Make Me Feel Pretty, War Machine

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For reasons that should be obvious, some professional MMA fighters don’t like me. Plenty of people don’t like me, but MMA fighters are the only ones to have gone to extreme lengths to make sure I know about it.

Notable instances include the time that pro wrestler turned meat-block turned shitty MMA fighter Bobby Lashley offered one of my then-superiors money in exchange for my home address; the time laughably incompetent steroid cheat Josh Barnett got in a colleague’s face because he thought my colleague was me; and the time several members of the perma-teenaged Cesar Gracie crew warned some other colleagues of mine that I was going to get beat down (or something) if I didn’t watch my mouth and/or keyboard. Thankfully, I have yet to be assaulted by a MMA fighter, professional or otherwise. They’ve had their chances to be sure, but none have dared to face the pain/step to this.

Believe me, I think this is all as stupid as you do. I thought it so stupid that I didn’t think it could get any stupider. This was what I thought, and I thought it because a MMA fighter who legally changed his name to War Machine, was kicked out of the porn industry for being too fucking crazy and later did a year in prison for felony assault had not yet decided that he wanted to beat me up, for no reason beyond me being a total gay pussy homo-tron or something to that effect. And then that happened and kept on happening and we all reassessed how stupid a thing could be.

He seemed upset by my Twitter bio, but it’s otherwise sort of tough to tell where it all came from. The thing remained stupid and became interesting only when Mr. Machine offered to fly me out to “spar” with him at his San Diego gym. I thought the proposition stupid even by the standards of stupidity already set forth, but noted Classical-ist Tim Marchman saw an opportunity for me to take advantage of Mr. Machine’s generosity and turn this surefire misadventure into the greatest profile ever written. I assume he regarded the possibility of me getting my ass kicked by a crazy person to be a bonus.

Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. Mr. Machine disregarded my stipulations (full access, interview time and GOOD fish tacos to be paid for in full by Mr. Machine) and declared that he was done “toying” with me. Given that Mr. Machine’s Twitter bio plainly states he does “Alpha Male shit”, I consulted the Bro Gods (I can’t give away all the identities, but Papa John Schnatter, Jose Canseco and Mike Rice are on the supreme council) and was told that “toying” with someone over Twitter is, in fact, not at all Alpha Male shit. Actually, it is the opposite of Alpha Male shit. So, yes, I can report that Mr. Machine did something that is so Raven.

However, it’s not all bad news, at least not on this end. Mr. Machine, a former employee of Las Vegas’ premier alternative gay nightclub Krave, wanted to “toy” and “spar” with me, and I have no choice but to be flattered. I’m going to go feel pretty and make myself some fish tacos.

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