yeah, it did read a bit rushed. and, i would have loved to read about tharuz getting donkey punched repeatedly. but, this is still one of the most entertaining threads around!
Tharuz got donkey punched at a PREVIOUS throwdown, that I was unable to attend due to Hurricane Ike.
This is one that followed a few months afterward.
ahh yes, i remember now. and i totally feel where your coming from with the hurricane. i had to leave grad school because of katrina. now i live in missouri where there are no hurricanes. just tornados, meth labs, and ice storms.
Heh, I'll bet that happens a OH HEY BOSS. No, no, just... I'm just checking my e-mail! Checking my e-mail. So, the uh, so what's going on with you? How are you holding up? Cool, cool. I should, like... I should start calling you "Big Bossman" or something, y'know? That'd be cool.
Originally Posted by MrBadGuy
Nice. Still one of my favorite threads here! Maybe you can edit and elaborate on that last throw down.
Did he get Dirty Sanchezed too?
Originally Posted by MrBadGuy
no, but after the throwdown was over, he paid a tranny hooker 20 bucks to give him a cleveland steamer.
Originally Posted by kungfu2u
That's actually Cleveland's #1 export.
Originally Posted by white_kimbo
(Some people just take the phrase "**** on you" too literally....)
Last edited by kungfu2u; 4/08/2009 12:47am at .
Alright, I've tried re-writing the throwdown entry, but I can't make it not boring. It was a pretty standard, fun times had by all affair. No trademark bad guy horribleness. I will, however, invite those of you who attended said throwdown to write a guest entry. It'd be pretty cool to see how the rest of you guys viewed the whole ordeal.
I'm going to leave it be. I'll instead focus my efforts towards making the next chapter not shitty.
Forever Fat Act Three Part Six: Changes
The throwdown had rejuvenated my grappling spirit, and I went into the next class full force. That night only former football player and myself attended class. Our instructor decided to have a night of drills, with the first being pass half guard.
Half guard is my position. I've spent probably more than a quarter of my life in half guard bottom. It's like grandmother's house; the grandmother that always finds the remote for you, lets you sit in the recliner (while grandpa looks on disdainfully from the sofa), and brings you a sandwich with a hearty glass of milk. I may suck completely at other positions, but half guard baby, that's me.
And it shows. I escape/sweep FFP every time I'm on the bottom, and pass every time I'm on top. His face grows redder with each successful pass or sweep, but I keep a straight face. This is payback for all the times his iron cup had penetrated my skull from the north-south position.
My ego gets the better of me. I start using flashier moves, and I decide to hit up a knee bar. I roll, but he grabs me half way through. Stuck, I try to squirm into a leg lock; however, my fate has already been sealed. He has grabbed my toes for a toe hold.
With the vice like grip of a man humiliated, he begins applying pressure at a rate faster than I was comfortable with. I begin tapping early; win some, lose some.
I keep tapping, man, he can't feel it.
I start saying tap. Maybe he can't feel it.
Oh god he's not
His red face turns white as my ankle's song of woe wakes him from his berzerker rage. I didn't scream or whimper, or even cry; I simply sighed. My instructor tells me to sit out and see if it's okay while he and FFP begin sparring. It's not. I can already see it swelling, swelling faster than a thirteen year old walking through the women's undergarment section at walmart.
I say I'm going to play it safe and take off. FFP asks me if I wanted a ride to the hospital, and I let out a hearty laugh. "It's probably nothing, and even if it is, they'll just tell me to ice it. I'll be fine." It was embaressing, being offered help.
The drive home I contemplate whether or not his ego or my ego was responsible for this. My gut and heart angrily confer with my brain that it was his fault, most assuredly his, hell, I tapped physically and verbally. My brain concedes this point, but raises another that I shouldn't have gotten into the toe hold in the first place, I should've been more aggressive in tapping, and does it really matter whose fault it is?
I sigh again, and arrive home.
I walk perfectly fine. My mom asks me how it went. "Oh, the usual stuff. Half guard drills. Just the two of us, that's why I'm home early." I smile as I walk up stairs. I posture my self so that the hurt ankle is always behind the normal ankle.
I finally make it up the hellaciously painful staircase of infinite displeasure and into my safe haven. I relax and began to enjoy the time between a lie and when the lie is found out.
The next day I receive a phone call from a number I don't recognize; FFP has gotten my number from our instructor, and is checking on my ankle. He apologizes again, and I say it's nothin'. Over the course of the conversation I begin to feel guilty for being mad at him. Accidents happen. How many times had I spazzily applied a submission too fast? Granted, never, but that is neither here nor there. I tell him that it is no big deal, and mean it.
It takes a few weeks for the swelling to go down, and I get thoroughly yelled at for injuring myself, and trying to hide it.
I am finally in condition to train again. I get dolled up and head down to the gym, and find the lights are off. I'm here at the right time, unless they changed classes in my absense. A small sticky note hangs from the door, and I investigate.
"Closed until further notice."
Yes, as it turns out, the Aikidoka had not been making his payments. Out of his four thousand dollar a month rent, he had only been paying twelve hundred dollars. He had neglected to mention this. I call my instructor, and it turns out he had left me a message saying don't show up, classes are cancelled. Woops. We talk, and he says he's looking for a new gym. He'll keep me updated.
He finds a new gym, except it's a considerable distance from the old gym, in a bad way. On top of that, the new hours are directly after my job, which means I'd have to teleport an hours drive to make it on time. This wasn't going to work.
And so, I had no where to train.
Single Sign On provided by vBSSO