Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. It is the Northernmost major city in the world second only to St. Petersburg, Russia. It is cold. It is windy. Its hockey team has consistently finished in last place for a number of years now, falling from the previous glory as the Greatest Team ever to lace up some skates. "The City of Champions", is what our Welcome Sign says (*Now Champion Free Since 1991!). We have the highest number of homicides in Canada year to date, most of which are unsolved, most of which are committed with knives.
As a newly minted Champion of the UFC's glamour division on an incendiary hot streak, this is the place for me.
Welcome to Stabtown, Mr. Jones.
Don't ask me why, but for some reason the local dirty club that attracts hordes of 18-year old sluts (Did I mention the legal age in Stabtown is 18? Cuz it is) constantly brings in high level UFC stars to help attract business on certain Saturday nights. Considering 98% of the local wildlife couldn't even pick Chuck out of a line, I have come to the conclusion the owner is a UFC fanboy with way too much money on his hands. He also MC's the Wet-T Shirt contest held at midnight. Another conclusion leads me to believe this mutherfucker has somehow stolen my intended life, but I digress. Jones is a comin', and while not a fan of his personal views on the Sweet Leaf, and despite the fact he just crumpled my favorite LHW like a tampon wrapper, I could not pass up on a chance to shoot the shit with the UFC Light-Heavyweight Champion.
Being an MMA fan is tough sometimes. In a land where stick-and-ball reigns supreme in the hearts of men, finding homies to go meet arguably the most dangerous man in the world can be a trying experience. I know you jackals would probably give me a pint of bodily fluid of my choosing for such a chance, but the general public is not as enthusiastic regarding UFC Champions for some reason. As a result my recruiting conversations went a lot like this:
Me: "Yo, Jon Jones is coming tonight. let's go meet him."
Ray: "Mmmmm... Jones eh? Didn't he just rape Shogun?"
Ray: "And you want to meet him? Isn't Shogun like your gay lover or something?"
Me: "Yes. Shogun is my gay lover."
Ray: "Well, iuno. Leafs are playin tonight. Let me think about it. Oh hey. I forgot to tell you something."
Ray: "ATHIS IS THE TALE! OFA CAPTAIN JACK SPARROOOW!"
Me: "Okay. Great."
Ray: "THE PAUPER OF THE SURF! THE JESTER OF TORTUGAAAA!"
Eric spares me the Captain Jack when I call, but is equally as hesitant to join, some more absurdity about some dudes skating around fighting a puck instead of each other, except of course when an actual fight breaks out, always only with one hand and sometimes with helmets.
Me: "Man. Jon fucking Jones. Remember the last time with Randy? Remember how bad it burns every time we see him on TV and I'm like 'OOooooh you could have hung out with Randy too but you were too busy bleeding out your vag that night to come out'?"
Me: "So what the fuck then."
While not as poetically expressive as Ray, Eric's love for MMA shines through when it's needed most. And with the addition of Eric, Ray would also be sure to join as he has no car and will basically be stuck in his $300/month 1 room stank ass basement suite for his Saturday night unless he comes with us. Add Brazilian Hotwife to the mix and I now officially have a crew to go meet Bones with. Let the games begin.
Ray, Eric, and Ray's brother Jeff (man, no other name rhymes with Jeff. Here's to hoping he doesn't sue me) arrive at the crib 7:30 ish, I can hear the dubstep emanating from the parking lot that follows Eric everywhere he goes. As they step through the door I notice 2 things:
1. Redbull Tall Case, 1/4 remaining.
2. 40oz. Smirnoff Lemon, 1/4 remaining. Fuck. Me.
"Yo, fuck that! Shotokanman taught me how to get out of that shit," Eric exclaims to Ray. A heated Rear-Naked-Choke debate is taking place as they enter.
"This FOOL thinks he can get out of a choke, from ME." I should point out here that Ray is a bricklayer, and about 6'1, 220. Eric is about 5'10, 170 and is definitely not a bricklayer. I think "Club Kid" would best describe Eric's chosen vocation. I should also point out that I had shown Eric, earlier in the week, how to defend a choke, not escape a fully sunk RNC, bit of a difference there.
Eric squares up in my living room with his back to Ray.
"Fuckin do it then bitch!" Eric is confident in his fighting skills. Brazilian Hotwife hears the situation brewing from the other room and has a different opinion.
"I don't theenk this is a good idea Eric." She knows more about fighting than any 2 average men, and has an idea of what is about to happen.
"Naw. Let 'em go," I say. I believe it's only funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's fucking hilarious.
Jay proceeds to wrap Eric up in a basic yet practically effective RNC, lifting him off the ground from behind.
"See... I.. HKKK... I... HkkkKKKkk..." Eric's eyes bulge from their sockets as he gropes blindly for one of Ray's wrists. I think I can hear the Ecstasy atrophied bones in his neck cracking. Ray begins to sing as Eric goes limp:
"The PAUPER of the SURF! The JESTER of TooorrTUGAAA!! Oooooh!"
"I think he's out man," I say. Ray disagrees with me non-verbally. Believing Eric is shamming and playing possum by going limp, he tightens his grip. Eric's tongue protrudes out the corner of his mouth along with another "HhhkKKK....".
"Ray HE IS FACKEENG OUT MAN!" Brazlian Hotwife is very concerned for Eric apparently. Something to do with Eric being her boss' son or some such nonsense. Ray releases the choke and Eric slides to the floor.
"Oh, fuck off man." Ray begins to giggle. "Is he fuckin DEAD? AhhahahahahaHAAHH!"
I am considering getting Hotwife to check Eric for an erection (a sign of spinal trauma, you know) when he blinks a little and comes to.
It's now 7:41. I have decided I am going to skip ahead to when we meet Bones or this is going to go way beyond fanpost territory. Let me just say there were a couple other incidents along the way but I eventually got them into my car and on the way to the club.
We have been in this dirty ass club for almost an hour and a half now, and standing in the exact same spot for at least 45 minutes. Having met a few other fighters here I was familiar with the drill and knew where to be standing to be the first one in line, and boy, do I hate me some bar. Like, I can't STAND that shit. The terrible "Music" the dooshbags, the whores (Admittedly, not so bad) the desperation in the air... So I wanted to get my Jones time and get the fuck out, and I wasn't the only one. We had lost Ray and Jeff along the way, as rumors of a wet T-Shirt contest preceded and effectively erased anything Bones related from their minds. Eric had sobered up a bit and remained with Hotwife and I, though a bit unsteady on his feet. Hotwife was getting bitchy. Where the fuck is Jones? Just then a bouncer came up and connected a rope to the bar right in front of me, blocking of a sizable section of the club.
"And this is where the line starts, right homie?" I asked over the din. He gave me a nod and a knowing smile. Excellent. Who says all bouncers are d-bags anyways?
Once the rope was put up, of course a line begins to form behind it, regardless of the fact these hyenas had no idea what they were lining up for. Pretty soon the area behind the rope was a throng of people waiting to get in to the blocked off section. A few minutes later as some tripe by the Black Eyed Pea's was raping my ears, I see a door open in the wall behind the roped of section, and there is Mr. Bones himself. The music cuts out and to my utter amazement, a dope ass highlight reel of Jones comes on the Bigscreens. If only this is what they did at the bar all the time, I mused.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE GIVE A HOT CELEBRITY SATURDAY WELCOME TO THE U! F! C! LIGHTHEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION JONNY! BONES! JOOOOOONES!" Jones steps out from behind a door in the blocked off section, steps to the railing and waves to the crowd below. He garbles some shit into the terrible mic that no one understands, they all scream anyways. Jones walks over to our area and gets situated. The bouncer walks over and grabs the rope. It's go time.
"Just two," he says. Me and Hotwife it is. Jones stands with a smile on his face as I approach him, looking me directly in the eyes, like we went to school together in Grade 2 and we are just seeing each other again years later. Pretty warm welcome from someone labelled as an arrogant prick by the fans and media, no? He wears a hand brace, and shakes my hand very gently, as if I were a woman. I can't resist :"So, how is the hand, anyways?" This was right after Jones had decided to recant on his decision to have surgery once Rashad was signed to fight Phil Davis.
"It's good," Jones says with a half-smile. You want a picture?" he is already placing his arm around me, gesturing to Hotwife who has already taken 2.
"Sure man. You think you could sign my shirt too?" I had purchased a Hyabusa shirt ($20 at Winners!) earlier that day for just such a purpose.
"No problem man." Jones took the shirt with a smile and proceeded to flatten the shirt out on the bar and take his time signing it proper, gimp hand and all.
After some words about how I couldn't believe he turned Shogun out like a dirty trick it was Hotwifes turn.
"Listen buddy, I am from Curitiba!" She exclaims as she shakes Bones' hand. Greeeeat. Here we go.
"But even I have to say you did a very good job with Shogun." Jones laughs. Isn't she great, folks?
She then talks his ear off as I get some pictures, eventually he allows her to apply a RNC to the UFC Light Heavyweight Champion. I should have thought of that.
The bouncer comes up and indicates the hyenas would also like some time with Mr. Jones, and after thanking us profusely for coming, we shake hands a final time and are on our way.
All in all, I feel pretty damn good about meeting Jon Jones. Eric got a great picture with him doing the staredown, and I'm sure he was just as cool with the 300 other people that came after. Hardly the picture of a man that is "not as mature mentally as he is physically."
So Jones draws the line at signing a replica UFC belt. What he will do is talk to you like a normal person, clown for pictures, sign whatever you want other than a replica UFC belt. Is that "Obnoxious" or "Self important"? Saying things like that about a professional fighter based off of a media interview is a bit presumptuous, and I for one would say it would be better to meet someone in person before you start casting stones.
Because Jon Jones is cool shit.
On a side note, when Brazilian Hotwife asked to touch the belt Jones' man was holding?
"You can if you want, but it's a fake."
Me and Bonsey (He lets me call him Bonsey)
"But you did a very good show with Shogun."
RNC 1st Round.
Crunk Ass Club Series Next Post?
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