Continuing on a BJ Theme

So ... yeah.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tY6dj97sV6U

The video speaks for itself. Watch. Laugh. Enjoy.

So good.

BJ Penn has gone insane.

Come in, enjoy the fire, it's low, and if you watch the smoke you can view some season one Buffy with me. But we will pause that as I have a minor issue to deal with that has been going on, and while I don't think it will end the discussion, I do want to make some points very very clear.

So I'm a big MMA fan and I love combative sports. It's still no football, which is my true love, and let anyone who gets between me and it suffer my fury. And I have a few favorite fighters. Unfortunately because of my limited exposure to the overall sport they are mainly fighting in the UFC. They include: Forrest Griffin, Joe Lauzon, Randy Couture, Jorge Rivera, Rich Franklin, Anderson Silva, Kenny Florian, and top of the list is Georges "Rush" St. Pierre.

Now yeah I'm one of those people that will judge not just their athletic prowess, for almost all of those above they all maintain a certain level of humility. A humour about themselves. Or maybe even just a 'nice' guy. They also all are very dedicated to their sport, and come to the ring with more than just 'I'm a fighter' attitudes and tend to come up with a game plan and have a cerebral component to their fighting. And that's my biggest draw.

I was never the biggest guy on the offensive line but I was the guy who knew everything I could about what my team was doing and what my opponents would do. I religiously watched game film, I practiced hard, I mastered the techniques of what I do, and while I know I would probably get my ass KICKED by a professional, I would never fear donning the gear again and stepping onto the gridiron for a one on one with one of them. Because I know what skill level I have, and how best to use it.

So this takes us back to UFC 94. The 'battle for the ages' was how the fight was touted. Two of the best pound for pound fighters, GSP and BJ Penn were going to fight for the Welterweight (170lbs) title. And man was I cheering for GSP to lay a complete ass kicking on BJ Penn, especially after his derogatory comments in the UFC Primetime specials they ran leading up to the fight.

Now BJ Penn has a lot of accolades to his record. First non-Brazilian to win the world BJJ title, second fighter to own titles in the UFC in two different weight classes (not together tho) and so on. But he has always lacked two very big parts of his game. First is his inability to properly prepare for a fight. He doesn't pay attention to the cerebral part of the game. He is referred to as the 'Prodigy' because of his impressive skills at a very young age. The second is his cardiovascular endurance. He always gasses in long fights. Particularly if someone pushes him to work hard, such as uses clinches and a lot of ground work and defense. It takes a lot of energy to prevent yourself from being manhandled by someone else.

So GSP and his trainers, particularly Greg Jackson, came up with a spectacularly detailed game plan that targeted BJ's weaknesses, and played to GSP's strengths, specifically that he is a much larger and stronger man than BJ. They detailed the game plan at the press conferences after the fight to demonstrate that GSP is not just an incredible athlete and fighter, but is a cerebral fighter. He did exactly what was required to take any advantage BJ had and then physically beat the fuck out of him. Fourth round stoppage due to corner and doctor. BJ got thumped on.

But here's where the problem comes in. Despite this masterful performance a hitch occurred. Between rounds one and two, Phil Nurse applied a breathing technique to GSP that allowed for a small amount of Vaseline to be rubbed on the middle of GSPs back. Luckily the Nevada State Athletic Commission saw this, entered the ring, forced GSP to be cleaned off, and the beating of BJ continued.

But because of this one little tiny detail suddenly all the work that GSP, his trainers, his coaches, and everyone else that helped to secure that victory did is nullified. There is a cloud hanging over that victory yet I am unsure how that cloud is even being allowed to continue. For a few specific points.

The very first thing is that they towelled GSP down as soon as they noticed it, and in every subsequent round. The same cannot be said for BJ Penn, and if you read the responses from GSPs camp you will notice that the migration of Vaseline is one of those things you just have to deal with in MMA. Think about it, you apply it to the face, but in any close combat sport, the face will most likely be rubbing against many different body parts. So honestly if anyone had an unfair advantage during the fight it would be Penn himself.

The part I find even funnier in this is that despite the complete lack of impact this 'cheating' had has to do with the actual rule itself, which isn't that clear. It states there may not be an inordinate amount of grease on a fighter's body. That's it. So they may change the rules and that's good.

But to get to the real point here. BJ has turned this into his own personal vendetta. He has screamed and yelled to anyone who will listen that he was unjustly beaten and he wants his fair fight. He refuses to accept that he got his ass handed to him by a fighter who put together a game plan to beat him that badly. No, what does he do? He goes to the NSAC WITH HIS MOM!!
So he's pissing and moaning and bitching to high heaven about this and the best part, the very bestest ever part to this sad little tirade from a rich kid who didn't get what he wanted is this. He launched his 'Live Like a Champion' Project the DAY AFTER. So the vast majority of people who have been watching this are calling BJ Penn a whiner and complainer, and find his antics disgraceful and very un-champion like, and now he's going to teach other people what they're supposed to do?! Wow, reality really isn't a part of this guy's vocabulary huh?

What little respect I had for BJ Penn's talents is gone. He's wasted them expecting to walk through whatever is there to get what he wants, and when he doesn't he expects others to hand it over. And now since he is so great, he plans to tell others how to be just as great. I think the cult suggestion from the article is far more plausible than this camp of his teaching anything useful.

So simply put. Penn, quit being such a fucktard. Take your lumps, live like a champion, defend your belt, and if you can manage it, crawl your sorry ass way back up the Welterweight rankings and try to get another shot. But guess what brah, since GSP has demonstrated to everyone just how to beat your ass, everyone else will be on the bandwagon to do it as well. Suck on that Baby Jay.

A funny story again.

So my mind is quite strange. I'm sure that when my friends hear me say 'Oh that reminds me...' they all internally cringe and wonder where my messed up gray matter will wander off to. So come in and sit by the fire because I just got reminded of a funny little happenstance.

So I take someone to the doctor's office. I can't remember who. I'm sitting in the waiting room, and next to me is this little pamphlet holder thingie, and in it is a black pamphlet with big white words on it saying 'Are you at Risk of ED?' This was a few years back mind you, so I think 'What the fuck is ED?!' So I start reading. ED is of course Erectile Dysfunction, and this was around the time that Viagra had first come out, so hey. I read on.

There are five things that greatly influence ED. So I read what they are

1) Smoking. Apparently the blood constriction can cause the Trouser Titan to be a bit ... lethargic. (I think to myself, hmm, ok, check.)

2) Overweight and/or out of shape. Having a poor cardiovascular system leads to ED. Goes to figure right, if you aren't working right, then neither is Mr. Happy. (I again, think to myself, damn yeah. I'm a tub. Ok, check.)

3) High cholesterol. Like smoking, it constricts blood flow, and can EVEN build up around where the blood flows into King Zambula, Master of the Pant Snakes. (Again, check for me I ponder, hmm, better make sure I always take my gemfibrozil, my high cholesterol medication.)

4) High blood pressure. Yep, having high blood pressure again messes with the way that blood flows towards extremities, such as your third leg. (Wow. Ok, I must make sure I keep taking my enalapril, the high blood pressure meds.)

5) Diabetes. If you are a diabetic, who may not be taking good control of their blood sugars, because it's a disease of the blood, it may affect penile performance. (Yeah ok so blood sugar medicines. Right.)

It then hits me. By all rights, I shouldn't even be able to PISS through my wang. It should be a lifeless husk, so depressed and misaligned that it spends it days writing bad poetry lamenting the twist of fate that has attached it to this pathetic body. Long epic poems about the heroic actions it must perform with little or no support from its parent body.

I was five for five. Yet, I can honestly say I have had no problems with my love muscle. If anything I'm somewhat oversexed. I'm horny ALL THE TIME!! I need to strap it down when I'm watching certain shows. While not as quick to react as when I was 18, the smaller but dominant head still makes his will known all on his own.

So the next time one of you starts harassing me about quitting smoking, or getting in better shape, or any of that shit, remember this: I get healthier, so does my libido. And The Trouser Titan might become the Dick Deity and demand tribute and worship!!! It gets any higher and I will be just humping random legs and orifices. And NO ONE will be safe. That's right, NO ONE... possible no thing either. But I don't want to risk that happening.

That's right. I'm unhealthy for the safety of all around me. Deal with it. :)

A nightmare

Come in, I stoked the fire since the weather has turned on us again, and I have Old Dutch Mexican Chili Chips! Dig in.

I don't normally have nightmares. When I was much younger I used to have nightmares continuously but since my teens and my own control of my lucid dreams I don't normally have them. Last one was about ... 6 or more years ago, involving an ex's head turning into a Shark, and running from them in a car. It was quite the event.

Well a few nights ago I had a nightmare. The worst. Nothing scares me personally. I know there is nothing out there that can get thrown at me that I can't handle or deal with on some level, especially with the fantastic family and friends I have.

In the dream I woke up for work and went to wake up the Little Bear, as she had asked me to, and instead of finding my beautiful daughter I found a severed hand and a note. I picked up the hand, tears gushed into my eyes, and I clutched it. I didn't even bother reading the note yet. Instead I went straight to the phone, dialed 911, and hysterically started ranting at them as I started to collect together all the sharp pointy things I have, large blunt things I have, and anything that I might be able to use for a ranged weapon, including the paintball gun and a big bag of marbles.

At this point my 'overmind' started to kick in. I knew this was a dream, tiny details were wrong, like Little Bear's bed, which is now a wonderful loft bed, was too low. So I started pulling myself awake, knowing that I was getting so worked up, my heart rate was probably in the stratosphere, and I knew that muscles were tensing. I finally wrenched myself out of sleep, and when I woke up, I was lying flat on my back, my limbs were hovering off the bed, and I was covered in a thin sheet of sweat and tears. And yeah I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, and had all the signs of a MASSIVE adrenaline dump. I slowly relaxed, stood up, and went to check on the Bear. Once I confirmed my baby was fine, I went back to bed. I laid there for probably about an hour and a half, vibrating, shaking, going thru the adrenal side effects, massive headache. Boom I was just about the closest I've been to a full on blank out as I've ever been sober.

I finally got back to sleep. Kinda. I never went deep for the rest of the night. I kept waking myself, and every sound or creak had me up again.

Was ... intense.

A little crow

Come in come in, I wish to share a milestone. I've got a couple burgers, I can cut them up and we can all have a nibble. Recently a strange thing happened, and it makes me happy.

The unfortunate part of this story involves a small tragedy. The loss of a pet. My Moon's parents had a cat, and they had to put her down for health reasons.

Now no one told The Little Bird what happened. They were still kind of dealing with it themselves, and as such didn't want the Bird asking questions as 3 year olds are wont to do.

Now I'm talking to My Moon on the phone, and she's in the car, I know bad, but I can hear The Little Bird talking up a storm and she said something about someone cutting up Sadie. (That's the name of the cat that had to be put down.)

So I ask My Moon, "What she say?"

"Oh well, she said she had a dream where I was cutting up Sadie."

"Wow, she is a little crow."

Y'see, the Crow is a trickster, and my Little Bird, is a crow. Now there are different aspects to how the trickster operates, thus the different forms. For me, a Coyote, I teach, usually through my own 'accidents' or through making things difficult for others. Yeah, it means I'm a prick.

Now Crows, they instead are the keepers of secrets, and they search them out and find them however they can. Now I'm not saying some mystical event happened. Although I do think that's possible. I will say she's an incredibly observant little critter and if there was something for her to figure out, she probably did, with her brain working while she slept to move through the observed behavior to come to the correct solution.

Fabulous. Beautiful Little Bird. Happy Coyote Dad.

Not tonight honey I have a headache.

Come in and sit down, I have a funny I wish to share. The fire is low since it is so beautiful out, and the hides are thrown wide to the wind, letting all that fresh air in. I haven't had a chance to restock the snack sack, so feel free to munch on whatever you've brought.

So this is a sex story. And if you think that type of story might offend you, especially if it offends you to think of me having sex with someone, then perhaps it's best to stop reading now. I'm not about to tell some raunchy tale of sexual exploit with graphic descriptions of what body part was where and doing what, but it will contain images more graphic than the usual. Fair warning.

So I had my first real girlfriend right after graduation from high school. And like most at that age, once we got to the action where we mashed our compatible bits together we tended to do it quite often. At the same time, my mother was planning her partial move out to Esterhazy, and I was getting packed up to move into a room and board, with a brief stop at my cousin JJs before starting university. So that summer, I spent a lot of time with my then girlfriend. Let's call her K.

I'd also like to state that while I wasn't in the best shape, I was 245lbs at graduation, tested out benching close to 300 lbs, had a 2.5 ft vertical, an 11 ft standing horizontal, and ran the 40yrd in 5.3sec. These I all found out at the physical trials for the Senior Bowl. I was a beast. Big, strong, thick barrel chest, legs that didn't fit properly into most pants, and I was about to turn 18. Suffice it to say I was a vigorous sexual partner.

So on the last night in the house we lived in back then, me and K were having a wonderful night alone. My parents were coming in the next day, and we had my lovely basement room with it's queen sized waterbed all to ourselves.

After watching Sportsline (I think that was the name of the show on STV back then, hosted by Warren Woods) where I was mentioned by name by a then vet Ram as one of the stand outs at camp for my incredible blocking on the line, I was feeling like a king, a minor god, a being of impossible potential and importance. And as such, the great Pagan God must be given a sacrificial maiden.

So we begin. The kissing is magical, the foreplay is wonderful, in fact if I were to pick a moment from that time, that would be one of the greatest. Too bad it had to end so tragically. For as I know well, no fairy tale lasts long, and while usually it's tragedy that becomes salvation, reality is generally salvation that turns to tragedy.

So without getting too graphic, I was on top, and she is muttering sweet encouragement, counting off the moments of bliss for herself, and I, in my magnificent Glory am setting a pace that would intimidate a porn star. The bed is crashing about, and we are like some Dianaic beast set upon the wild seas of Neptune, both stirring and defeating the power of the ocean.

*CRACK*

Let me explain some physics. When 245lbs of horny teenager with a grossly overinflated sense of importance is performing a sexual act over the legal speed limit on a full waterbed, that is held in on its sides by thick wooden two by sixes that are held to particle board by three steel corner brackets, summin' gunna give brudda.

And give it did. The entire side split off, finally past it's breaking point, sending a full waterbed bladder slithering off, while still in full motion from previously mentioned sexual act. A funny thing happens when the tension of improvised waves on a waterbed are suddenly and violently released. The back end away from the release 'bucks.' It flips up its tail like a playful porpoise and if the individual 'driving' the action so to speak is on a back stroke and not fully set, he is then launched a full four feet in the direction of the pressure release. Unfortunately the wall was only 3 feet away.

The top of my very surprised head connected with one of the two by four studs in the wall, and I was sent crashing to the ground, suddenly interrupted from my sexual bliss with shock, sudden teleportation, and intense pain.

So we scramble off the bed, and I can see that if I don't start draining the bed soon, then it may puncture the bladder, as the bed is literally half way off the platform it normally sits on. So I stand there, at the foot of the bed, K to my side, both of us in silent shock. She reached over, noticing that my physical body had not caught up with the state of my mind, and while touching said sacred place, asked 'Well maybe when we finish we can start draining the bed.'

And that is when I uttered the words that no man before me, and no man since has uttered:

'Not tonight honey I have a headache.'

First Nations in the Military

Wow the weather certainly changed. I've actually propped back the hides to let some more fresh air into the Den. The fire still blazes. Enjoy a snack, I made some egg salad.



So I said a while ago I would explains some of the underhandedness employed by the Canadian Government in recruiting the First Nations into World War II. You see part of that Royal Proclamation I've mentioned before said that no First Nation would be required to serve in any Military action undertaken by the Crown. The irony of that statement is that no military action in the entire history of North America and Canada has occurred without involvement from the First Nations. Amazing hmmm?

So anyways, in WWII the Canadian government needed to up some recruitment so they actively worked the reserves promising land if the young men were to enlist. Quite a few took part in this, thinking this would finally see the resolution of the land issues that many reserves were having.

So off to Europe many Indians went. Including some of my relatives. And there are many of them who came back with accolades and such. I did a quick google search on First Nations in Canadian Armed Forces. WOW! Go give it a look.

And back they come and they go to the Canadian Government and say 'Ok we served, make with the land you promised.' And the government says 'Oh certainly. Here is the land you can have.'

And everyone lived happily ever after.

NOT.

Ok so that was TOTALLY bad eighties etiquette. Here's what really happened.

The Canadian government offered to give these First Nations, who volunteered under the pretense that they would receive land for their reserve, THEIR OWN LAND!! They could pick a plot of land from their reserve and it would be in their own name now rather than the reserve. Oh and since these men now owned land they were considered to be 're-enfranchised' and no longer a Status Indian, they were now white.

No one took the government up on this offer.

How is that for low and underhanded?

Old stuff

Come in and enjoy the fire. The cold is bitter. Isn't it amazing how the end of February and beginning of March have to remind us that it is indeed still winter? So huddle up, grab some blankets and enjoy. This is something old I did for a journal I did in a one hundred level class. It's pretty bare bones but I liked it.

There are two animals I share a very deep and meaningful bond with. Both are my totem animals and their example is what I use to guide my life. First is Owl, which is the totem of my birth. The second is Coyote, the Eternal Teacher and Trickster, and this is the nature of my spirit and the one I most identify with. Both give me guidance in my dreams and in the decisions I make, and the things I do.

Owl is not the solitary creature that is portrayed, but instead one who reveres family. It is one of the darker totems, a harbinger of death and the keeper of secrets and knowledge that should not be common. Despite this I find Owl a close companion and it reflects in the roles I play with my family and friends. Death has never been the scary prospect it is for most people, I have dealt with it as a constant since my father committed suicide when I was only six. I don’t see this as anything more than another stage of life, for physical death is merely that, a loss of one phase, and the start of another. As well I have done, heard, studied, and attempted many things that are not considered normal. Were I to disclose all the things I have done in my life very few would look at me the same, if at all a sane and pleasant person. Yet these things I know, see, and do have created what I am today, a person of compassion and deep feeling, someone who sees the world around me with love and caring. I don’t find the strange or different unappealing; instead these are the things I love. The idiosyncrasies that people may hate in others are the very things I cherish and adore about the people around me. All are welcome in my world and all may come to me no matter the cause and need, for while I know and see the dark, I love the possibility and chance of greatness all things carry.

Coyote is who I am, and who I am is Coyote. I teach, mainly through my own examples but I can teach anyone anything. I have a knack of finding the most important aspects of what must be learned and putting it into a form the person can use, and most times I do this without seeming the teacher. As soon as someone feels you are trying to teach them something an attitude of master to student must be attained, a state where one is seen as greater than the other. Most chaff under this ideal and this is where I thrive. Knowledge does not make someone better, and I recognize this, and while I personally revere and place great respect within those I wish to learn from, I feel no need to be seen as greater merely because I can teach. It is a part of the trick and the beauty that is Coyote. Coyote knows the best student doesn’t intend to learn but must come to the knowledge by themselves. They must own that lesson and live through it for it truly to be of any importance, and as such Coyote never gives anything without a price in the knowledge. That price is usually nothing more than humility, but in that humility most lessons are learned.

By my own connection with these animals I recognize the importance of all things, and the birth of my second daughter shows that even with that I have to learn some things as well. Before she was born, where I lived I had pigeons and robins that roosted and lived in the eaves and trees around my house. I loved waking up to the trilling and cooing of these birds, and looked forward to it even through I was working a job that had me up until four in the morning. After a few years, the crow population in downtown Regina exploded as they migrated due to the avian disease that was killing them. And these were big crows, the kind that don’t give two shakes about the other birds, in fact I watched as several scared off my robins and pigeons. At times I was so annoyed at their intrusion and their loud braying calls I considered even breaking the law by bringing out my paintball gun and shooting the ones in my neighborhood. They’re smart birds, if enough of them died, they’d stay away. I never did, mostly because I take any firearm usage very seriously. A few years later my second daughter was on her way, and I had a series of dreams about her, and in them they revealed her totem to be Crow. It made me think of those that moved into my neighborhood and why and I gained a new perspective because of my newfound adoration of this very lively and incredibly bright animal. And my little girl is as bright and loud, and voracious an eater, as any crow out there.