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BONG BONG BONG!
The average person with fight experience limited to school yard bullies and the occasional punk have zero chance against a guy like this. He's been in enough fights to not be afraid of getting hit, and lacks that certain desire to not want to hit someone, the fist is the all-mighty answer. Someone say an off the cuff remark? DANGA-DA-DANGA-DA-DANG! Someone look at you wrong? BING BANG BANG BONG! Perhaps you're in a club, a guy spills his drink on you. . . I hate that. BANG BANG BANG YOU ARE DEAD. To him the idea of "talking this one out," doesn't even register - its 'gay fag language' for 'sissys and ladies.' He lacks that certain receptor in the brain, like a hammerhead shark he simply roams around, looking for anything he can maim or kill and everything in his eyes looks weak and ready to be eaten.
His charisma and bloodthirst reminds me of another dangerous retard, a similar hammerhead, one Mr. Brock Lesnar. Like Lesnar, Bas Rutten also has tattoos, but his are less for intimidation. Bas Rutten actually believes his tattoos have special powers that can make him fight better, and extend his life, no joke. His right palm features a chi symbol meaning life. After receiving the tattoo, he never lost a fight, which he claims was the workings of the tattoo. His left palm says xiao, meaning long life, and Rutten continued to live after the tattoo, so he naturally assumed it was his new ink that was keeping him alive. He has tats on his knees and elbows to keep him calm, a buddhist on his left arm said to protect people like him; people born the Year of the Snake. . . And when he was born 44 years ago, God peeled back his skull and tattooed a wolverine onto his brain so he'd know how to act when he grew up.
Like a snarling beast.
Like Lesnar, Rutten was an MMA fighter, with a career record of 28 - 4 - 1 with 12 knockouts. He even finished his career going 22-0 with out losing a fight. Now that his career is over however, he lends his voice, and retardation to K1 fights and Japanese MMA fights, with some of the worst commentating ever. It can best be compared to a drunken twelve year old with a knowledge of fighting, mildly tending to the details of the action before veering off the course and saying strange and outlandish things - things he seemingly says for his very own enjoyment. For instance during a showdown between two competitors, he once said: "Talk about a stare down. . . I hear voices in my head, and they. . . don't. . . like youuuuu!"
Its obvious what needs to happen.
Hammer head vs. Hammer head.
Rutten will gladly come out of retirement, bloodlust never really leaves an animal like him.
Whattaya say UFC?
The fight would probably go something like this:
Brock and Rutten meet in the center of the ring, for a stare down of snot and sweat and stifled homosexual tendencies. Michael Buffer announces the upcoming blood bath. Celebrities and big wigs around the ring chat and joke and make movie deals - they pay big money to see Rottweilers tear each others throats out. The ring swells with anticipation, the wild beasts held back by invisible leashes to be let loose only after the resonance of the bell ringing. Tense. Still. Brock smirks, Rutten smirks, everyone watching smirks, even the ref smirks but hides it of course, to be professional. They are all thinking the same thing, and it excites them a little, no matter how much they may try and deny it- somebody is bound to die, and its bound to be bloody.
Ever seen a bull charge a bulldozer head on? Watch. . .
They take to their corners and the bell rings. The beasts are let loose. Brock's mind is vivid with images of college wrestling, jock straps and man junk but it blurs red with steroids and rage. He pictures cows being slaughtered and cut up into steaks for him to eat, to build muscle and in turn help him mangle men in the ring. Rutten's head is alive with memories of when he was 16, when he'd go out onto the bluffs and kill lizards and beetles with a sharpened projectile he'd shoot between his teeth. . . The crowd of vultures is buzzing, but the fighters hear nothing but the sounds of cows being slaughtered, of beetles and lizards dying -zap-zap-zap-, until the first punch is thrown. . .
Mild action, fists and kicks and blood and sweat.
At the end of the round Brock goes to his corner to take instruction from his crew while he eats the heads off of live chickens. Rutten in his corner admires himself in a mirror provided by his corner team. He sings Little Bunny Foo Foo. Joe Roegan has already jizzed his pants. You Dana White, are already counting the money. . . That fresh green blood money. . . Smell it. . . Peel off the bills like rose pedals.
She loves me. . . She loves me. . . She loves me. . .
The bell rings, they take to the center of the ring again, Brock's chest matted with bloody red feathers, Rutten smiling about the damage he's already imagining in his head. The moment is brief but they are like sprinters at the starting line, coiled tense like springs, waiting for the gun to go off. . . Waiting for the gun to go off. . . Waiting for. . .The bell rings! The sprinters are off! Punches and kicks galore! Its a real pony show! Rutten with the palm strikes. And here comes number 2 on the outside! The Chicken Eating Mother Fucker! Lesnar with a thunderous take down! The Swank Swede far behind! They're rounding the bend! Its The Chicken Eating Mother Fucker! He's turning his face into hamburger meat! This one aint even close folks! Around that bend and down the home stretch! They're off like Israeli rockets! Jostling for postion! More hamburger meat folks! He just won't go down! The Swank Swede! He staggers! -ding- Saved by the bell!
As for the rest. . . well you'll have to see when it comes out on Pay Per View.
iR
His charisma and bloodthirst reminds me of another dangerous retard, a similar hammerhead, one Mr. Brock Lesnar. Like Lesnar, Bas Rutten also has tattoos, but his are less for intimidation. Bas Rutten actually believes his tattoos have special powers that can make him fight better, and extend his life, no joke. His right palm features a chi symbol meaning life. After receiving the tattoo, he never lost a fight, which he claims was the workings of the tattoo. His left palm says xiao, meaning long life, and Rutten continued to live after the tattoo, so he naturally assumed it was his new ink that was keeping him alive. He has tats on his knees and elbows to keep him calm, a buddhist on his left arm said to protect people like him; people born the Year of the Snake. . . And when he was born 44 years ago, God peeled back his skull and tattooed a wolverine onto his brain so he'd know how to act when he grew up.
Like a snarling beast.
Like Lesnar, Rutten was an MMA fighter, with a career record of 28 - 4 - 1 with 12 knockouts. He even finished his career going 22-0 with out losing a fight. Now that his career is over however, he lends his voice, and retardation to K1 fights and Japanese MMA fights, with some of the worst commentating ever. It can best be compared to a drunken twelve year old with a knowledge of fighting, mildly tending to the details of the action before veering off the course and saying strange and outlandish things - things he seemingly says for his very own enjoyment. For instance during a showdown between two competitors, he once said: "Talk about a stare down. . . I hear voices in my head, and they. . . don't. . . like youuuuu!"
Its obvious what needs to happen.
Hammer head vs. Hammer head.
Rutten will gladly come out of retirement, bloodlust never really leaves an animal like him.
Whattaya say UFC?
The fight would probably go something like this:
Brock and Rutten meet in the center of the ring, for a stare down of snot and sweat and stifled homosexual tendencies. Michael Buffer announces the upcoming blood bath. Celebrities and big wigs around the ring chat and joke and make movie deals - they pay big money to see Rottweilers tear each others throats out. The ring swells with anticipation, the wild beasts held back by invisible leashes to be let loose only after the resonance of the bell ringing. Tense. Still. Brock smirks, Rutten smirks, everyone watching smirks, even the ref smirks but hides it of course, to be professional. They are all thinking the same thing, and it excites them a little, no matter how much they may try and deny it- somebody is bound to die, and its bound to be bloody.Ever seen a bull charge a bulldozer head on? Watch. . .
They take to their corners and the bell rings. The beasts are let loose. Brock's mind is vivid with images of college wrestling, jock straps and man junk but it blurs red with steroids and rage. He pictures cows being slaughtered and cut up into steaks for him to eat, to build muscle and in turn help him mangle men in the ring. Rutten's head is alive with memories of when he was 16, when he'd go out onto the bluffs and kill lizards and beetles with a sharpened projectile he'd shoot between his teeth. . . The crowd of vultures is buzzing, but the fighters hear nothing but the sounds of cows being slaughtered, of beetles and lizards dying -zap-zap-zap-, until the first punch is thrown. . .Mild action, fists and kicks and blood and sweat.
At the end of the round Brock goes to his corner to take instruction from his crew while he eats the heads off of live chickens. Rutten in his corner admires himself in a mirror provided by his corner team. He sings Little Bunny Foo Foo. Joe Roegan has already jizzed his pants. You Dana White, are already counting the money. . . That fresh green blood money. . . Smell it. . . Peel off the bills like rose pedals.
She loves me. . . She loves me. . . She loves me. . .
The bell rings, they take to the center of the ring again, Brock's chest matted with bloody red feathers, Rutten smiling about the damage he's already imagining in his head. The moment is brief but they are like sprinters at the starting line, coiled tense like springs, waiting for the gun to go off. . . Waiting for the gun to go off. . . Waiting for. . .The bell rings! The sprinters are off! Punches and kicks galore! Its a real pony show! Rutten with the palm strikes. And here comes number 2 on the outside! The Chicken Eating Mother Fucker! Lesnar with a thunderous take down! The Swank Swede far behind! They're rounding the bend! Its The Chicken Eating Mother Fucker! He's turning his face into hamburger meat! This one aint even close folks! Around that bend and down the home stretch! They're off like Israeli rockets! Jostling for postion! More hamburger meat folks! He just won't go down! The Swank Swede! He staggers! -ding- Saved by the bell!As for the rest. . . well you'll have to see when it comes out on Pay Per View.
iR
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