CARDRUNNERS

If you got out mid last year you are very smart.  My blog has sucked royal ass lately.  Sorry for the lack of updates but ive just been real apathetic lately about poker so i havent played that much past 5 weeks.


After my last blog entry on march 5th i went to nebraska for about 20-25 days.  it was a ton of fun.  i stayed with nick, joel and mitch who are all poker players that went to lincoln for college and are staying in a place out there.  we went out basically every night, played a few rounds of golf, watched the ncaa and played minimal amounts of poker.


I came home around the 30th of march and since then i havent done a whole lot of anything.  I have worked out maybe 6 times, went to the driving range a few times, beat the godfather 2 which probably took around 24 hours of playing, played a bunch of scoop, played almost no cash game hands, watched a ton of tv and movies, and i havent gone to bjj yet.  its pretty pathetic.


so i made an mspaint a little while back and i dont know why i never posted it here.  a few months back i posted a blog entry showing a yeti that mig, blake and roothlus made while they were in vegas and it snowed for the first time in 30 years.  heres the blog entry i made that shows the yeti creation:

http://blogs.cardrunners.com/Daut44/mig-blake-root...




well anyway, i decided to draw some pictures of what happened later that day when blair tried to fuck with the yeti.  he didnt believe that the yeti was really a badass and this is what went down:





if its too small to read, click this link:   http://www.liquidpoker.net/staff/Daut/BLAIRVSYETI....

It was a pretty graphic scene but the yeti doesnt mess around.



I also took some pictures of my jacked up phone.  about a month ago i messed up my phone so that it wont charge unless i push up the charger a significant amount.  so basically if i put a little platform to the left of the phone and put the charger in it would work, but otherwise it wouldnt recharge the battery.  


normally this wouldnt be a problem, id just go get a new phone but i have a pretty sick game of brickbreaker going and i dont want to end it.  then i lost my phone charger and only had a car charger left which made it really hard to deal with because nothing stays still in the car so putting something like a notepad next to my phone doesnt charge it in the car.  So what i did was build a platform out of a rolled up postit note and an expired barnes and noble card.  check it out:












so besides my massive brickbreaker score and everything else i mentioned not much is new in my life.  last night i was really bored and up late so i started writing haikus for ufc 97 which is 4 hours away from ppv starting (undercard probably 90 minutes to 2 hours away).  here are the ones i came up with:



Anderson vs Leites.....anderson by TKO:

a haiku from anderson to thales:
thales starts hopeful
exits crumbled and forlorn
i still has the belt


antidote cageside
spider bites are poisonous
knees transport toxin


sorry okami
you will never get a shot
you are too boring


Silva has the flu
Not even bubonic plague
Would help leites win


from gsp to anderson:
weighed one eighty two
knocked out thales in round three
i was not impressed

chuck of old is back
rua cares not and kills him
old chuck just retire


rua has bad knees
they make for a good excuse
when you gas out fast


Chuck counter punches
Shoguns attack is frenzied
chuck wins by murder


Lacking cardio
his legacy is tarnished
dont care, WAR SHOGUN


Spring in montreal
While it is warm further south
The iceman is here


U.F.C. bans stomps
what good would they even be
If chuck wont stay down


from dana to chuck in a haiku that happens to rhymes:
you were once the face
now you are just a disgrace
get out of my place

kryzysztof hates vowels
brian stann hates doing jiu jitsu
consonant owned


luis is ice cold
snapping arms at fight for troops
wont scare this monster


antoni is dutch
cheick will ground and pound a win
dutch suck at wrestling

 

vinny loves the ground
falls like a bitch when punched
you cannot teach heart


quarry likes to fight
Foes tie his limbs in pretzels
quarry hates to fight


no flying heel hooks
grant has seen pride highlight reels
find a new gimmick

I was planning on going to bjj on tuesday, thursday and saturday this week.  On tuesday i slept in til about 1245 so i missed the first class.  The night class was the MMA no holds barred class and i didnt want to go this week because there are a few guys fighting this saturday so i figured it would be best if they just sparred with each other and the instructors and i'd kind of be in the way.  anyway i got a chance to go tonight and it was packed so i had plenty of people to roll with.


During the instruction time we spent about 45 minutes on gi chokes from the guard, the bane of mr benefields existence.  It started off with just breaking the guy on top's posture and hands allowing the bottom player to get on the inside.  Basically if you are on the bottom, there are 2 places your opponent will put his hands.  Either he will hold your lapel or hold your belt/hips.  Putting his hands in other places like either the mat or extended toward one of your arms is really bad for him as it sets up kimuras, armbars, triangles and sweeps. 

So basically if his hands are up on your lapel, do a sort of rip move underneath them and get both hands on the inside.  If his hands are down by your hips, do a swim move and push them away, then use your legs to pull him up towards you to get into the same position as the rip move gets you.  from here there are a few options.  One of my favorite is to wrap my left arm around his right arm, pinning it beneath me/to the mat and grab the opposite collar.  From here i can open my guard and go for an omaplata, armbar or sweep and have a lot of control on the position.  But during this class we just worked on grabbing the back of the collar with an underhand grip, keeping that elbow closed and close to our body, and then working in the second hand.  We learned 3 variations of chokes, the 3rd of which ill just completely ignore as it was a little more advanced and i didnt feel too comfortable with it.

1.  The first is the standard cross underhand gi choke.  Here is the grip you are going for, notice how deep into the collar you ahve to get your hands:



After the first hand is in, allow some space to get the second hand into the collar and finish the choke.  This is very basic and we have practiced this a lot in class.  If the guy lets you get the 2nd hand in, you can either finish the choke if he doesnt defend, or sweep him to mount if he does stop it with his hands.


2.  The second is to grab the left side of his collar (or the right and just reverse the hand positions) with both hands having the right hand on bottom but still deep into the collar and the left hand on top.  from here put your left foot in his hip and bring your right leg up his back sort of like going for an armbar and slide your thumb along his gi until it gets to the other side but this time grab the collar with an overhand grip.  now pull your right arm towards you


After we went over all the chokes we rolled a bunch.  We got into groups of 3 with people around our size and we did a little round robin in our groups with 3 minute periods of rolling.  First i rolled with vinny who is a 4 stripe white belt that i probably have about 25-30 pounds on.  Basically you start out with 0 stripes and as you progress and get better the instructors award you a stripe every so often, usually a few months.  You get 4 stripes and then the following promotion is to the next belt.  So vinny is one of the more advanced white belts but i have a little bit of size on him.  We started on our knees and i pushed him back so i was in his half butterfly guard.  he scissor sweeped me and got me on my back but i got to full guard.  from there we spent a few minutes just jockeying for position, him trying to pass, me trying to get either a gi choke we practiced during class or an armbar.  nobody advanced and after 3 minutes our instructor jason blew a whistle to stop. 

i took a 3 minute break while vinny rolled with a newly appointed blue belt mark who was about his size.  after a few minutes they stopped and i rolled with mark.  pretty much the same exact result that happened with vinny.  i was on top, got swept, retained guard, he couldnt pass.  however i did do a little bit better job attacking.  i managed to swim under his arms and get a hold of his left arm as i wrote about above.  i had a lot of trouble doing anything though and this position just ended up a stalemate.  i probably should have gone more for a sweep instead of trying to get an omaplata on him as im not all that flexible and he had pretty good control over my right arm/leg preventing me from turning too much.  eventually i got tired, he got out and passed right as the whistle blew.  at this point i was pretty exhausted but now i had to roll one last round with vinny.

basically i just got steamrolled that last round.  i started on top, got swept, but this time my legs were pretty tired so i didnt have much defense against his pass.  he got to side control, tried to get to mount with knee on belly on my right side but i tried something i learned from a purple belt casey where i put my right hand backwards on his knee, kept my left elbow close to my side, bridged up and then grabbed his leg and got to my knees.  he tried to catch me in a guillotine from here but i got out and ended up inside his guard.  from there i got swept again, got passed, avoided a few armbar attempts by keeping my elbows on the ground, but eventually got gi choked right as the whistle blew.

After that round jason paired us up with someone new to roll for 5 more minutes before the end of class.  He put me with casey, the girl who showed me the knee on belly escape, who just got her purple belt and is just straight nasty.  At the brazilian jiu jitsu world championships (mundials) last year she won her blue belt division.  so basically for her weight she is one of the best female blue/purple belts in the world.  she basically just whooped my ass for about 5 straight minutes.  her leverage was so much better than the other people i rolled with.  i just couldnt really do anything if she wasnt in my guard.  after i got tapped a couple times i managed to get her in my guard and we stayed there for a while before the end of class.  im glad i have a really good guard at this stage of my bjj career but i still have to work a lot on avoiding the sweeps from top position, and regaining my guard once someone is in my side control or mount.


I stayed a little after class, took about a 15 minute rest then rolled a 7 minute round with a 3 stripe named matt who is about my size.  We started on our knees and i pulled guard cause i always just get run over in that position and people end up in side control on me.  he tried to pass for a bit but i kept repositioning my body so my legs were parallel to his body.  i managed to get him to put his hands on the mat and i went for a kimura/sweep but he defended it pretty well.  he got an arm under my leg and tried to pass but was a little slow with it and i pulled him in and got one leg over his arm, moved his arm over to the other side and finished the triangle.  that made me pretty happy as usually when i get someone in a triangle i either lose the position or i just topple them over and get into side control. 

We restarted on our knees but this time i fell into his guard.  he tried to attack with a few armbars/sweeps, but i kept my elbows in close and wouldnt let him get his legs past them.  both of us were getting pretty tired and eventually when one of his armbar attempts failed i passed to half guard.  ive spent a ton of time on the bottom here so i know what works and it wasnt long before i got to mount.  my mount submissions are just a total epic fail, so i spent about 45 seconds futily going for an arm triangle and a gi choke.  the 7 minute round ended, and if i had known it was close to being over i probably would have attempted an armbar.  i just hate going for an armbar from mount with any amount of time remaining cause i have seriously missed about 18 out of the 20 armbars from mount i have tried, but i like to try them every so often as i have been getting slowly better with them and eventually i will be a master of it.


anyway i was pretty happy with todays class.  i managed to finish a triangle, rolled about 8 and a half minutes with a good white belt and a blue belt before getting tapped and learned a few new tricks.  im not sure when ill get a chance to go in next, but probably the monday 6:00 beginner class because i have some shit to do this saturday and wont make it in. 

Sorry I havent posted in a while.  Not all that much has been going on in my life the past couple weeks.  I hurt my arm at bjj 2 sundays ago so i took last week off and just started going back to bjj on thursday.  I also havent been playing a ton of poker as ive only logged about 25k hands this month and maybe played 30-40 tournaments.  just a quick note about poker before i get into other stuff...i havent been doing all that great so far this year.  im up about 18-19k in cash games this year, even or up a few thousand in mtt and sngs (got 4th in 100r for 10k, and some other ok scores in 1ks, 200rs and ftops events to keep me slightly up), and made probably 20k in rakeback.  i mean overall i am up roughly 40k this year but for the hours i put in (probably 225 in total) i think thats not really all that good.  ive been studying my game, watching videos and reading forums a lot lately so hopefully i will see some improvement in results.

anyway what i really want to do is start a jiu jitsu diary in here because i find I forget a lot of stuff and id like to be able to look back and see what we did in depth in previous classes and reread it before each class so i can progress my knowledge much faster.  so anyway im just going to post an entry after every bjj class.  sorry for everyone out there who really doesnt care about all this stuff, but this is the best place for me to put it.



Day 1:
My judo still sucks donkey balls.  Whenever I go for an ochi gari or some other type of sweep i always end up a little off balance with one foot in the air and my opponent either has a foot sweep or a single leg or some other throw available to him.  The only throws/sweeps that seem to work for me are the single leg or sort of a sacrifice sweep where i put my foot in my opponents hip, drop to the floor, grab his other leg and kick out the same leg as the hip i have my foot on so he falls over and i can jump into his half guard.  Im going to avoid doing other ones that im the scout315 of and just concentrate on stuff im like the brad booth of for now until im a bit better at these two. 


On the ground we first went over some half guard stuff from the bottom.  I've had a lot of trouble lately when i get pinned to the floor in half guard and he gets his arms around my head.  In a tournament this gets an advantage point because its a good position and in a way i kind of lost a fight by allowing him to get his outside arm past my defense and through.  If I can keep my body off the floor and sort of keep him parallel to me rather than letting him get more perpendicular to my body i am fine.  But once i was put in this position i had a ton of trouble.  Heres a picture to give you a better idea of the positions:



The above picture is a bad position.  The guy on top has his weight spread well and is balanced so its hard to sweep or reverse him and is close to getting his right leg past his opponents legs and getting to side control.  The guy on bottom really needs to try hard to keep the guy on top from getting here by keeping his body more parallel to how you are and not allowing yourself to get flat on the floor.  Here's another picture:



So once you are in this position you arent fucked completely yet but its not good.  Pretending im the guy on bottom, what I need to do is stretch my left arm up by his head, unhook my feet and bridge my hips upward.  What this does is unbalance the guy on top and force him to stretch his left outer leg out to prevent him from getting rolled over.  However its important to note that I have to also bring the left arm in front of his face after I stretch it up because if I dont I will give him an arm triangle choke which is lights out for me.  this gives me some space to bring my right leg through and recover the guard.  If he stops that leg with his left hand then i can underhook with my left arm, grab his belt and go for the back.  Of course there are some things he can do to counter but at least there are some possibilities for me from this position.


After the half guard stuff, we worked on an armbar attack from side control position 1.  There are 7 positions of side control that you move to by switching your hips based on hip escapes your opponent tries to do.   Here is position 1:



Basically I am facing him with my right knee under his right arm (key) and my right arm tucked to his hip.  To get the armbar from here, take his extended right arm and place it in my left armpit tight.  Then i push my hips forward and swing my left leg around so its on the other side of his head but im still balanced and keeping my weight on him, making sure my chest is heavy on his arm.  i use my left arm to grab both his arms, pull my right shin up to his ribs and grab his belt or gi pants with my right leg and sit back.  So now i will have my left leg over his neck, my right leg tucked in his ribs, both his arms held by my left arm and my right arm holding him so he cant go back to the floor.  then i grab his bottom arm on the wrist with both my hands and either finish with a normal armbar like this:


or i can stay in that position, keep his wrist pointed upwards and just push it against my knee.  its a really tight armbar that forces a tap really quickly as it doesnt really give any room for trying to escape.  Now the guy on bottom has 2 things he can try to escape.  Either he can try to get his right elbow on the ground to begin with which would be great for him and really allow him to do some hip/elbow escapes to get back to half/full guard, or he can turn away from me when i get my left leg over his head.  the problem with this 2nd escape is that it kinda gives me his back and I need to lock my right hand which is under his right armpit on my left wrist which is over his shoulder.  then i pull him up so hes sitting on the floor and i have a few submissions from here.  a gi choke is the first attack and if he blocks that it sets up the rear naked choke nicely.


I will be rereading all of this before my next bjj class which will probably be on tuesday afternoon.  Hopefully this allows me to progress faster than the 5 steps forward 4 steps back method i've been taking lately.

So yesterday i overslept the tuesday afternoon bjj class.  So i went to the 730 class instead.  I had never been to the tuesday night class, but I go to the thursday night class once in a while and it's usually a small class with a good group of guys so i figured this would be the same.  I showed up in my gi and my instructor looks at me and says "Ryan...its tuesday night.....no holds barred night....no gis".  I look around and see this guy Sean who has a fight coming up on March 7th, and just 2 instructors there.  I shrugged and thought to myself I want to get started in MMA more, maybe this is a sign that its a good time to start!

Nobody else showed up so it was just Sean and I, and the 2 instructors Ylan and Brian.  Ylan is a black belt under my school's head instructor David Adiv and Royler Gracie and Brian is a brown belt in the school.  While we were waiting for a few other guys who have fights coming up (all in the New Breed promotion www.newbreedfighters.tv/ ) to show up Ylan told us some stories about how good we have it now and how it was back in the 1990s. 

Ylan started taking BJJ with David back in 1997 when David was a purple belt under Royler.  David had done judo for years before he switched to BJJ so his skill level as a purple belt was really really high.  According to Ylan and the other black belt instructor at my school Jason, David's level as a purple belt back then is about the same as their level as black belts now.  Anyway they were training in basements with poles everywhere, once a week, really informal stuff with bad training conditions.  They moved into a bigger gym and were training there a while, and it was a pretty hard crowd.  Ylan told a couple stories about how he was rolling with skinheads with swastika tattoos (hes jewish lol) and how he choked one of them out in rolling once and the guy just looked at him with a blank expression and kept repeating over and over "but...youre jewish".

anyway, one saturday when theyre having an open mat session this Jeet Kune Do wannabe type shows up wearing all satin with the little Bruce Lee shoes and starts walking all over the mat.  David's assistant at the time Alex refuses to even acknowledge the guy's presence, but some people tell the guy to take off his shoes and he starts talking to David a little bit.  Ylan was there and said he heard some bits and pieces of the conversation, but basically David convinces the guy to spar with him a little bit.  The guy seemed pretty tentative but David convinced him and when they started David looked at him with his hands at his sides, shrugged his shoulders and said "Look....buddy....dont be scared....dont worry.....im not gonna hurt you"

Now, some background on David.  He's this badass israeli who looks the part.   heres a short bio of him:  www.evolutionjj.com/david.html

and heres a couple pictures of him with royler gracie and helio gracie:




so David looks at him and says "Look....buddy....dont be scared....dont worry.....im not gonna hurt you".  This piqued
the interest of everyone in the class because they know something hilarious is about to happen.  David says "just do whatever you want".  So the kung fu guy throws some kick to the ribs, david catches it, does a judo takedown, lands in knee on belly, stares at the guy for a second then backs off and says "lets start again".  The guy throws another retarded kick, david catches it and does a double leg takedown, passes to mount, sits on the guys chest staring at him for a while.  he shrugs and gets off.  the guy gets up, puts his little shoes back on, walks out the door and doesnt come back.  its probably one of those stories that once you know david and can picture his voice and body languard in the story its just completely hilarious but not too funny if you dont.

Anyway onto the class.  Since it was just Sean and I we mostly just held thai pads for each other and practiced some 2 strike combinations.  We did left jab/right cross then right cross/left hook and ended with some leg kick practice and then right leg kick/left hook combos.  Man holding those pads is tough as hell.  My forearms up through my traps are sore as fuck.  A few times it felt like Sean was going to kick my arm off.  but it was great to finally do a little bit of standup and im going to do some shadow boxing on my own and continue going to that class because its great to have a few instructors and only a handful of people in a class.

After that we did some side control passes to mount, some armbar and triangle drills, and a pushkick circle to your power side drill where one person comes in and the other has to push him off using his left foot on his opponents upper thigh and circle around to his right hand.  My footwork is pretty good, so is my right hand and right leg as i played baseball and tennis and turning into punches and kicks is pretty natural for me, but the left side of my body is pretty horrible.  my jabs/hooks dont have enough pop in them and my pushkicks are pretty weak.  im sure that will get better over time.

We werent able to spar or roll at the end of class because on saturday sean suffered a pretty bad cut at practice that needed some stitches and that needs to heal up before his fight on the 7th of next month.  Another good tough blue belt at our school Wesley also has a fight on March 7th and before last saturday hadnt done much sparring and had this Jorge Gurgel/Andy Wang esque plan to go in and stand and bang for a while.  My instructors were just like "uhhhhhh wesley....have you ever even done standup training???????"  After saturday and getting his ass kicked by sean for a few hours he saw the light and decided clinching is a much better idea for him.  But he did manage to land a Jon Jones spinning back elbow from the ground which caused the cut under his eye.  Luckily for Sean its under the eye and in a pretty good place, but he wont be able to do hard training for another few weeks which sucks but he should be in good shape for the fight. 


anyway, didnt eat my best today but it was still rather healthy and didnt have the greatest workout but still got one in.

meals:
woke up 12pm, ate string beans, brown rice, snow peas, mushroom and chicken leftovers.
3pm:  bowl of fiber cereal, 2% milk, dried organic cranberries
6pm:  half a serving of rigatoni w/ vodka sauce and chicken.
10pm:  finished the pasta/chicken
1230 am:  brown rice california rolls from whole foods
230 am:  a banana, a yogurt and some more dried fruit and nuts before bed

also ate some peanut butter to add a little more protein into the diet.  going to make sure i eat a tablespoon of peanut butter after every lower protein meal i eat to keep my carbs/fat/protein ratio pretty good.


workout:
went to the gym at 1 and did back and biceps today.  was so sore from last night that i wasnt able to do the entire workout which sucked but i managed to get most in.  the workout i planned on having is in my last blog, but here's what i got in:

-good stretch/little abs at the beginning
-1 set of 6 pullups.  i was so sore after this and could only do 6 so i decided not to do the other 2 sets
-3 sets of seated rows
-3 sets of free motion lat pulldowns
-3 sets of 21's, did a little bit heavier than i did in the past which was good
-3 sets of bicep curls
-3 sets of hammer pulldowns

I skipped out on the lat pulldowns, the other 2 sets of pullups, free motion rows and the cardio.  i did a few minutes of jumping rope instead of running or elliptical or anything.  im going to do a stretch after this blog entry and some ab stuff that we do at bjj.  hopefully im up early enough to make thursday afternoon bjj class so i can get a better workout in tomorrow night at the gym.


i havent been playing very much poker lately.  I've played maybe 6k hands of cash this month and have broken even, have played 2 days of tourneys and broken even there as well.  probably not going to play until sunday which is a big tournament day.  im missing a bjj tourney because everything is much larger since its both the last day of ftops and the pokerstars 25th billionth hand mania.  hopefully i hero something on sunday. 

i've been watching some newer movies this week.  saw slumdog millionaire and gran torino both of which i liked a lot.  slumdog is about a kid who grew up really hard on the indian version of who wants to be a millionaire.  i wont go into much more detail as it gives away the plot but its great, one of those movies that comes around every few years that is really enjoyable, interesting and different.  i definitely recommend watching that one.  gran torino is awesome as well.  its basically clint eastwood grunting, making racial slurs and being a grumpy old badass for 2 hours which makes it a must see.   im watching benjamin button now and its pretty cool so far but I still have another 2 hours left in so cant make any comments on it yet.

thats it for tonight.  take it easy boogerfaces

So like raptor, I have been getting into a new workout schedule and keeping up with my good diet.  As anyone who has read my blog knows im really into mma and do bjj myself.  I decided I might as well start semi training like a fighter as I'm still young enough to get into it someday if i wanted to because i absolutely love it.  My end goal is to have a fight before 2012 at which point im hopefully a purple belt in bjj and have some standup under my belt.  I dont have any high expectations out of this, its just something to keep me motivated that im interested in and would semi like to pursue.  I dont have any pipedreams of being in the UFC or anything, would just like to have some amateur fights or maybe fight on some small cards a few years down the line.

anyway, here is my routine and my diet the past few days:


monday:
woke up 10 am.  did a 15 minute stretching/ab workout when i woke up and drank 8 ounces of water.

11 am:  ate bowl of oatmeal with raisins and some milk for breakfast. 

12 pm:  gym.  i have been toying with some non isolation workouts these days.  i used to do my lifting in a 3 day rotation of back/biceps day 1, chest/triceps day 2, legs/shoulders day 3, but now im working on something that is a bit more full body and better for fighting. 

-15 minutes of stretching/abs.  a lot of focus on knee/hip/groin flexibility
-3 sets of 10-20 dips.
-3 sets of 5-10 pullups
-3 sets of hang clean, 10 reps, doing low weight for now
-3 sets of the fedor bar workout.  not sure what its called, but basically you hold a bar in front of you about shoulder height with your palms facing downward and do quick standing bench press type stuff.  i do 3 sets of 40-50 reps with 25-30 pounds.  its in the video below at the 2:43 mark

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgDj-Gbcig0

-some ab workouts with the large bouncy balls and captain's chair type stuff
-3 sets of jump rope, 2 minutes each set
-5-10 minutes of rowing
-some heavy bag work, mostly leg kicks and some boxing.  my right leg kicks are pretty good, but my left leg is like a limp noodle.  i expect that to improve as my legs get stronger and my flexibility improves but its not that important as im a righty and my legkicks will mostly come from my back leg.  i dont have much formal training with striking outside of some boxing, but i am going to add some boxing/kickboxing/muay thai later in the year.
-a little bit of other cardio, running or bike or something like elliptical.


3pm:  ate some chinese food.  had a lot of string beans, brown rice, chicken and snow peas, some lentils and sesame chicken. 

4-8 pm:  got really lazy and watched a few episodes of the wire season 1.  its on hbo ondemand so i might as well rewatch the whole series.  definitely one of my top 3 favorite series of all time.  did a little stretching while i watched the episodes.  ate some dried raisins, cranberries and an orange.

8pm-330 am:  played the 100r, ftp 150, stars 150 and ftops 1k.  got pretty deep in ftops 1k and cashed for some insignificant amount.  was pretty frustrating cause i was 1 tabling it and watching slumdog millionaire (which is excellent i might add) and had a pretty good stack but got coolered in a spot that is standard by todays aggro standards (raised btn with 99 40bb deep, bb 3bet and i shoved ran into KK).  during breaks of the tournament i ate a banana, another orange and some more raisins/cranberries.  i need to throw some nuts in here to add some fats and a little protein.

then did another 15 minute stretch/ab workout before bed at 4 am


tuesday:
woke up at 1230 pm so i couldnt go to the early bjj class.

1230:  breakfast, ate 3 eggs, a few slices of ham, 4 slices of marathon bread (its this whole wheat bread with lots of nuts/seeds on the outside)

130pm:  gym.  did same workout as yesterday.  im going to change this though.  since im doing bjj 3 times a week im going to do the full body workout on the same days as bjj and 3 days of my old isolation routine on my bjj off days.  that way i will still build some muscle as well as developing my fast twitch muscles and correct muscles for fighting

3pm:  blog entry ldo

4-6pm: going to watch gran torino and do some stretching and eat some high fiber cereal with milk a banana and some dried fruit.  i dont take any supplements like david does, i used to do the whey+yogurt+fruit+milk protein shakes but nowadays i just eat some protein after a workout (either eggs or tuna or cereal+milk or something with chicken and lentils).

730-930:  bjj

late night:  probably will put in a session and sweat my horses who are hopefully crushing ftops events and stars 1ks.  going to eat the leftover chinese food from yesterday along with some more fresh fruit and dried organic fruit.


here are my isolation workouts that i like to do on the non bjj days:

chest/triceps day:
-3 sets of dips
-5 sets of bench 8-20 reps.  i do mostly lightweight higher rep stuff nowadays.  generally do a warmup set of 20 reps by 95 pounds.  then do 12 reps of 115, 8 reps of 135 twice, and a cooldown set of 95 pounds again.
-3 sets of 10 incline dumbell bench. 
-3 sets of 10 flys
-3 sets of 10 cable crossovers
-3 sets of 10 rope pulldowns
-3 sets of 10 tricep extension (using the cables from before,  start it above my head and i extend it outwards)
-3 sets of 10 skullcrushers
-abs/stretch
-cardio


back/biceps day:
-3 sets of pullups
-3 sets of seated rows
-3 sets of lat pulldowns
-3 sets of free motion pulldown
-3 sets of free motion rows
-3 sets of reverse hammer press stuff (some machine in the gym)
-3 sets of 21 (7x7x7 bicep curl things)
-3 sets of hammer curls
-abs/stretch
-cardio


legs/shoulders day:
like david i have some problems with my shoulders from baseball, so i cant do super heavy stuff and just do really light workouts.

-3 sets of hip abductors
-3 setes of hip flexors
-3 sets of dumbell squats
-3 sets leg extensions
-3 sets leg curls
-3 sets leg press
-various light shoulder exercises with 10 pound dumbells, upright rows and free motion military press stuff.
-abs/stretch
-cardio


so ill have 6 days of lifting/gym stuff, 3 days of bjj, and 1 day off probably where ill do some running and a lot of stretching throughout the day.



any comments on the workouts or my diet or things you would add/delete from all this are welcomed.  my friend told me it looks like i dont take in enough calories, but thats really not the case.  just thinking about my diet.  today i ate 4 slices of bread 3 eggs 2 glass of oj, some ham for breakfast, just ate a bowl of cereal, cranberries a banana and 2% milk, later will eat some more fruit, leftover chinese and some nuts, so im guessing i probably take in like 3000-3500 calories a day between fruit, tea, oj, milk, cereal, bread, nuts etc.

people wanted a little preview/writeup about it, so here goes.



main event:   georges st. pierre vs bj penn

ok this is a really really sick fight.  they are currently both top 4 pound for pound fighters in the world and at the peak of their careers.  this is one of those fights that probably comes around every 5 years or so.  first off its a superfight.  bj is the best 155 pound fighter in the world and gsp is the best 170 pound fighter in the world.  bj is moving up to 170 to fight gsp because hes pretty much another level of fighter from every 155 and gsp is the biggest challenge for him right now.  gsp has been dominating the 170s really hard and bj is definitely his toughest challenge to date as well.  adding to that their styles should lead to at the very least a 3 round war and at most a 5 round legendary battle its just a really great fight that will be remembered for a long time.

bj is probably the most naturally gifted fighter in the sport.  every single physical attribute he has is good for fighting.  he has insane flexibility which allows him to do really crazy stuff with his legs like trapping arms from the back, going for omaplatas/gogoplatas way easier.  he has leather skin, never cuts, and has a monster head so he has a really good chin for taking punches.  he has really heavy and accurate boxing, his hands are very good and strong.  and finally he has unreal balance/takedown defense going tback to the flexibility, just look at this gif:




basically bj was born to be a fighter.  he got his bjj black belt in 2-3 years when it usually takes 10-12. he was the first american to win a gold medal in the bjj world championships for his size.  he has already been the 155 and 170 pound champions in the ufc.  his one drawback or achilles heel has always always been cardio.  he is notorious for gassing in the later round of a fight.  in fights that have gone to at least the 3rd round he is 5-4-1.  he always just relied on his natural ability and would only train 1-2 hours per day for really tough fights and come in unprepared for the later rounds.  he claims that now he has been training 5-6 hours a day, eating healthy, not going out at night and is in the best shape hes ever been in, but that remains to be seen.


gsp is first and foremost a really unbelievable athlete.  he has a 40 inch vertical, probably runs a 4.4 40, is the best wrestler in all of MMA and he didnt wrestle in high school or college.  he has a bjj black belt, a black belt in kyoshukin karate and is regarded as the most complete mixed martial artist.  he also happens to be a cardio machine who sets the most insane pace of anyone in the sport.  some guys like sean sherk set a similar pace but what gsp does better is constantly switching between standup and brutal takedowns.  and what separates him from sherk is the fact that he has much more dynamic and effective striking (hes taller, has longer reach, better kicks AND hands than sherk) AND hes a better wrestler.  when gsp goes for a takedown hes almost always successful so the result is youre taken down, beaten up down there, you get back up, take some spinning backfists and a barrage of punches and then youre back down on the mat again.  very exhausting process.  here are some gifs of gsp:













bj and gsp fought once before almost exactly 3 years ago.  bj outboxed georges by a lot the first round and won that decisively.  in the 2nd round gsp scored a few takedowns, bj had some better striking and it was a close round but generally thought that gsp won it.  and by the 3rd round bj was pretty gassed out and gsp had a couple really good takedowns, won that round and won a split decision.  since then gsp has improved his striking, wrestling and bjj, and bj has really dedicated himself to the sport and has much better conditioining now and has practiced some of his technique much more so hes a better fighter as well.

basically this fight is going to be insane the first few rounds.  gsp has to cover his face more than the first fight where bj was just picking him apart.  he has to rely on his kicks more and has to get takedowns and get it to the mat.  the first fight gsp wasnt even a brown belt in bjj at that point so being on the ground with bj was super dangerous.  its obviously still dangerous but gsp has many more tools to deal with bj's excellent game of his back.  gsp just has to try to physically wear down bj during the first 3 rounds while avoiding getting ko'ed or subbed and then finish him off in the last couple rounds.

on the other hand bj is expected to come out and control the fight early.  he has to outstrike gsp and try to land some good blows and win the first few rounds.  if it gets to the ground and bj is on top gsp is in a lot of trouble.  bj's top position is insane, and while gsp has been practicing off his back a lot, bj is another level from most people.  a lot of really good submission/bjj guys finish fights with a wide variety of subs like triangles, armbars, kimuras, omaplatas.  bj finishes almost every fight from the mount or back which means hes reallly sick at passing guard, getting to a dominant position and finishing fights in a small amount of time.  if bj is ever to sweep gsp and get on top or take gsp down then wow, gsp better hope there isnt a lot of time left in the round.

anyway i suspect gsp will eventually wear bj out and either win the last 2-3 rounds decisively and win on points or hes going to finish bj by tko in the 4th round.  but i would not be at all surprised if bj has really good cardio now or can manage to finish gsp in the 2nd or 3rd round. 


the rest of the fights:


lyoto machida vs thiago silva:
this is a cool fight that most people wont appreciate.  machida is awkward and hard to hit and thiago is very aggressive and has a great muay thai clinch and bjj game.  i suspect machida will just tilt the shit out of thiago because thiago probably wont land 2 strikes in the entire first round.  machida by unanimous decision almost certainly.


stephan bonnar vs jon jones:
jon jones is a good athlete who has about 1 year experience training and fighting mma.  he is really all over the place when he fights (for example he threw 4 spinning backfists in the first 2 rounds of his last fight), but has pretty good striking and really good grecoo wrestling.  i just dont think hes ready for a guy who is as skilled as bonnar is.  bonnar has a great chin, is big and strong and has good bjj, all of which are troublesome for jones.  bonnar by any of the 3 possibilities, jones is just too raw and green right now (unless hes improved dramatically in the last 5 months which is unlikely)


clay guida vs nate diaz:
really cool fight.  guida is similar to a guy like sean sherk.  he keeps an insane pace in the fight and has really effective wrestling.  diaz is like a tall lanky poor mans version of nogueira.  hes really durable, goes for sub after sub and takes a lot of punishment.  this fight could go either way as diaz could catch guida in a submission or he could use his reach and outbox guida while the fight is kept standing.  but i suspect that guida will avoid subs and score enough takedowns to take a unanimous decision in this.


karo parisyan vs dong hyun kim:
judo vs judo.  karo is a better mixed martial artist but is so fucked up in the head i dont think he can win.  nobody knows where he has been training, what he has been doing.  he has problems with panic attacks and is really spacey.  i just think hes too out of it to win. 


undercard predictions:
fitch > gono UD
thiago tavares > manny gamburyan any possible way
arroyo > cramer sub
obrien > wellisch tko
wilson > howard tko



and now for funny shit gsp nuthuggers have made.  i am not really rooting for either guy, just want to see a great fight, but gsp has a really huge fanbase and people love him so they made funny shit like the following:










basically famous old fights such as chuck vs tito, fedor vs nog, henderson vs wandy, someone took the gifs of the fight and put gsp and bj's heads on the guys.  pretty lol


and 2 of my favorite youtubes ever, the first is a gsp punchout knockoff which is just hilarious and the 2nd is referencing gsp telling matt hughes he was not impressed by his performance after a win:
www.youtube.com/watch

www.youtube.com/watch





anyway i suggest watching tonight!

brystmar seems to love it so heres the conclusion for him




Friday 13th - VH Day +3

Room 67, Medical Stalingrad. 0200 hours.

I have not slept since my arrival. The lights are out. A nurse patrols the hallways. The sound of her footsteps is distinct. She is the night shift. She works alone.

The situation is dire, but I am optimistic. God has failed yet again, and I have made progress on two fronts.

First, my bone marrow finally woke the fluff up and made some platelets so I didn’t bleed to death. Good game bone marrow. Second, the main forces of the hospital are unaware of my re-incarceration. The only staff to have seen me is the receptionist, and the night shift nurse. They smiled when they talked. No offers of penicillin were made. This can mean only one thing.

They have no idea who I am.

My friend is coming to see me in the morning. He will bring supplies. I will need them. I do not know what will happen when psycho nurse sees me. Her shift starts at 8am. The doctor will not come until tonight. By then, it may be too late. Every organ wants inside the bomb shelter that is my ribcage. My brain is trying to abseil down my spinal cord to dig a foxhole in my lung. My displaced kidney is trying to donkey-punch my bowel. I do not blame them. For only one thing is certain.

Shit’s going to hit the fan. Again.

I wake up. It is morning. I am hungry. I am edgy. It is past eight o’clock. My friend is late. Despite this, I have hope. Hope for success.

Folly.

Medical Stalingrad knows not of hope.

I hear her voice before I see her face. Her greeting is the usual - served cold with a hint of F*uck You.

"Wake up, breakf-"

Psycho nurse is a few feet inside the room when our eyes meet. She is carrying a broom and a jelly cup. Probably the same broom she uses to clean her jelly cup cave. Silence passes between us. It is Chernobyl waiting to happen. The USSR about to collapse. I am prepared to say whatever is necessary to keep her calm. I cannot; will not; give her a reason to go apeshit. I cannot afford another setback on the day of my offensive.

For the record, I so very much wanted this to end well.

So very, very much.

“Here’s breakfast.”

My friend walks through the door and throws a McDonald’s bag on my bed.

“I didn’t get you much. By the way you bled on my passenger seat. Who the fluff do you think you are?”

I look at my friend. Psycho nurse looks at my friend. My friend looks at me. I look at psycho nurse. My friend looks at psycho nurse. Psycho nurse looks at me.

Apocashit, initiate. All fans; GO for spin.

“And why didn’t you tell me about the staff parking pay-box. You put two bucks in and you park for as long as you want without paying extra. Your ex’s mom told me. She’s pretty hot you know.”

I look at my friend. I plead with my eyes for him to be quiet. I switch into overdrive. Damage control is in effect. I am still calm. The fans are still spinning. And while the fans are still spinning, there is still hope.

“You going to eat it or what?”

It is now that psycho nurse plays her hand. She points at my friend. The fans are struggling to cope. They sense the shit about to come. I am desperate to defuse the situation. I consider over-over drive for a third time. My displaced kidney has no exit strategy. My brain is in my lung. My lung. There is nothing I can do.

The following statement - reproduced word for word; profanity included - marks the moment in time the fans stopped spinning.

“You; get out. You’re in my fluffing hospital and you do what I say. This is plain madness.”

I look at my friend. I know what is coming. From beyond the grave, Miss Portman bows her head. I will need her strength.

“MADNESS?.”

My friend tilts his head towards psycho nurse. His voice is bellowing. It echoes out into the hallway. If God didn’t know I was here before, he does now.

"NO."

Psycho nurse is taken aback. Fleeting silence fills the room.

“THIS. IS. SPARTAAA!”

Psycho nurse looks to him, and then to me. Her mouth is open. There is outrage and confusion in her eyes. I think I want to die.

My friend laughs and walks out the door.

“Don’t go flying away on that thing yeah?”

Psycho nurse looks at the broom in her hands as my friend disappears around the corner. My McDonalds bag falls on the floor.

Room 67, Medical Stalingrad. 2100 hours.

Doctor can’t see me until tomorrow. My friend has been barred from the hospital. Psycho nurse gave me another painful-as-shit heparin injection. My bone marrow is threatening to stop platelet production unless working conditions are improved. My displaced kidney is lost and disorientated. The better part of my brain is still in my lung.

My offensive; the counter offensive; has failed. My only chance to halt what has now become the inevitable, has come and gone. Tomorrow, I make my last stand against God’s Red Army with what little I have left. I will be ready. I will stand before the castle. I will herald the dawn.

A man once said Medical Stalingrad knows not of hope.

But none the matter.

Medical Stalingrad knows not of me.



Saturday 14th - End of Days

It is morning. I have eaten soup. I sit alone in a bunker, watching an empty beach. I am tense. I am nervous. For 10 long days, God's Red Army has been on the war path. His cunning has been nothing short of genius. His resolve nothing short of steel. God has fluffed'ed my shit up. Epically fluffed'ed my shit up. Millions of fans have been destroyed. Good fans. Heroes to the last blade.

Today is His last chance for vengeance. I have no equipment. No master plan. No ally. I have showered, but Rheem will not answer my calls. It dawns on me that Room 67 holds no promise for my survival. I will need help. Expert help. And thus, my mission becomes clear.

Contact the Resistance. Defeat psycho nurse. Kill God.

Easier said than done.

I get up and walk out into the hallway with mild pain. I take my friend's drivers license with me. It must have fallen out of his wallet during his battle with psycho. I will protect it from her.

Walking North I reach the Patient Lounge. Switzerland. Home of the Resistance. I walk in. The Medical SS have been here. There are no Woman's Day's on the table. New Idea spies have replaced them. I must tread carefully.

A familiar face greets me as I sit down. It is the man in the wheelchair who witnessed my failed breakout from Medical Stalingrad. He is smiling. He seems surprised to see me.

"I thought they let you out. What'd you do this time?"

I cut to the chase.

"Pissed off God."

He laughs. I cut to a better chase.

"Was in a bus crash. Just waiting for doctor to give me the OK."

"Damn, that sucks mate."

I talk to the man in the wheelchair for an hour. He is in his sixties and has been here for 2 months. He's divorced and has kids, but they don't visit very often. I feel sorry for him. He jokingly refers to himself as "Wheelchair," since he's been in one for so long. I like this name. I take him under my wing. Sitting next to Wheelchair is an older man. His eyes never move from the floor. A cane rests in his lap. I can tell the two are good friends. They both smile and laugh.

I bring up the topic of psycho nurse. Instantly, the two men know who I am talking about. They recount similar horror stories. One thing becomes painfully clear - she is insatiable, and will stop at nothing.

A few hours later we three meet Wheelchair in his room. They laugh at my story.

“Shit guys, 6 o’clock,” says Wheelchair.

Heparin needle time, courtesy of psycho nurse. She is rostered on tonight. A fact we are all well aware of.

“We could make a break for it. Get outside before anyone sees us.”

I look at Wheelchair. He is grinning like a crazycake. From this point onwards, I want one thing made clear.

I love this man.

We begin. Wheelchair rolls himself out first. The guy with the cane walks out second. I walk out behind them. The hallway is deserted. We begin our trek to the set of elevators. It takes forever. Wheelchair moves slow. I glance my watch. We are behind schedule Dangerously behind schedule.



We get halfway before the doors open. Halfway before She exits into the hallway. Psycho nurse. Hospital detective. Hot on our trail. She sees me. There is rage in her eyes. I am afraid. She yells for us to stop. She is pissed. Beyond pissed. I am convinced I am going to die.

“Back up.”

It’s Wheelchair. He turns to look at me.

“BACK THE fluff UP.”

Psycho nurse begins to shout. She starts to stride. The gap between us is closing. Fast. I am transfixed on her approach. She is the jelly incarnate. Her movements are fluid. Natural Selection has granted her inhuman speed. She is more sugar than man.

“Push me.”

I look at Wheelchair. He wheels himself around in the opposite direction.

“PUSH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE.”

I take hold of the wheelchair from behind. Wheelchair grips the rims. He tells his friend with the cane to turn around and find another way out. His friend says he knows a way. Psycho nurse is cantering. Hard. There are mere seconds between us. This is my last chance for survival. There will not be another attempt. The forces of evil pursue us into the night. Darkness be my friend.

I slip into over-over drive. The gear stick breaks off. The revs are high. There is no going back.

Go-time baby.

We begin tearing down the hallway away from psycho nurse. She charges. In slow motion, Wheelchair outstretches his hand in front of us. He raises his head to one side. His voice is deafening.

“TO FREEDOM!”

Pushing a grown man in a wheelchair, even with his help, is fluffing hard. I am exhausting myself. But by God are we flying. We approach an intersection. Wheelchair’s friend is running - cane in hand - in front of us.

“Left!”

The corner is 90 degrees. We are coming in fast. Wheelchair leans just enough to raise the right wheel. We whip around the corner like a skater on black ice. He has earned his title. One day I hope he will teach me.

Down the end of this new hallway I see another threat. The ward head. She is careening towards us. Wheelchair and I stop. I yell out to his friend, only a few paces in front of us and still running.

“Turn around! What are you blind?!”

Every now and then, we experience a moment that totally floors us. This is one of those moments.

“YES.”

He doubles back and runs past us. Wheelchair and I race to catch up. I am in disbelief. Here I am, madly pushing a 60 year old guy in a wheelchair; a jellywoman trying to absorb us into her jellystomach, following a blind-man trying to coordinate an escape from Medical Stalingrad.

“He knows this hospital better than you or I do. Trust him.”

I give a weak smile. I will have faith.

“ROOM NUMBERS,” says blind-man.

I begin yelling them out as we pass them. Psycho nurse and the ward head are right behind us. Another nurse has joined the pursuit.

“74! 72! 70!”

“LEFT.”

We round another corner. I recognise the hallway. Room 67 is towards the end. Racing down the carpet, I see my friend standing in the doorway looking into my room. He is here to collect his drivers license. He turns and sees me.

“Hey dude I think I left my what the fluff is going on here.”

There is no time to slow down. I tear past him.

“Escape. Angry nurse. Sweet mother. Jesus.”

My friend knows better than to get involved. He does not follow. I hear him call out after me.

“fluff that. Your funeral you idiot.”

Then, a voice.

“Hey you, you’re not supposed to be here! STOP!”

My friend looks at psycho nurse. Psycho nurse looks at my friend. She is running fast.

Ten seconds later, I look to my right. It is my friend

“HEY GUYS! Room for one more?!”

F*uck’er.

“LEFT”

My friend sees the problem first.

“What left?! There is no left! Are you blind?!”

Silence. Running continues. My friend sees our leader’s cane. It bashes into the floor and the walls around us. My friend turns his head to face me.

“Holy shit dude I think this guy is actually blind!”

Wheelchair and I speak in unison.

“WE KNOW.”

My friend’s eyes go wide with fear. He thinks he is going to die.

***** I think I’m going to die.

We continue straight ahead. I am still yelling out room numbers. Wheelchair has turned his head to face our pursuers. He yells as I yell.

“36! 34! 32!”

“AIE YE DEMONS, I DELIVER THEE UNTO HELL!”

“28! 26! 24!”

“…BURN IN ETERNAL DAMNATION!”


Wheelchair whips his head back and explodes into maniacal laughter. It is absolute insanity. My friend turns to face me. I have never, ever, seen him more genuinely afraid.

“SHIT DUDE ARE WE GONNA DIE.”

“LEFT.”

All four of us round the corner at high speed.

Sure enough, two elevators lie at the end of the hallway. The doors on both are closed. I look at my friend.

“GO.”

He charges ahead to the elevator and calls it to our level. Meanwhile, Wheelchair is slowing down. I am exhausted. My arms are useless. They have no more give. Psycho nurse and her entourage round the corner. They charge towards the elevators. My friend desperately pushes the button. The doors open. It is empty. If I can just reach it…

I give one last burst of energy. I push hard. Wheelchair pushes hard. Blind-man hauls his blind-ass. My friend is terrified. His finger is on the close door button.

“COME ON.”

We crash into the elevator and Wheelchair hits the back wall side on. My friend slams the button. The doors close with time to spare. I hit the button for ground level. I begin to think, just for a moment, that we have won. That we have escaped.

This, boys and girls, is called complacency. One day, I will learn.

My friend is excited. He jumps in the elevator. fluffing idiot. Never jump in an elevator kids. They will break. It’s just what happens.

The elevator stops moving. The doors open to reveal a brick façade. We are in between floors. Wheelchair’s friend, somehow, looks in the direction of my friend.

“I’m blind and even I can see you’re an idiot.”

I laugh. Wheelchair laughs.

We quiet down. After ten minutes the lift is reset and begins moving again. Wheelchair turns to face me. His face is still flush.

“Hey.”

I face him.

“Whatever happens. Thanks.”

I understand where he’s coming from. Two months without a significant other, a son, a daughter, a sister, a brother, a mother, a father or simple friend come to see you. It would depress me too.

But God has one final, ultimate hand to play. His last chance to kill me. To kill a local man.

The lift doors open to reveal the nurses. They are more subdued now. There is an empty bed being rolled by a little ways in front of the lift doors. I move to exit out the elevator. I don’t notice that the floor of the elevator is slightly below the floor of the hospital ward. My foot catches on the lip and I fall forward.

I remember the steel bars at the base of the bed getting closer and closer. I remember hearing a few gasps as I fell; drawn out in slow-motion. I remember a dull sense of pressure all over my head.

Then nothing.

I would not regain consciousness until late Sunday evening. I would later be told my three friends staged a bedside vigil for me throughout Saturday night. I was, and still am, touched to think about their efforts. I was checked for head injuries, and determined to be OK. I was however, being kept overnight for observation.

That same night I got permission to go outside. It is dark. Traffic flows in red and white lines in the distance. A cold wind filters through the car park. The occasional headlight strafes the hospital wall. My breath curls in tendrils towards the clouds. I sit on a bench. My friend joins me soon after. He’s late, as always. I am the first to speak.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You know they transferred psycho nurse? They received something like 30 complaints from patients.”

“Yeah I heard.”

Silence passes. It is a beautiful night. The kind you wish you could capture in a bottle and keep forever. The air seems almost electric. It is thrilling to just sit, and watch, and listen.

“Dude, I know I’m not real great with words and stuff…”

I watch my friend waffle on. He eventually gets to the crux of it.

“I just thought I’d let you know that I’m glad you’re still here.”

There is sincerity in his words and in his face. My friend is a true friend. I have no doubt about that. I could not have endured the last fortnight without him.

I look up at the sky. I had defied God’s Red Army and won victory over Medical Stalingrad. The end of a long and arduous campaign had come. I am smiling. I am happy. Soon, I can leave. My strength is returning. I feel better than I ever have in my entire life. I still return to the hospital every so often to visit my friends there. They are good people, just like Miss Portman and the population of Switzerland. One day, you might pay us a visit.

But I hope you don’t have too. Not for a very, very long time.

I am local man. God once wanted me dead.

And this has been my story.


________________________________________________________




and here is my preview of my preview of ufc 94:

part 1 here:   blogs.cardrunners.com/Daut44/god-wants-local-man-dead-part1






Monday 9th

I wake up. It is morning. My priorities are in order.

Contact doctor.
Get soup.
Survive.

Psycho nurse walks in with the ward head and the lunch lady. They are the three medical musketeers. Angry, angry musketeers.

"We phoned the doctor."

Fantastic. Progress towards a goal that won't put me six feet under. That's a first. I ask about the soup.

"We told her about your behaviour."

I ponder this for a moment. I try hard to think of an answer that would most benefit my situation, and maybe even improve my relations with the nurses.

Instead, I ask about the soup. There is me, and there is soup. Nothing else matters. I want this made clear.

"Yes, you're allowed to have soup."

I smile. I am happy. I have waited so long for this day. A food with smell. A food with warmth. A food with personality. I consider making sweet love to the soup. I drop this consideration immediately.

"But you'll have to compliment your diet with jel-"

Her words mean nothing. The soup rests on my lap. It steams away. I close my eyes. To taste it is thrilling. Absolutely mind-blowing. I moan the sensation softly. I hum and shuffle and exhale. It is orgasmic.

I open my eyes. The musketeers are still watching me. Not awkward. Not awkward at all. I figure I may as well be polite. I hold the spoon up to psycho nurse.

"Want some?"

I smile. She is unimpressed. I know she's jealous. Harpies love soup.

"I'll be your care-taker for tonight."

The head nurse chimes in to finish psycho nurses' sentence. Nurses arn't capable of individual thought. They rely on a chattering hub of ineptitude and disinformation to make decisions. Natural Selection turns a blind eye. God has them on his dirty pay roll.

"Until then, behave and don't leave your ward. Your visitors are still restricted. We've stored your stuff in another room until you are ready to leave."

Wait, where's my phone.

"We've placed it with your other things."

Oh no you don't you dirty scoundrel. My phone is my personal property. Get fluffed'ed.

"You can collect it tomorrow."

I protest. I threaten to call King Louis. I threaten to call D'Artagnan. But I get nowhere. The musketeers walk out together. As one, they are vulnerable. As three, they fear nothing. I finish my soup. I will need the strength. Medical Stalingrad is in dire straits. Every line of communication has been cut. Higher nurse echelons have me sorrounded. Sporadic food drops will not sustain me.

One more night. One more.

I wake up. It is night time. Just before eight o'clock. It is silent. I can hear the nurses scurrying about. Perhaps they are searching for cheese. One of them asks another nurse if she's done the heparin rounds.

"Doing them now."

It is the chirpy, sinister voice of psycho nurse.

"67 should enjoy it."

They both laugh. I think nothing of it. I am oblivious. You devilish bastard God. My complacency is to your advantage. I leave my defense ill-prepared. Precious time is lost.

I glance the sign above the door.

67.

Oh no. No fluffing way. Not this fluffing shit again. I remember the last heparin needle this psycho bitch gave me. I remember her getting up close and personal - blood-tipped needle in hand. I shift into overdrive. I weigh up my options. I am scared. I am afraid. Shit's about to hit the fan, and I'm still in my fluffing pyjamas.

Then, sitting up, I eye something poking out from behind the adjacent room curtain.

Jackpot.

But I didn't think I'd go that far.

Then again, God goes as far as he fluffing wants.

My room is dark. The light is off. I see light emanating from the hall way. It is foreign territory beyond the darkness, but there is no time for caution. My needle is already one minute overdue. Slowly, I edge toward the door. I glance around the corners. My eyes sting. A nurse walks with her back towards me to the West. To the East, a family heads to a set of elevators. The elevators will be closely guarded. To the North lies an empty hallway. My decision is made for me.

I gun it.

I have never commandeered a wheelchair before, but by fluff did I haul ass. If there was a Nascar for cripples Id've taken pole position. I get past one room. Then another. And another. I am getting tired. Half my energy goes to keeping the stupid thing straight. The other half goes to keeping the thing moving. I realise it is fluffing hard to use a wheelchair for the first time. My arms are aching already. I'm running on soup from 8 hours ago. I come to the next room.

Patient Lounge.

Holy shit I've hit Switzerland - neutral territory. I wheel myself in there. I bang myself on the door on the way in. Two men; one in a wheelchair himself; look at me as I roll into the corner. I've bought myself some time.

But not enough.

I hear psycho nurse's voice. She is not happy. She has only killed 2 patients today.

"67 isn't in his bed."

Another nurse has the answer.

"Check the patient lounge."

fluff. I am royally screwed. The only exit is the entry, and there is no time to escape. I shift into over-over drive. I don't fully understand the implications of my brain's over-over drive. It is a risk I must take.

I roll to the table in the middle of the room and grab a magazine. It is a Woman's Day. Excellent. There is hope. My arms are burning. I make a final push toward the door, just as psycho nurse - needle in hand - comes around the corner. She stands in the doorway. Her shadow fills the room.

Enter shit. Enter fan. Commence'th the shitten'ing.

I throw the Woman's Day at her feet.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS."

I stare into psycho nurses' black eyes. Katie Holmes glares at psycho nurse from the floor. I am touched by her gesture. Holmes is a hero. Her sacrifice will not go unheralded. The man in the wheelchair is frightened at the unfolding events. I want to take his hand. I want to tell him he is safe. But I cannot leave my post. The patient lounge is at stake. Someone must defend these people, and that someone is me.

A second of time passes.

Psycho nurse is pissed off. Beyond pissed off. Her face turns red. The head nurse appears behind her. I grip the handles of the wheelchair. I am getting scared. Beads of sweat pool on my brow. Miss Holmes looks to me for help. I see fear and uncertainty in her eyes.

Too much shit. Too small a fan.

I wake up. It is around midnight. My thigh hurts from the heparin needle psycho bitch gave me. I am now being closely monitored by the nurses who check me every half hour. They have been instructed not to let me leave my room. The head nurse stood next to the bed as I ate my jelly dinner. She made certain I ate it, and then removed the tray.

My spirit is close to breaking.

I look out the window.

"Tomorrow, God."

Light from a passing street car strafes the room. Shadows move across my face.

"Tomorrow, the fight comes to you."



Tuesday 10th - VH Day.

I wake up. It is early morning. Tuesday 10th. It has been one week since my incarceration. One week since the outbreak of war between God and I. Each day has been longer than the day preceeding. The great skyfairy has been cunning. He has played his hand in direct assaults and convenient accidents; nutritional and psychological warfare; and foiled my attempt to break out via Switzerland.

Worst of all, he killed Katie Holmes.

fluffing bastard.

I am nervous. There is no doubt that today God will present his most challenging situation yet; but I am hungry, I am tired, and I am afraid. The nurses' continual checking has disturbed my sleep. My soup privileges have been revoked. My possessions have been repossessed. My only celebrity friend has been slaughtered by a psychotic wilderbeast. Her compatriots have become equally obsessed with my destruction. I have only one solution. It is sly. It is cunning. It is hot.

I'll take a shower.

A shower is the ultimate problem solver. Rheem, unknown too many, was a genius among men. It is the facilitator of all solutions in life. I will take one, I will think, and I will prevail.

With great effort, I walk hunched over to the enclosed bathroom. I open the door and shut it behind me. I take a seat, grab the shower hose, and commence showering.

It feels degrading to have to shower sitting down, but boy is it comfy. Too bad the water is heat, pressure and time limited. They could've just given me a bucket. Then again, the hospital knows better than to give me a bucket.

I could do awful, awful things with a bucket.

The shower shuts off and I get up. I am refreshed. I am happy. So far, the morning has run smoothly and without incident. Sadly, I have not yet learnt the lessons of my complacency. God plays his hand. He pulls blackjack.

fluff.

Stepping out of the shower I slip on the plastic lid of a jelly cup - the contents of which I fed to the toilet some days ago. I fall back, grab at the curtains, and land on my back. My shoulders take the brunt. My head taps the tiles lightly. The bulldozers in my kidneys go on a joyride. A morphine burrito would go down so well right about now. I lie on my back. I will wait for the pain to subside. I will carry on with my normal duties. The nurses will be none the wiser. I cannot; will not; give them a reason to prolong my stay. My sanity, and my life, depends on it.

A few seconds pass. I notice an orange glow from the shower corner of the ceiling. It has never shined before.

Once again I am oblivious. Once again I lose precious seconds. Once again the septic system is poised to assault my fan.

It all comes together. The light is connected to a long string reaching all the way to the ground. Above the light is a plaque.

“Pull for assistance.”

There are only two nurses now assigned to my room - psycho bitch and the captain.

And one of them is coming. Now.

I assess the situation. I am lying immobile on the floor. I am cold. I am wet. I am naked. There is a jelly cup lid on my heel.

God has played his hand, so I play mine: I pull a 3 of diamonds and an expired discount voucher for Civic Video.

I am so fluffed.

Then it happens. An angry bang on the door. It is psycho nurse. The hospital bouncer. She is not pleased. She has not yet consumed her morning meal of baby.

"What do you want?" she snaps.

Wow. Such hospitality. Where'd they find this gem of a worker. The abattoir? I think fast. I tell her I'm just getting dried. I reach for the towel and rub it through my hair to mimic the sound. This was a mistake.

My head hits the tiles and I grunt in pain. Psycho bitch realises something’s up. For all she knows, I could be training a Golden Retriever to don a balaclava and attack the medical staff. I wouldn't put it past her.

"Do you want me to come in?"

Do you want a mastectomy?

"I'm going to come in."

The fluff you are. There's only one option. I outstretch my foot and jam it up against the door. Psycho nurse pushes hard. I will hold. I must hold. If they find I am injured, they will hold me longer for observation. If they find I have hit my head, they will hold me overnight.

This can not happen.

"What's going on. I can't open the door."

Over-drive time. I tell her my drip stand is up against the door.

"YOU'RE DRIP STAND ISN'T BLOCKING THE DOOR. IN FACT, I CAN SEE IT FROM HERE. IT'S NEXT TO THE BED."

Damn. The psycho nurse is smarter than I thought. Her vision isn't based on movement at all. Last time I trust Jurassic Park to help me escape from a hospital bathroom naked.

"Open the door."

I tell her I can't. I continue making noise with my towel. I plead she will go away.

"Why not."

I have three words for her. Drip. Door. Jammed.

"WE JUST WENT THROUGH THIS."

I slip into over-over drive for the second time in two days. The result is instantly regrettable. I will never understand the thought processes involved. I have doubts as to whether any thinking took place at all.

I sing to the tune of Banana Boat. Loudly. Many seconds elapse. I am cold. I am shivering. I am paining. I am lying naked on the bathroom tiles of a concentration camp hospital with a towel around my head.

And I am singing.

"I'M GETTING THE HEAD NURSE."

Finally, she leaves. Here is my opportunity. The pain has subsided just enough for action. I struggle back onto my feet. I throw a singlet on and a pair of pants. I fling open the door and throw the towel behind me. I cripple-jog to my bed. I lift myself onto it. I pull the covers up to my chest. My heart is beating. My pulse is racing. My escape hinges on this action.

Seconds later, psycho nurse arrives with the head of the ward. They check the bathroom first. They find water, soaked pyjamas, and a twisted towel. They do not find the drip or patient 67.

The head nurse exits the bathroom and spots me. She marches towards the bed. She is in a controlled rage. Her pupils are dilated. Her cheeks are flush. Her very being quakes with fury.

I am not a smart man. I am still in over-over drive. A smart man does not stay in over-over drive. I am half-smiling. My voice is feeble.

“I don’t suppose you like Jurassic Park?”

Nice.

It is late morning. My belongings have been returned. The doctor has visited me. I inform her that my stay has been uneventful. She laughs. I exit my room on my feet. I head East to the elevators. On my way, I pass by Switzlerland. The man in the wheelchair stretches his arm out, begging me to take him. But I cannot. I leave him to his fate. It pains my heart. It truly does. He was here when I arrived. He is still here as I am leaving. I promise to myself that one day I will liberate the captives here. I will be the hero facing the darkness and heralding the dawn. Until then, I must survive. God is still pissed. And I know it. Boy do I know it.

I exit the elevator. Ground floor. Sunlight streams in through the double glass doors. I am smiling. I am warm. I am happy.

I sign out at reception. I am free. Free from heparin needles, psycho nurse, jelly, the pirate ship captain, and seated showers. A cloud passes over and softens the sunlight.

I am not free yet. God is not accustomed to failure. His vengeance will be swift. Today is VH day. Victory-in-Hospital day. But the war is not over. It is in its closing stages, but there are still more hands to play.

Then, a friendly voice. The voice of someone not trying to kill me. It is harmonious.

“Over here!”

It is my friend. He has come to pick me up. I walk over to him. He dangles car keys from his hand. I ask him if I can drive.

“Oh man, hahah, far out man, shit no, no fluffing way.”

He turns around and walks out the door, still laughing. It was worth a try.

I approach the doors and take my first step outside. Storm clouds loom on the horizon.

The words form in my mind. I know he can here them.

“If you want me.”

A boom of thunder resonates in the distance.

“Come fluffing’ing take me.”



Wednesday 11th - VH Day +1

I wake up. I am in my bed. My bed. It is the morning after VH day. I have escaped medical Stalingrad as the Wermacht surrendered next door in a blaze of morphine-induced fury. Tens of thousands have laid down their arms and crossed over to the other side; abandoning me to my fate.

fluff the Wermacht. I will fight on alone.

I look out the window. I am not smiling. God's offensive - brilliantly planned, yet poorly executed - has been repulsed by a unit of his own creation. The unit has successfully withdrawn from behind enemy lines; across rivers of heparin-fuelled flames and miles of antibiotic jungle; to safe territory. It is time to think. Time to consolidate. Time for action.

It is time for the counter-offensive.

It is time to realise the paradox of an antibiotic jungle.

I assess the situation. It is grim. Bleak. Jelly remains in world-wide circulation. New hospitals are under construction all over the globe. In Switzerland, clowns lie dying in the streets. Cripples everywhere rally to avenge the slaughter of Miss Holmes. A confused and PMS-suffering Woman's Day launches an offensive into New Idea. Five celebrities become fat in the subsequent gossip dead-zone. Two more are wed. The world is outraged. Tensions reach boiling point. A shit the size of which the world has never seen is about to hit a fan no larger than a toaster. Worst of all, I somehow caught the flu.

This is what happens.

This is what happens when you piss off God.

Compounding the dire situation is one simple, harrowing fact: God is immortal, I am not. In the absence of a work-around for this I am royally fluffed'ed. I could be a martyr. I could sacrifice myself to appease God and set things right. But suicide is a sin. I would go to Hell. I have been to Hell. It is not peachy. Not peachy in the slightest. I would prefer to prolong my stay on Earth. I will survive.

I rise to shower. I will pray to Rheem. I will need his strength. While undergoing this steamy meditation, God's progression becomes clear.

God created the Earth, and man, in 7 days. I had spent 7 days fighting against man and his creations. And man, unto God's order, is governed by the 10 commandments.

Creation and the ten commandments. God is a big fan of symbolism. This will be no exception. His offensive hasn't stalled at all. It has quietened. Time to think. Time to consolidate. Time for action. On the tenth day, Saturday 14th, it's go-go time for God's retribution against me. No fan is big enough for the shit about to come. With a thousand years, and a trillion men, no fan could be made big enough. There is only one solution.

I must dismantle the shit itself.

From the inside.

This leaves me with 3 days. If God is going to rest today, than so will I. I am exhausted. I am receiving soup, but I am still weak. My mid section still pains. I am restricted to light activity only. fluff that, I have a war to win. Does inter-ethereal war count as light activity? For America perhaps, but for me, no chance.

It is lunch time. I have had soup. I am happy. I am content. I decide to go for a walk. Walking is important after staying in hospital because the lungs become congested from disuse. While I might not be on speaking terms with my bastard child kidneys, I happen to enjoy a mutual friendship with my lungs. Therefore, I will protect them. I will walk.

I walk in the nature reserve often and without incident. Today however, I would encounter God's auxiliary units, from which I would learn one thing.

God still wants local man dead.

I am ten, maybe fifteen minutes into the walk. I'm walking through the big nature reserve near my house. It's pleasant, but the reserve has somewhat of a bad reputation. Today though, I am just happy to enjoy the quiet of nature and the sunshine. The track narrows to a small rock-crossing over the remnants of an eroded creek. One person crosses at a time.

I walk down to the creek. A kid, maybe 17, maybe 18, sits on a BMX in the centre of the crossing. He has acne everywhere and a shit haircut. I was once told bogan's love rust, but inner-city bogans are of a different variety. They like chrome. Anything chrome is the bomb. The shinier, the better. They are Chrome Bogans.

This BMX was shiny. I figured it was stolen. Chrome Bogan's can't afford bikes. That bogans have adapted to ride them is a marvel of evolution unto itself.

"What the fluff do you want."

Yeah, this is going to be pleasant. I tell him to step aside. I add ", kid" to the end of it.

Chrome Bogans don't like to be belittled. They are the Adam and Eve of psycho nurse - all traits inherited.

"fluff you dickhead."

Chrome Bogan looks at my tee-shirt. He's looking for an add-on to his own insult. He's doing a shit job. My shirt reads "O-week," as in university O-week.

"O-week. What fluffing gay shit is that."

I would kill him if I could. Shame I can't. My next move defies logic, and is not one I would take again. I have reason to believe my kidneys had already boarded flights to Fiji at the time of the incident. My brain most likely had detached from my spinal cord; dug a fox-hole, and bunkered down. Wherever the fluff the three of them were, they weren't with me at the time. I speak flatly.

"fluffed'ed if I know. But the O reminds me of the face c*unts like you make when you're sucki-"

I never did get to finish that sentence. Shame. Twas' snappy.

I get king-hit in the back of the head, off-centre by someone I didn't realise was behind me. I go straight to the ground like a dead weight. Chrome Bogan dismounts and kicks me in the upper back. fluffing hurts. Agony. White flecks are filling my vision. I don't want to pass out. I feel rustling in my jeans pocket.

A few minutes later my vision is fixed and I get up. My head fluffing pains. My back is OK though. I'm just glad they didn't kick me in the stomach. One-way trip back to Stalingrad that would've been.

My wallet is lying about ten metres away. My cards are strewn in the trees and shrubs around it. The fifty bucks worth of notes that were in there is gone. Luckily, my car keys and my phone were in my other pocket, which was pushed against the ground and covered when I fell. I call my mate.

He gets there in five minutes and helps me back to the car. I ask him if I can drive. Guess.

He takes me to the police station and I give a statement. I decline the offer of medical help. fluff God, be a little more cunning would you.

It is night. I am in bed. My bed. It is the night after VH day, and I continue to survive.

"I’m coming for you God."

I look out the window. Dark clouds diffuse the moonlight. A lone star shines in solitary defiance.

"Bigtime."




Thursday 12th - VH Day +2

I wake up. It is mid-morning. Today marks the second day of my flight from medical Stalingrad. Including today, this leaves 3 days until Saturday - the day God's war-machine shifts into overdrive and Blitzkrieg's my sorry ass. I cannot repel this offensive. This had been made clear. I have a ChromeBogan inflicted bruise on my back to prove it. If I am to have any hope of defeating God, I must strike on the 13th; before the curtain rises. There will be no encore. No repeat performance if I fail. I have showered profusely. Rheem has shown me the way. The fallen have given me the will. Everything hinges on tomorrow's action.

Christmas comes early kids. Crank the fluffing milk and cookies. We've got a war to win.

But first, I must navigate the labyrinth of God's bureaucratic bitch. The ultimate institution for crippling men's minds through unnecessary documentation, duplication, and red tape.

Welcome to University. Prepare to be cluster-fluffed'ed.

I dress myself. It takes me ten minutes. My mid-section, upper-back, and head are having a house party at my expense. Attrition is taking it's toll. I must make it through today unharmed. My capacity for injury has been reached, and then some.

I board a bus. An hour later, I board a second bus. A ten minute walk after that, and I am standing outside the student office at university. It is lunch time. The short walk has nearly killed me. My mid-section is paining something fierce. I am glad the queue is short. I am desperate to get home.

"Next," says the man.

I am disturbed. The guy serving me has bags the size of grapes under his eyes. They seem unstable. They quiver with his speech. I pray they do not explode.

"Hi, I spent a week in hospital and missed some tutorials. I want to apply for special consideration."

I am smiling. I am perky. I am the girl scout on your front porch offering cookies for money. I am your biscuit prostitute. I hope our transaction is savoury.

Bagman does not smile back. God has forewarned the University of my coming. They have prepared themselves well.

"Go make photocopies."

This seems unneccesary. I ask him why. In retrospect, I should've told him the vineyard on his face was ready for harvest. A lot of future pain could have been avoided. I may even have scored some wine.

"You need to make a photocopy for each course."

Ok. Fair enough. I'll pay that. I ask him if he wants all of the photocopies.

"You take them to each faculty in person, and bring one to me."

The faculties are located huge distances apart, but I will respect procedure. An incident is the last thing I need.

I walk to the library. It's a huge effort to walk without grimacing. My kidneys are divebombing off the roof into the pool that is my bowel. Everything is getting wet. Everything is getting sore.

I photocopy the medical document I need four times. The cost is $1.20 per sheet. I make the trek back to the student office. I wait in the queue. Once again, I confront Bagman.

I hand him the photocopies. He takes the original, and leaves the photocopies on the counter. I tell him I'll go hand the copies into the relevant faculty offices.

Bagman plays his hand.

"First year subjects don't accept special consideration for missed tutorials. You just get counted as not having attended."

He smiles. Deadset smirks. He is overflowing with self-importance.

I ask him why he had me make photocopies. I want to know why I just spent twenty minutes tearing the shit out of my insides to waste my money

"Not my problem," he says.

Absolute fluffnut. I decide I need to break even with Bagman. Two seconds of silence passes. I speak.

"Are they seedless."

Bagman is confused.

"What?" he says.

"The grapes."

"What grapes?"

"Red wine or white."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Vintage? I'm thinking vintage."

"What is it?"

I make a V with my right hand and hold it in front of my face. I smile.

Flip goes the Bagman.

I start walking away. The queue behind me is laughing. Bagman stands up and presses his face against the plastic divider screen. He starts yelling. Loudly. His eye-bags are fluttering. I can't laugh. It hurts to laugh. But I am happy. It is time to go home.

It is late afternoon and the sun is ready to set when I catch my first bus. I then wait in line for my second bus, which arrives ten minutes late. I am first in line. Yay for me.

I pay for my ticket and choose the seat behind the driver, on the right hand side of the bus. I do not want to stumble around trying to get off and risk injuring myself. God will not score his prey that easily.

The bus fills up. A man comes and sits next to me. He has a monobrow and more chins than fingers though, so I need not... not... respect him? I flashback to the nurse and doctor I met in hospital. Bizarre bastard offspring? You decide. I begin to wonder if his eyebrow could act as a sunvisor. I drop this line of thought immediately.

The doors close and our bus driver - a pleasant Oriental man - begins to move off. That's when I notice it.

That's when I notice another bus coming in particularly close on my side. It has no blinker on. I think nothing of it.

Welcome to the public transport system - God's elite cadre of assassins.

Our bus driver slams on the brakes and shouts out. The other bus, as we are moving to leave, cuts us off and heads into the bus shelter lane. The front-left of the other bus slams into the front-right of our bus. The side-view mirror is sheered right off. The impact is halfway between the drivers seat and my seat. The glass window to my right shatters inwards. The bus lurches and bumps the bus shelter itself, snapping off a part of its perspex roof. I am already buckled over from the sudden braking when the bus hits. I am pushed sideways into the enormous parachute of a man next to me. My bag; resting on my lap before the crash, is first pushed hard into my abdomen, and then flung into the aisle. The other bus continues on for another thirty metres before stopping. Ous bus driver is swearing. He gets up and asks if we are all OK. Everyone nods. People are excited moreso than angry. Bus crashes are the new black.

We all exit the bus. I feel fine. I don't feel any pain at all. I walk away from the crowd of bus goers. The city sidewalk is incredibly busy. It is filled with people. Another bus rolls up. The people from my bus begin to line up. I wait until the last one has boarded before I approach. A man from the bus company stops me at the entrance. He is not pleased.

"Ticket."

I love bus service. Probably more than this man loves drowning kittens. I fumble around in my pocket for the ticket. Two seconds pass. Five, ten seconds pass.

I've lost my ticket.

I'm not too worried at this point. Surely, this man is not stupid enough to deny me entry. I explain that I was on the bus that just crashed. I describe the driver. I tell him the passengers on the bus could vouch for me too. I was truly surprised by his response.

"Either pay for a ticket, or walk."

Inside my head, a thousand tiny fans are disposing of a thousand tiny shits. I cannot believe what has just been said to me. Do they want me to pay for the fluffing window that broke as well? I struggle to quell my rage, but I am not waiting an hour for another bus. I am going home. If that means paying for another ticket, then so be it.

I open my wallet. I know I have $5.60 in here somewhere.

Instead, I find 80 cents. Courtesy of the fluffing vineyard.

I begin to argue with the man. I point up at the windows and tell him to ask someone on the bus to vouch for me. But he is having none of it. He waves to the bus driver, and the bus drives away.

I check my wallet for my keycard. Instead I find a note. It's from my sister.

"Needed card to go to DFO. Pay you back. xoxo."

I assess the situation. Now I understand the Wermacht's position. God's red army has blown apart my only method of transportation. I have .8 of a whole dollar in which to finance my retreat back to friendly territory.

I am so royally fluffed'ed. Again.

I make a call. The familiar voice of my friend comes across the reciever. I explain to him what has happened.

"You are a walking inconvenience. Ok, I’m coming."

I love my friends. An hour later and we are driving in the direction of my house. Suddenly, my abdomen begins to pain. This isn’t my normal movement pain. This pain feels warm, burning and sharp. I disregard it. My friend asks for his phone, and I turn on the car ceiling light to rifle through the glove box.

“Dude, I think you’re bleeding.”

I look down at my shirt. Red spots are forming where two of my incisions were made. I tell him it’s not bleeding much.

“Maybe you should get it checked out.”

I am telling him I’m fine when I feel my abdominals tighten and go hard. The pain doesn’t increase, but my whole mid-section becomes rigid. I can feel the blood seeping out onto my skin.

“I’m taking you to hospital bud.”

I don’t argue with him a second time. I have no choice. God has forced my hand. I am going back.

Back to medical Stalingrad.

It is night. I am looking out the window. The same window. A crueler twist of fate I could not have envisioned, but it has happened. I am in the same room.

Tonight is the eve of Friday 13th – the day of my offensive.

God is playing hardball. He is winning.

And things have never looked bleaker.


______________________________________________________________

will post conclusion tonight.  then a long mma post, then some poker bs to close out the month

My friend jonathan linked me to this story yesterday and it took me about 30-40 minutes to read but god was it well worth it.  It's definitely the funniest short story i have ever read. its soo long so ill post the story in 3 parts.  I guess I will post a part each day from now til friday to make you guys sweat the action a bit.  after that ill post a big ufc 94 writeup before saturday cause thats really important.  but for the next 2 blog posts its all snail's story.

It was originally posted on a forum called pcpowerplay by some genius superhero who goes by the name of snails.  i'll post the original forum thread at the end cause its awesome to read through and see people's responses and reactions as he was writing the story up over the course of a few days.  i know you google loving bastards will dig it up and find the rest but ill try to create some suspense and just post the source at the end.  anyway, without further ado here it is....





God wants local man dead. Local man: "Bring It"


God wants me dead. I pissed him off. Pissed him off good. I don't know what sent him over the edge. Maybe it was my off-colour, sacreligious sense of humour. Maybe it was the bilby I drowned in a duffel bag. Whatever it was, one thing is clear - the great skyfairy wants hardcore vengeance, and he wants it now. Let's educate you on whats happened so far. If you don't want to read, I'll summarise it for you in the next two words.

Get lost.

Wednesday 4th.

I wake up at 4:30am feeling like my kidneys hijacked bulldozers and went apeshit on my abdomen. I assume I am either really fluffing hungry, or constipated to the max. I stumble to the kitchen, grab a peach, take a dump, and go back to bed. I feel slightly better.

I wake up again at 6:30. Something's definitely up. My kidneys; unsatisfied with the carnage caused by bulldozers; have commandeered tanks and started burning down the Reichstag that is my middle half. I am in serious pain. In my infinite wisdom, I decide to ignore it, still thinking I might just be hungry or constipated.

It's now 10:30. Screw university, I'm not going; not while my organs are having a civil war. I drive up to the medical centre and take a seat. "There'll be a two hour wait - the doctors running late," she says. I'm in severe pain by now.

It's 11:30. Sitting up is getting unbearable. I ask to lie down on a bed somewhere, and the receptionist lady obliges. Angry geriatrics envy my special treatment. I feel powerful.

It's 12:00 or sometime, when bang. Holy mother fluffing of shit. Raw, intense pain. Someone just Nagasaki'ed my bowel. A doctor comes in and watches me writhe in pain. He asks, "Are you ok?" I reply, "My stomach is on fire." He pushes on my abdomen, then my lower right abdomen. I nearly go catatonic and grip his hand. Wup-wow.

Maybe ten minutes later I'm in an ambulance with a morphine needle in my bum. Morphine is great. I remembered the old people's faces of disgust at my special treatment. It makes me smile. All is good in the world.

I rock up to hospital. A doctor comes and assesses me. He is not happy. He has a monobrow though, so I need not respect him. I get more drugs. I go to sleep.

I wake up and its night. Monobrow tells me they've called in the surgeon from dinner with her husband to do emergency surgery on my appendix which has ruptured and caused perotonitis. 10% mortality rate in healthy patients. Good, I like a challenge.

I am prepped for surgery. Nurses wheel me into the operating theatre late that night. Just before my bed enters the operating room, an attending stops me. She says they havn't done the pre-check on my details. She checks my wrist band. It says Mrs Finch, Jessica. "Mrs Finch, Jessica" has no allergies. Lucky her. I on the other hand, am deathly allergic to penicillin. Penicillin had been put on my treatment schedule. They take another ten minutes to correct things. My confidence is not great. My last words to the attending doctors is, "I'm glad someone knows what they're doing." I recognise a monobrow above one of the attending's masks. I smile. I don't even feel the anasthethic. I go to sleep.


Thursday 5th.

I wake up early in the morning. It is around 5am. I feel sleepy as shit. Someone is standing above me. It takes me a few seconds to make sense of the face. It's an ex-girlfriend's mum wearing a nurses uniform. Then it hits me.

She's going to smother me with a pillow...fluff

My eyes close again and I fall back asleep. I had survived. Boy was I on a roll.

It's 9am. The operating doctor comes to see me. She says she removed widespread infection covering my entire mid section with a particularly bad infection in parts of my abdomen and kidney. Apparently, my left kidney was displaced so as to be directly adjacent to the perforation where the infection originated. Smooth move God you cunning bastard. Luckily for me, my other kidney was having a picnic up north during the whole ordeal. You're fault for giving me two you sneaky son of a bitch.

12 hours from death she estimates. Groovy, I feel pretty good. "That's because you have morphine in your drip." Fantastic. Bring me some pie and I will be content.

The doctor leaves. I fall asleep.

It is mid afternoon. A nurse is changing my canular. A canular is the big tube in your arm that the drip connects to. I watch her take it off and replace it with a new canular. She then leaves. I turn away and fall asleep.

Woops. She didn't put the valve on. Bad, bad girl.

You see, veins have valves. This stops blood from flowing backwards in your body. Essentially, the liquid in my drip stopped going in and blood started coming out.

A good half hour later a nurse walks in. She wakes me and runs out the room. I have a quick look around and glance my bed. It is soaked in blood. It's soaked through my clothes, through my sheets, through the mattress. Everything. My left arm is stained entirely on one side. I lift my arm and leave an arm print of white. The nurses come back. Goodbye consciousness. To sleep again I go.

---

That's as much as I'll type for now. Things to come include psycho nurses trying to kill me, falling down in the shower, a near car crash, a run in with a different ex girlfriend's mum's psycho new boyfriend, a run in with a bicyclist on meth and a bus crash.

I shit you not, all of this will be explained. God wants me dead. Read at your own risk. You have been warned.








Friday 6th

I wake up. I am not bleeding or dying. This makes me happy. I look out the window. I shrink back into my pillow. God's just getting warmed up.

The nurses bring me jelly and only jelly. It is all I can eat. Jelly begins to become the nutritional equivalent of abortion. It is the disastrous mess of what was once sweet sweet glucose. I am taken off the morphine. This saddens me. I am given a different painkiller.

I have it in my hands and think to ask the nurse what it has in it.

"Penicillin."

Great. Why not arsenic? Maybe a dash of cyanide? Hey let's just fire an RPG point-blank into my cerebellum and call it a fluffing day. I once again remind them I will die if I have penicillin.

"But it says you're not allergic."

Really? Shit me. And to think I've been misinformed all these years. I'm glad the people who had me undergoing surgery as a married woman of 40 odd years are on the ball with their clip boards. In that case just put the tablet in my drip. Maybe I'll have a stroke, and maybe you'll have a stroke of common fluffing sense. Everybody wins.

It's night time. I have visitors. Visitors makes me happy. A queer and weird nurse enters the room and tells me I need a heparin needle. It's a blood thinner which prevents deep vein thrombosis. Sounds good to me. She interjects in the conversation with a god-awful joke. I comment, "Sorry, that one went over my head." She is not impressed and gives us all a funny look. As she's leaving, I make a comment about her strangeness. Out of the blue she says, "I heard that," and just stares at me.

Then she left without incident.

No, as if that could happen. God's fluffing aggro remember? She turns off the light and closes the door and says "fine". The whole room plunges into darkness. I'm serious. She left me in a hospital bed with my visitors in pitch black darkness like you'd expect an eleven year old would.

"Weren't you meant to get a needle?" says my friend.

Oh yeah. Lookin' forward to that puppy now.

My friend's stumble around and find the light switch, muttering about this nurse. My friend's girlfriend trips on my drip on the way out.

"Sorry"

No problem. Not like it's connected to the vein in my arm or anything.

About ten minutes later the weird nurse comes back.

"Your friends are so nice. So very nice," she says. She speaks in this sweet sarcastic voice. I am actually pretty scared at this point. She's so obviously not right in the head I can't begin to understand how she holds employment at a hospital.

I roll over so she can put the needle in my thigh. These heparin needles are small needles. "Painless needles". They are actually, when done right. Haha, God, you played this next card well.

She fluffing jabbed me with this thing and I jolted. She then pulled the needle out without injecting me and got up close in my face. "Don't move next time, if you do, and it the needle breaks off in there, you'll need to go into surgery again to get it out. Would you want that?"

I kid you not. She said that. I probably should have made an official complaint. But what the shit was I going to do. I nodded as she fluffing jabbed me again. I couldn't sleep on that side all night and it stung like a bitch for hours. I don't know whether she injected heparin into my blood or my fluffing bone marrow, but it sure felt like the latter.

I didn't see her again. Thank god. I asked the doctor that night how many more days I'd need to stay in hospital.

"4 more days," she said sternly.

I looked out the window. God had me on the back foot - trapped in this hospital. But if I could hold out, if I could hang on till Tuesday, I'd be free from his grasp.

I couldn't have been more wrong. Darker days were on the horizon.




Saturday 7th

It is lunch time. I am excited. I am getting soup. It may as well be RPA-Christmas. The boy scouts bring me an Easter egg. It's a nice gesture. I decide I'll save the egg until after the soup. It will be the ultimate Easter feast for one. I intend to enjoy every last moment of it.

Bad move.

My ex girlfriend's mum who works at the hospital comes in.

"No no, you can't have any chocolate whatsoever."

She walks out the door cradling my egg. It breaks my heart to see it go. It really does. I can feel the depression in the back of my brain.

But then, in comes the lunch lady. I sit up as best I can. She has a tray. On the tray is more abortion-jelly. fluff that though, because underneath a heat bowl is some chicken broth. I can see it steaming slightly from around the edges. It is liquid ecstasy. I want it. I want it now.

I smile at the lunch lady setting up my tray as the nurse enters. It is here, at the eleventh lunch hour, that I fluff up something terrible.

I joke, "Hopefully I won't die from the soup aye?" I smiled at this. I am happy. I am jovial. Life is good. I am, of course, referring light heartedly to the penicillin incident. Note to self: never assume nurses will understand anything, including their nurse training.

"Wait, has your doctor cleared you to eat heavier food?"

I am still calm. The soup is still on the tray. It is steaming away, just waiting for me.

"She said I could."

The nurse walks over and picks up my file attached to its clip board.

"She hasn't written anything down."

Everything changes. I am not smiling anymore. My soup is in jeopardy here. I would do anything to have it. I can't have any more jelly. I just can't.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Please?"

The nurse tries to ring the doctor. I beg her to pick up, but she doesn't.

"We'll have to keep you on your current diet until we can get in contact with her."

I eye the soup still on the tray. The lunch lady wants to get a move on and finish her rounds. I consider making a dive for the soup and ingesting what I can in an orgiastic display of chicken-flavoured self satisfaction. The pain in my abdomen dictates otherwise.

"So you'll call in a few hours?" I ask.

You conniving bastard God. You absolute conniving bastard.

"No, we won't be able to contact her until Monday morning."

I wanted to scream. I watched my soup as it was taken away on a cold steel tray. The stolen generation of soup. The smell would linger in the air for hours. God's cruel reminder of what I could have had.

I rolled over to my other side. The half finished cup of jelly that had been resting in my lap spilled onto my canular.

That was it. Enough was enough. God wanted me dead and buried. I had only one course of action to take.

I looked out the window.

"Bring it."

I rolled back over. I was full of rage. There was some hardcore religious retribution to be had.

Then, a voice. Eerily familiar. I heard the distinct words, "Don't mind covering you for tonight."

It was the unmistakeable peachyness of psycho nurse.

The bitch was back.




Sunday 8th

It's 3am. Someone is waking me. It is dark. I am afraid. It's psycho nurse. She touches my shoulder. I think I want to die.

"I thought I'd come check on you."

Oh sweet deal. I too wake others up at ridiculous times of the night to check on their state of mind. Maybe next time bring a fluffing air horn. Entertain the whole ward. I tell her I'm fine and just want to sleep. She just looks at me. There's a screw loose in her brain, that's for sure. I close my eyes for sleep again.

"We've restricted your visitors so you can rest easier," she says.

You can't be serious. How can the hospital restrict who I can and can't see? I am still calm. I ask who it is restricted too.

"Hospital staff only."

No way. No fluffing way. Psycho nurse smiles again and leaves. You sly son of a bitch God. In cutting off my supply line to the outside world the situation becomes painfully clear. My room has become Stalingrad. Shit is definitely going to hit the fan. There is going to be a domestic. It takes the anger a long time to fade. I fall asleep.

I wake in the early afternoon. A nurse is standing over me. She holds in her pudgy hands 3 jelly cups. She is not happy. She has more chins than fingers, so I need not respect her.

"I found these in the cupboard."

I tell her I put them there. With my hands. All by myself.

"Why didn't you eat them?"

I tell her I don't like the jelly. I tell her I would rather eat my infected appendix than the nutritional effluent they call jelly. I tell her I would rather poison a beaver, shit down it's neck, and lash it with the infected bowel tissue they took from my cold unconscious body, than eat the aborted Downs syndrome substance they call jelly.

This was an unwise move.

She leaves and returns with the head of the ward.

"The nurse tells me you're being uncooperative. This is the second complaint we've had."

It doesn't take much imagination to figure out who made the first complaint. The Duchess of fluffed'ed-up-something-fierce herself. But God should know better than to fluff with me in the afternoon. I can fight back in the afternoon.

"Stop trying to send me to the morgue and maybe I'll play dice with the pirate ship you call a hospital."

This was the second unwise move I made. Boy did I feel big for about .2 seconds.

"We've taken away your visitation rights. Eat what's given to you or there will be consequences."

I try roll over to show them the massive bruises psycho nurse gave me two nights prior, but they are already gone. The jelly cups sit on the lunch tray like wobbly green demons. I take out the permanent marker I found in the bedside drawer. On one cup I write "Return to sender", and on another I write "Auschwitz is the other way, silly". I am hilarious. I can see the medical world falling to its feet laughing. Sadly, the healthcare system went Nazi-Germany on comedy's ass and destroyed laughter in the Clown Holocaust of 1945.

Good times.

It is night, I must've fallen asleep. The jelly cups are gone. So is my permanent marker. In fact, most of my stuff is gone. All that's left is my mobile phone. I pick it up. I am happy. I have survived. I have only two more nights before freedom. Two more nights before I can drive the hell outta here.

Or maybe not.

I have a single message. It's from my sister.

"Hey I cant visit you bcos its restricted. I forgot to tell you this before, but when i was following the ambulance I pranged your car on a concrete pole in the carpark. It's in the smash repairers. I will pay too fix it. Sorry. Please don’t be mad."

A nurse walks in. It's heparin needle time. She holds a jelly cup in one hand.

I am in medical Stalingrad, and a cold Winter lies ahead.

God is pissed off. Royally pissed off.

And he's coming across the Volga.
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