Clearly its now a brawl…

Throwback Thursday. Joey losing his temper during what was supposed to be light sparring… I think I got rocked throwing that halfhearted leg kick… (We had agreed on 25% power before the bout which is why I wasn’t taking it particularly seriously) you can see me instinctively backing myself up into the corner so I can use the wall defensively to steady myself. I also get those 12oz gloves up pretty quick. Ha ha. Once I’m in the corner and had completed a rudimentary damage assessment (hey I’m still conscious) I clearly decided ‘fuck this’…

Its pretty crap recording and the sound lags. Probably recorded on a Blackberry. I don’t even remember this guys name. I clinch… cupping him behind his head, which protects me from his right hand and then start funneling in those upper cuts.

I give him kudos for the single leg take down, the right move under the circumstances. Cracked him with an elbow though after the take down and manage to pull guard, which although it didn’t look like a hard blow, cut him just inside his hairline.

I throw some pretty horrifically loose punches towards the end though. *whinces* Its hard watching. Started to get tired after scrambling up from the ground…

We had a rule at our gym. No one breaks up a fight, if it goes to a brawl, that’s what happens. Go until you get knocked out or tap out.

Good times.

Ilse

Is it possible to be hooked up intravenously to the coffee machine? *Joey wonders how hard it could possibly be to insert an IV…* I mean don’t you just poke around with a big needle until you hit something? Plus I’ve donated blood enough times now to be at least reasonably familiar with the process…

Its been one of those mornings. I stayed up late listening to music and trying to organize my Dropbox (the state of which is casting my German-ness into serious doubt) and now I’m suffering for my sins. I did find this though, which made me smile. Maybe it will make you smile too.

Context. Its probably 2am. My friend Ilse is trying to convince me of the merits of  ‘Die Heuwels Fantasties’, an Afrikaans folk rock band in my parents kitchen in Hermanus. We’ve probably been drinking. Ha ha. Good times.

This is me and her at a ‘roaring ’20’s party’… probably round the same sort of time period.

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She’s channeling Amelia Earhart. And I’m channeling… eh… smugness? I used to be quite smug. Hopefully these days I am less so. That iteration of me was quite toxic. Fortunately I’ve grown up some and become a less… abrasive organism.

Anyways… throwback Thursday.

 

Good deeds rarely result in hotdogs

I gave a hitchhiker a lift this morning. A veritably rare occurrence. I was feeling magnanimous or maybe I mean altruistic. I’m not entirely sure what the difference is (and I’m too lazy to look it up). To be completely fair there were mitigating circumstances that allayed my usual reticence to convey these vagabonds of the freeway from point A to B…

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… like my Glock*. And the fact that he looked old and wizened and didn’t (really) look like someone likely to be wearing my head as a hat (while sating his thirst with my internal lubricants) towards the midpoint of our journey.

*although it would have upset to me to have to paint the inside of my Jeep with the cerebral cortex of someone I’d just met (even if they were trying to stab me with a rusty screw-driver)

Our trip was eerily silent. Him not being able to speak English and my conversant Zulu (in terms of a franca lingua I mean, I don’t want to be presumptuous about his ethnicity) being limited to cuss words, insults and being able to tell someone to get down on the ground and put their hands on their head (while useful chasing cattle rustlers through the veld at 3am in the morning it is less useful in a more civil context)

In Fanagalo we managed (more-or-less) to determine an end point for him which was sorta on my way and once we’d reached it he simply disembarked, inclined his head slightly towards me and was on his way. I immediately felt a surge of Light-side points flowing into my character sheet. (god this feels so weird)

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Of course because of my ‘good’ deed the rest of my day turned into a vicious clusterfuck of malaise and discombobulation and by three pee em my total contribution towards humanity was well back into negative figures. (which to be completely honest is a much more comfortable environment in which to dwell)

Which I realise is a bit defeatist. But being German you come to appreciate that long campaigns mostly end in defeat. Being Catholic, you appreciate that after defeat comes hell. Its one of those things. You are also precluded from dating Jewish girls. Ever.

Why short girlfriends are the best…

Entry from my old journal for throwback Thursday

Short girlfriends are the best! They don’t take up much space, so they make excellent travel companions. They also use a lot less oxygen than a regular sized person… so if you’re ever trapped in an airtight container that’s slowly filling up with water, much better to have a little person trapped with you. (You know… for company)

They just ‘fit’ better when you spoon, and if you want to hide your home made pornography you made with a previous girlfriend all you have to do is put it on the top shelf where they can’t reach. This also works with chocolate and sharp objects you don’t want them playing with.

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Finally, if you ever loose her in the long grass you can stand up on a mossy stump, bang on your breastplate and shout, ‘FIND THE HALFLING’ and only feel semi-weird about it.