The numbers one through twenty: When you hear your opponent’s cornermen shout out the number two, they are not instructing their fighter to squat and shit in the ring. The majority of the time, numbers represent a combination. For example, the number two can represent a jab Thai kick. The number three might represent a cross-knee Thai kick. Unless you have a spy in your opponent’s camp, it is impossible to tell what combination a particular number represents. However, when you hear a cornerman shouting numbers, it is safe to assume that your opponent will shortly throw a combination.
Sprawl: The act of thrusting your hips toward the mat in an excited fashion. There are only two occasions when a sprawl is called for: 1) when your opponent drops his elevation and shoots his body toward your legs to execute a takedown; and 2) when an irate girlfriend throws a heavy object at your head. Sprawl is also a company that sends me a check on a regular basis for wearing their shorts…I know what you’re thinking: Forrest, you’re not even good at sprawling, so why do you wear their shorts? Well, because they don’t have clothes that say cheesy shit, like “I’d rather be choking you out” or “Snap, Tap, or Nap.” Personally, I don’t like wearing clothes that invite confrontation.
Ground and pound: When someone refers to this word in a nonsexual sense, it means taking an opponent to the mat, obtaining a dominating top position, and then pulverizing his face with fists and elbows until his head looks like a six-month-old Halloween pumpkin.
Lay and pray: The art of taking an opponent down and lying on top of him in the hope of eking out a victory. Instead of throwing strikes and actually trying to win the fight, you want to sort of wiggle around on top of your opponent and give him as much man love as possible.
Check: The act of elevating your leg to block an opponent’s kick. It’s also a small piece of paper that you want to avoid touching when in a large group by running out of a restaurant or slipping off to a bathroom.
Jujitsu: When two sweaty people roll around together in pajamas or in shorts and no shirt. Just like when you played the spit game with your little brother in elementary school, the goal is to get your opponent to say uncle. However, instead of accomplishing this by hawking a loogy and dangling it toward your opponent’s upturned face, you try your best to break his arms and legs and make him lose control of his bowels by choking him unconscious.
Glockenspiel: This hilarious word is actually the name of a musical instrument in the percussion family. It’s a lot like a piano in that the keys are laid out next to one another, but the instrument is small enough for a fat German lady to strap it around her neck. This word is important because few people know what a glockenspiel is, and therefore it can be used as a size reference. For example, when a chick you want to take home inquires about the size of your cock, you can say, “Honey, my cock is as big as the keys on a glockenspiel.” Sounds big, right? Well, what the subject probably won’t know is that a glockenspiel has different size keys. The keys on one end are tiny, and the keys on the other end are large. If she gets angry and calls you a liar after sex, pull out the picture of the glockenspiel that you carry in your wallet. In your case, the small key should already be circled.
Wretched: This is one of my favorite words, but unfortunately the only time it can be properly used is when someone farts, shits, et cetera…
Lassitude (noun): The art of lassoing small animals with a really thick rope: her lassitude was amazing.
What’s Good for the Gray Goose Is Good for Your Gayness
Never ride on the subway reading a copy of the acclaimed novel The Picture of Dorian Gray. If you’re not one to trust the advice of a complete stranger, I guess I’ll tell you why. A while ago I made a trip to Washington, D.C., and had to get around by subway. Not wanting to engage in conversation with my fellow travelers, I pulled out the copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray that I had recently picked up, based upon a friend’s recommendation. After reading a couple of pages, I noticed that a guy was standing above me, staring into my eyes with a smile on his face. It was obvious that he wanted more than my autograph, so I quickly dropped my eyes and pretended to keep reading. Eventually he went away and I got back into the story. I read maybe another two or three pages when I noticed another man standing above me, giving me that same look. Thinking that I was just being homophobic, I returned a smile and again continued to read. I noticed him leave in my peripheral vision, but he was replaced by another man with a warm smile.
DICK IN A BOX
by Big John
Forrest forgot to mention how insanity can sometimes be a good method for getting out of traffic tickets. I admit, this might not work for everyone, but somehow it worked for Forrest. While working as a bouncer, he got pulled over by a Clark County police officer for speeding. Normally he wouldn’t care much about this, but in addition to being in a bad mood, his tags were expired, his driver’s license was expired, and he didn’t have insurance. This was about the same time he was living in that shitty, one-bedroom apartment, watching Good Will Hunting all day, and having imaginary conversations with me. Thinking that he would get hauled off to jail was more than he could take. When the officer approached his vehicle, instead of identifying himself as a former cop, like all men who have been in law enforcement would do, he began beating his head into the steering wheel of his shitty car. Now, Forrest has had some shitty cars, but this one was a serious piece of shit—the kind of car a homeless lady with four kids might live in. So you can only imagine what the cop was thinking. Here was this large, apparently deranged individual, repeatedly bouncing his head off the steering wheel and crying like the day he was born. Naturally, the police officer asked him to stop. Forrest took his advice and stopped beating his head into the steering wheel, but apparently sitting there idly and answering the cop’s questions wasn’t an option. So Forrest exited the vehicle and began kicking the front left tire and pounding on the hood with his fists. Fearing for his life, the cop dropped his hand to his gun and ordered Forrest back into his car. Again, Forrest obeyed, but the instant he was back in the seat, he began to bite and chew on his steering wheel like a rabid dog. The cop attempted to ask Forrest a few questions, but when he received no answer, he dropped a business card for the county mental-health facility into Forrest’s lap, slowly backed away to his squad car, and sped off. If Forrest had only mentioned that he was a former cop, he probably would have gotten off, but his antics led to a much more entertaining story for this book. It was one hell of a way to get out of a moving violation.
Slightly freaked out at this point, I looked up at this guy and shook my head as if to say, “What?” His smile widened, his eyes narrowed seductively, and he nodded to the book I was holding. I flipped it over just to make sure the jacket didn’t say The Idiot’s Guide to Man Love. It still said The Picture of Dorian Gray, so I looked back at him and shrugged my shoulders. He flipped his head back, clearly insulted, and strutted off. Truly perplexed, I Googled the author, Oscar Wilde, when I got home, and learned that he was gay. I felt bad for the guy because I’m sure when he wrote the book over a hundred years prior, his intention wasn’t for it to become a calling card for hot, gay sex. So heed my warning, if you read this book, do so in the privacy of your own home. Well, unless…
A Good Motto to Live By
If you’re looking for a good motto to live by, look no further than the one I saw written on the wall of my local gun club: As a good American, you should have a smile on your face and kind words for everyone you meet. As well as a plan to kill them.
My Recommendations…Bitch
There’s a good chance the majority of the horseshit advice I’ve given you in this book won’t work, but the one thing I pride myself on is my taste in movies, television shows, and music. I am a pop-culture connoisseur. If you disagree with one of my recommendations, I don’t need to meet you or talk to you on the phone to know your type. You’re undoubtedly an inbred douche bag who regularly attends feltching parties. Nobody loves you or wants to be your friend. You’re a loser.
So go feltch someone, loser. Go sit your loser ass in a public restroom and feltch the guy in the stall next to you. Oh, and by the way, fuck you.
Movies
Grandma’s Boy: This one is on the top of the list because it’s the best movie eva—and I don’t even smoke weed.
28 Days Later: This movie reinvented the horror genre by simply making the zombies move faster. I can just see the writers sitting around in a room, trying to come up with an angle that hasn’t been done a zillion times. Suddenly one guy jumps up. “I got it, let’s make them move superfast.” If I had been in the meeting, I would have made this guy feel small with insults and then spit on his shoes. Shows you how much I know—they actually pulled it off.
Intacto: This movie is on the list because it is foreign. Yes, I’m one of those pompous assholes who likes to talk pretentiously about foreign films I can’t understand in order to appear smarter and more cultured than I really am. But seriously, this movie is a delightful cinematic collage of sardonic humor and wit that enlightens the senses like an aged bottle of wine from the south of France.
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas/Where the Buffalo Roam: These two movies are very similar because they’re both based on the life of Hunter S. Thompson. They also both rock in a major way. I’ve been told it’s best to watch them under the influence of a powerful hallucinogen, but this is certainly not mandatory. I’ve watched them both sober as a minister and they’re still fuckin’ awesome. In fact, I liked them so much I moved to Las Vegas. Seriously.
Unforgiven: This movie is slow and depressing, which is just how I like ’em. It’s also how I like my women. Wait, that doesn’t even make sense. Never mind…And damn straight I sip on cappuccino when I talk about my movies. I may even wear a beret. Do somethin’. (I’m not feeling quite right at this moment in time.)
Charade: This movie is more clever than any other movie ever.
Stranger Than Fiction: I should hate this movie because my wife told me that she would bail on me in a heartbeat for the main character, Harold Crick. If it was anything less than hilarious, I would have given it a thumbs-down. But I’ll admit—if Harold Crick propositioned me, I would need at least a few minutes to think about it.
Good Will Hunting: For a two-year period in my life, I didn’t have cable, and this was one of the two movies that I owned. I played it over and over for ambient noise, and after about a year, I actually believed that the main characters were my friends. I even began talking like them. How you like them apples, bitch?
Gladiator: This is the most awesome, manly movie since Braveheart. Great movie to watch before a fight.
Brick: This is one of the most original movies to come out in a long time. It’s about awesomeness.
Caddyshack: This movie influenced the way we speak in modern times. I seriously don’t understand how anyone could not like this movie—and that means you, Erich Krauss. Fucking retard.
Meatballs: Bill Murray’s character, Tripper Harrison, is as cool as we all want to be. The movie is great.
Super Troopers: It’s everything that being a cop should be, but isn’t.
Fight Club: This movie actually ruined my life. Instead of taking it as a black comedy, I took it seriously. For the longest time I contemplated giving up all my worldly possessions and living like a Native American. But seriously, we all really should wear leather clothing because that shit lasts longer than cotton or spandex.
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: The coauthor of this book, Erich Krauss, actually made me put this one on the list. I guess it’s his faaavorite movie. When I told him I actually liked a Fistful of Dollars better, he almost began crying.
Once Upon a Time in the West: This movie should be seen by every guy because it shows you what true manliness is all about. It’s slow, but give it a shot.
The Empire Strikes Back: The reason I picked this over the other Star Wars flicks is that I hate movies that have happy endings.
Bands
Nine Inch Nails: They got me through some dark, depressing times in high school…or maybe they just made those times darker. I still have scars on my arms that they’re responsible for.
Guns n’ Roses (circa 1987): No explanation needed.
Rolling Stones: They are actually a hundred and seven years old, and they still play better music than the rock bands today…I’ve heard that since they are senior citizens, they actually get a discount on their street drugs.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: All their love songs are basically horror stories. How true is that?
T.I.: You know, “Got my nine in my left, a forty-five in my other hand…” You got to love a guy who gets arrested by the ATF for trying to purchase a machine gun.
DICK IN A BOX
by Big John
Although a lot of the shit Forrest says in this book might sound like a joke, the majority of it is real. That includes him talking like the guys from Good Will Hunting. Around the same time that he was having imaginary conversations with me, he watched that movie over and over maybe a thousand times. It didn’t matter what time of the day or night you walked into his shitty, run-down apartment—Good Will Hunting would always be playing. For most people, playing the same movie nonstop would be a form of torture. I mean, isn’t that what crazy scientists do to fuck with people’s heads—play the same shit over and over until the subject loses any resemblance of a mind? I suggested that he purchase cable to get some variety, but Forrest hated regular TV. He also held the belief that cable was for pussies. He was perfectly content warping his mind with Good Will Hunting. But instead of going crazy like most people would, he became one of the characters in the movie. In addition to talking with a Boston accent, he would quote lines out of the movie. If he couldn’t find a line in the movie that resembled what he wanted to say, he would pull shit from other movies (but keep the Boston accent). Just when I became certain that Forrest’s speech had forever changed, the VHS tape broke from overuse. A short while later, his speech returned to normal.
TV Shows
Dexter: This show makes me want to kill people more than I already do. Don’t worry, I know I’m not smart enough to get away with it.
Psych: This show is about cool, clever shit. I also have a non-gay-man crush on James Roday. Well, at least 95 percent nongay.
Firefly: The best TV show of all time.
Pushing Daisies: The best TV show of all time. This time I mean it. The fact that this show was canceled has caused me to lose all faith in humanity. If people cannot appreciate Pushing Daisies, we are doomed. What? They canceled it? Fuck.
BOOK 4
HANDLING YOUR BUSINESS
A Gym by Any Other Name Don’t Smell as Sweet
If you’re just getting into mixed martial arts, before worrying about finding a fight coach, a manager, and a decent promoter, you’ve got to put in at least a year of hard training. (How did I come up with a year?…Because I said so.) How quickly you advance will depend a lot on your natural athleticism and motivation, but it is also extremely important to find a good gym. Luckily, the majority of gyms allow you to take an introductory trial, and I strongly suggest going to as many of these as possible before making your decision. It’s easy to get swayed by metals and trophies and titles, most of which belong to the gym’s coaches, but oftentimes great fighters make horrible coaches. In the beginning, you don’t need a world-champion jujitsu black belt. All you need is someone who will take the time to show you the basics, which can be accomplished by a blue belt. After each introductory class, you should ask yourself three things: 1) Did I have fun? 2) Did I get pushed? 3) Did I learn something? If the answer to these questions is yes, then you’ve probably found a good gym to kick-start your training. However, it is also important to take location into consideration. If the best gym is twenty minutes across town, there is a larger probability that you’ll bail on class after a busy day. If you’re like most of us and have motivational issues, sometimes your best bet is to choose the gym that is not quite as good but more conveni
ent. Better to get to a decent gym three times a week than a great gym three times a month. Fatty.
Put Me in, Coach
(but Please Don’t Push from Behind)
Once you make the decision to start fighting professionally, it’s in your best interests to find a fight coach to monitor your training and prepare you for your upcoming bouts. I was fortunate because I began my training with a group of guys who were all active fighters, and when I showed promise in the sport, they unselfishly tailored practice to my needs. They also proved to be excellent cornermen, which often isn’t the case. I’ve seen this a lot—a fighter agrees to corner his buddy and help him through weight cutting and all the bullshit he needs to do to get ready for the big night, but having just recently come off a fight himself, all he wants to do is party. When it comes to fight night, the cornerman is either hungover or still drunk, leading to predictably terrible advice. To avoid such an outcome, as well as get the best possible training leading up to the fight, it is in your best interest to get an actual fight coach.
Got Fight? Page 14
