur wrestling champion, and operated much like a machine, winning matches as far up as the college level. But then he curiously took the "fake" professional wrestling route, that make believe opera of the real life thing; which he excelled at. He was undefeated in high school, 33 and 0, and an NCAA wrestling Champion, Pac-Ten Champion, etc etc, with an overall college record of 106-5.
The guy has groped and been around more dick than some of the skankiest of Big Bear townies.
Yet after a stint in professional wrestling, and the hunger that resulted from it (pretending to hit men isn't as satisfying as really hitting them,) he tried to join the NFL. He played a couple of preaseason games for the Vikings, but was cut late when the team finally realized Brock Lesnar just might kill someone - one game he tackled an opposing quarterback so bad the poor sap had to ride the pine and try and find comfort in the crowd booing Lesnar while his innards bled rust from the dirty hit he didn't even see coming. With no chance in the NFL, and the burned bridge he had created for himself with the WWE, Brock Lesnar was kinda left to be alone, with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs. . .
Lesnar, always the good role model, seen here pretending to choke a bitch.He has only been in 5 matches, and already has the title and all the heat, especially after his crazy antics at UFC 100. Right off the bat he wouldn't shake Mir's hand, a customary sign of respect in the sport often described as "human cock fights." Then after beating him to a pulp in his own hometown, he flipped off the crowd and soaked up their boos like any good spandex-clad professional wrestler would. He literally foamed at the mouth, he stared at the camera with black-empty eyes, and looked as if he were in some sort of ugly hate-filled trance. Then he was given the usual interview by Joe Roegan, the kind where he asks stupid questions to stupid athletes I don't really care to see try and formulate thoughts, as it all just looks too painful. Yet Brock mustered up all the theatrics of play wrestling, and belted out a wonderfully charismatic bit of shit talking:
"When I go home tonight. . . I'm gonna drink a COORS Light." Emphasis on Coors. "That's a Coors Light cause Bud Light won't pay me nothin'. . ." Sniff. "I'm gonna sit down with my friends and family. . . and hell maybe I'll even get on top of my wife tonight. . . See you all later!"
He had successfully disgraced the sport, blurred the line between MMA fighting and professional wrestling, and took a jab at on of UFC's main sponsors, just for good measure. Talk about a fucking retard. Its as if he enters the ring and becomes the school bully again, and swaggers around with a head held high, just looking to fight some small pee-on he can pummel and make feel even smaller. He finishes the job, and after awhile the madness wears off, like a high; Brock becomes less bull and more human, but its too late, the damage is already done.
Yet after his antics live on PPV, he apologized profusely 5 minutes later, and was seen drinking a Bud Light right there at the podium, as if his tirade never even happened. But thats what happens when you're a 265 pound retard with a punch that can deal out 100 pounds of pure force: you can get away with shit.
You can walk around like an ass, and generally rub people the wrong way. You can diss your own sponsors, your own company, even your own wife - who'll just smile and sputter out a fake laugh through plastic lips. . . People don't say anything, because letting it slide is a hell of a lot better than spending a few months in some sterile hospital bed. And thats if you're lucky. A guy like Brock can cause a lot of damage, and is even more frightening due to his retardation. You just simply never know what a loose cannon like he can do: he's a retard monster of epic proportions that could rip your head off like you were nothin' but a rag doll.
And for that, Brock lesnar is dangerously retarded.
dangerous retardation n - retardation in an individual or group of individuals that is capable of causing great harm to non-retarded individuals. They are simply too unpredictable, and/or naturally addicted to causing/feeling pain. Said victims are dangerously retarded.
Yet after his antics live on PPV, he apologized profusely 5 minutes later, and was seen drinking a Bud Light right there at the podium, as if his tirade never even happened. But thats what happens when you're a 265 pound retard with a punch that can deal out 100 pounds of pure force: you can get away with shit.
You can walk around like an ass, and generally rub people the wrong way. You can diss your own sponsors, your own company, even your own wife - who'll just smile and sputter out a fake laugh through plastic lips. . . People don't say anything, because letting it slide is a hell of a lot better than spending a few months in some sterile hospital bed. And thats if you're lucky. A guy like Brock can cause a lot of damage, and is even more frightening due to his retardation. You just simply never know what a loose cannon like he can do: he's a retard monster of epic proportions that could rip your head off like you were nothin' but a rag doll.
And for that, Brock lesnar is dangerously retarded.
dangerous retardation n - retardation in an individual or group of individuals that is capable of causing great harm to non-retarded individuals. They are simply too unpredictable, and/or naturally addicted to causing/feeling pain. Said victims are dangerously retarded.
FURTHER RETARDATION:
Born in Webster, South Dakota, population nearly 2,000, 99% of which are white.
Married Rena Mero a.k.a Sable, who now goes by Rena Mero Lesnar.
Broke Bob Holly's neck during one match after a botched powerbomb: Lesnar felt it was best just to drop him right on his neck.
Lesnar has a skull tattoo on his back, which is done so shittily I think its a skull surrounded by a mist, but no one can be sure what the 15 year old tattoo artist was goin' for when he etched its retardation on Lesnar's massive back.
Personal quote: "Here comes the pain." Encitive, Brock, really.
Born in Webster, South Dakota, population nearly 2,000, 99% of which are white.
Married Rena Mero a.k.a Sable, who now goes by Rena Mero Lesnar.
Broke Bob Holly's neck during one match after a botched powerbomb: Lesnar felt it was best just to drop him right on his neck.
Lesnar has a skull tattoo on his back, which is done so shittily I think its a skull surrounded by a mist, but no one can be sure what the 15 year old tattoo artist was goin' for when he etched its retardation on Lesnar's massive back.
Personal quote: "Here comes the pain." Encitive, Brock, really.
No comments:
Post a Comment