Thread: Rare MMA Videos
11/26/2013 1:16am, #21
- Join Date
- Jul 2011
- Pasadena, CA
11/26/2013 6:07pm, #22
11/26/2013 9:52pm, #23
- Join Date
- Mar 2010
- United States of Amnesia
The first fight almost looked like a modern mma fight kinda, good upload op
11/26/2013 10:39pm, #24
And now for a brief visit into the universe of Underground PitFighting.
The fog doesn't clear until dawn. The judge wakes up on the debris-covered ground, his face fused to the floor by the dried puddle of puke he had fallen in. After he peels himself off he tries standing up, but finds he can't move without a shockwave of pain erupting from his crotch. Slowly, hesitantly, he pushes himself up to a kneeling position and begins inching his way out of the alley. Despite his best efforts, heinous jolts of agony still shoot across his pelvis with every jerk of his body.
After what seems like an hour, he makes it to the parking lot and begins scanning the horizon for his car. His ability to think is all but shut down, but through a haze of horrifying recollections he's trying to repress he seems to remember that he had to walk quite a long way after parking to get to the stadium. Vomit spurts up through his throat once again, but he tries not to think about. He tries not to think about anything. He just moves forward, inch-by-inch, unmindful of the never-ending desert of black pavement that stretches out in front of him.
He thought it was over and done with. He thought that brief period of humiliating, inhuman torture was the lowest point his life could ever reach. The ol' Judge was wrong, though. His suffering, his emasculation... It's just beginning. Day in and day out, he'll be forced to worry about the well-being of a wife he no longer feels worthy of. Calling him a shell of a man would give him too much credit... He's not even a man at all. And as he crawls his way along the blacktop, seemingly making no progress at all, he realizes that his resolve not to think about the mess his life has turned into had evaporated mere seconds after the start of his journey. Stopping dead in his tracks, he lays his head down to the floor. He needs to rest now. It's all been so... So exhausting...
Mysterious Stranger: Tough night, I see.
The judge looks up. Standing above him is a colossal man in a lemon-vanilla button down shirt and tight, low-riding jeans. The glare of the early morning Sun is unusually fierce today, but it seems to be negated entirely by the immeasurable void that is this stranger's mustache. The middle-aged man speaks down to him with a heavy, almost caricaturish Michigan accent, the dyed grey hairs above his lip practically creating a gale storm every time his mouth moves.
Mysterious Stranger: I know your plight. I can see the lay-and-pray burns across your chest.
The judge turns over onto his back, his eyes nearly dead. He really can't move a muscle at this point.
The Judge: It hurts, sir. It hurts. Please... Help me.
Mysterious Stranger: I will. I understand your predicament. I know who hurt you. Many before have fallen at his hand. Let me take you to a place where you can recoup.
With magnanimous care, the stranger hoists the judge into the air as if he was a feather. The judge blacks out in his burly arms, his limp body dangling for what could be either several minutes or days. When he awakens once again, mouth parched and skin exhausted of sweat, he finds himself in the back of a white van being tended to by two men in identical black business suits.
Mysterious Stranger: He's awake, now. Give him the canteen and get some ice on his balls.
The haze in the judge's skull steadily begins to clear. The stranger watches his recovery intently, a conspicuous bulge in his jeans throbbing heavily while his hands rest on his hips. The judge takes no notice of that, at least not consciously.
Mysterious Stranger: I hope my associates are making you comfortable. The shot you took to the jimmy wasn't SO bad. You'll probably never have children again and your scrotum might turn black and fall off, but at least we know where both testicles are. I know some of the men your little sparring partner has kicked ended up having their balls lodged in their intestines.
The Judge: *Cough* The man, he... He did worse than that. He laid on me. Made me feel powerless, made me feel worse than I ever thought I could feel. Said... Said he's going to do the same to my wife if I ever speak his name...
Mysterious Stranger: I know his name, son. You won't have to worry about not saying it, though. If you'd like, I could take care of him for you. My resources are vast, and I could make sure the one called Delta Jackson never bothers you again.
The Judge: You... You'd do that for me? Just like that? I don't believe...
Mysterious Stranger: Don't give it too much thought. Just rest now, and we'll take you home.
The Judge: *Cough* I'm not sure you can conceive... Just how much of a weight that is off my chest. I don't even know who you are...
The stranger glances down at him with a raised eyebrow.
Mysterious Stranger: We're just good Samaritans, son. Aren't we, boys?
The stranger winks at the men rubbing cold packs on the judge's testicles and they nod in return.
Mysterious Stranger: And right now, I think we have to go. My associates will drive while I continue to dress your wounds back here.
The stranger steps into the back of the van while the two men in business suits take the front seats. The mustachioed man licks his lips as they pass.
The Judge: Thank you so much for this...
Mysterious Stranger: It's my pleasure. It would probably be a good idea if you unzipped your pants and turned over on your stomach now. It would make it easier for me to... Ice you.
The judge complies.
The Judge: Once again, I really can't thank you enough. If you ever needed to be compensated, I'd do whatever it would take to repay you.
A coy, uncontrollable smile uncurls on the grizzled man's face. He can't help but chuckle, ever so slightly.
Mysterious Stranger: That's good to know.
The stranger slides the door closed and the van takes off. A half mile down the road, and the judge's screams are drowned out by the blaring noise of traffic.
11/27/2013 8:54pm, #25"We often joke -- and we really wish it were a joke -- that you will only encounter two basic problems with your 'self-defense' training.
1) That it doesn't work
2) That it does work"
11/27/2013 9:49pm, #26
11/28/2013 2:43am, #27
Do you have any of the Future Brawls with the blood stained canvas and no colorful mats?
I might be in one of those if so...
11/28/2013 6:41am, #28
You mean Superbrawl?
Or Future Brawl 6?
11/28/2013 6:59am, #29
11/28/2013 9:53am, #30
a couple of the fights involve a gracie with no gi top, so i wonder if your comment is correct."Face punches are an essential character building part of a martial art. You don't truly love your children unless you allow them to get punched in the face." - chi-conspiricy
"When I was a little boy, I had a sailor suit, but it didn't mean I was in the Navy." - Mtripp on the subject of a 5 year old karate black belt
"Without actual qualifications to be a Zen teacher, your instructor is just another roundeye raping Asian culture for a buck." - Errant108
"Seriously, who gives a **** what you or Errant think? You're Asian males, everyone just ignores you, unless you're in a krotty movie." - new2bjj