“I want you to click me as hard as you can.”

Came across this video yesterday about a “real fight club” organized between blue-collar workers in Silicon Valley.Link to ESPN video

Couple things I’d like to say, in list form:

• Fight Club was published as a book before it was a movie, so the claim that this was an original idea may be spurious.
• The pre-footage of the board room reeked of play-acted outrage.
• It looks more real than the footage in Fight Club in the way that these work-a-day douches are obviously untrained in any sort of martial arts, boxing, etc. To quote Turkish from Snatch: “What the f*ck are you doing, Mickey? You’re dancing like a fairy. [...] Get out there and hurt him!”
• Two fat men smashing dustbusters and cookie sheets over each other was comical in a sad way. But two fat men jabbing each other with blunt knives was just disturbing.
• The dude wearing the head-to-toe flame outfit looks like he’s going to compete at a DDR tournament at the mall. If you’re going to brawl with someone take off the flowing shirt and wrap it around your damn knuckles.
• I have equal parts respect and disrespect for this. If you want to beat on each other with magazines in a garage that looks like it once housed the single sad performance of an 80s-themed neon version of West Side Story, more power to you. My ex-wife and I did the same thing regularly in the bedroom. OR, or… now hear me out… you could join a boxing gym and learn how to box. Or you could learn judo. Or kendo. Or thai boxing if you really want to be a badass. This is just sad.
• Obligatory Fight Club quote: And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you’ve known for years. Someone very, very close to you.

To the Man on the Stairmaster beside me this evening,

I’ve taken the time to jot down a transcript of your speech this evening.  You looked pretty intent on what you were doing, well, too intent to make notes yourself anyway, so I figured I’d do it for you.  I apologize that it is mainly in a sort of plebian onomatopoeia, a plebomatopoebian dialect if you will, but it seemed most appropriate vehicle to capture not only the wordage of your oratory, but the spirit of the subject matter as well.

Yours,
Guy Next To You

“Ungh.  Mmmmmmfff.  Mfff.  Mfff.  Ohh.  Oooh.  Ooh.  Ooh.  Mfff.  Yeah.  Ooh.  Mfff.  Fffffhhhhh.  Omphhh.  Mffff.  C’mon.  Mfff.  Mfff.  Ooh.  Ooh.  C’mon.  Mfff.  Ooh.  Ooh.  Ooh.  Ooh. Ooh.  Ooh.  Mff.  Fffffhhhh.  Fffffffffffffffffffhhh.  Ooh.  Ooh.  Yeah.  Yeah.  Ungh.  Ungh.  Mfff.  Ooh.   Ooh, mfff.  Mfff.  Fffffffhhh.  Four and a half.  Mmmfff.  Ungh, ungh, ungh. Mfff — yeah. Ooh.  Ooh.  Ooh.  God, yeah, mfff.”

Mr. Cool ICE is quite popular on the internet. A friend showed me this other blog which posted something similar to me 19 days after my original post. Not that I trademarked the word “douche” or the use of that photo of “Mr. Cool ICE”. This is a just a good example of what blogging is about: robbing everyone else on the internet.

Mr. Cool ICE is German. (I think?) And as far as I can tell, quite proud of his tattoos. For now. If anyone speaks german, I’d love a transcript of some of this video.

“Ich bin Mr. Cool ICE”

Enclosed you will find 5 pages of the worst tattoos imaginable. I literally laughed out loud several times. Especially at the more bizarre ones.

Warning, link is not safe for work. A few Dongs and Vaginas are pictured — albeit somewhat unrecognizable.

Mr. Cool Ice – America’s New Hope for Change

Last night I was cooking tacos.  I took the ground beef from the fridge, pulled off the plastic wrap, and slid it from the styrofoam tray and into the frying pan.

It was not until 10 minutes later when I attempted to flip the beef that I found I had successfully fused the absorbent pad packaged with the meat to the frying pan.

I am a douche.