The Only Difference Between UFC And Gay Porn Is The Padded Gloves

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image – Flickr / Mark Richardson

I don’t get UFC. I Seriously don’t.

Dudes fight each other in “The Octagon”, which sounds cool. Like maybe some Roman Colosseum shit. Fighters fighting for glory or freedom or to be alive. Surrounded by lions or crazy ass animals. Inside “The Octagon” with a stick or something stupid that they would have little chance of surviving.

But it’s not.

I go to a crowded bar filled with Neanderthal-like morons with black tshirts that are, for some reason, covered with dragons and usually a tough word. Like “Affliction” or “TAP OUT”. Guys that wouldn’t bust a grape in a food fight, as Jay Z would say. They surround a TV and stare at it with this intense mean face. High fiving each other, drinking draft beer. and talking about push ups… cars… or something as simple. Anything to mask how they secretly want to butt fuck each other.

From the blinking machine they are now huddled around, out come these over privileged animals. Their manager is apparently gifted at pimping morons. They come to the ring in some egotistical way as if punching someone in the face makes them the savior of the human race.

This all completely over the top and dramatic for what actually happens next.

The “fighters” stare deeply into the others eyes. Both of their friends and family told them that they are really tough and good at fighting. Maybe even high fived them. They get closer to each other. And you will notice this is the combo of every single

UFC fight: Jab, jab. hug. hug. hug. kick. jab. hug. hug. hug. 20 minute hug.

I’m not sure what happened next, I either shot myself in the face with a revolver watching my brain paint the walls from the inside of my head or closed my bar tab and left immediately. TC mark

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