my Anderson Silva fight reviews

UFC 101 ( versus Forrest Griffin ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Forrest Griffin at UFC 101

UFC 112 ( versus Demian Maia ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Demian Maia at UFC 112

UFC 117 ( versus Chael Sonnen ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Chael Sonnen at UFC 117

UFC 126 ( versus Vitor Belfort ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Vitor Belfort at UFC 126

UFC 134 ( versus Yushin Okami ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Yushin Okami at UFC 134

UFC 148 ( versus Chael Sonnen ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Chael Sonnen at UFC 148

UFC 153 ( versus Stephan Bonnar ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Stephan Bonnar at UFC 153

UFC 162 ( versus Chris Weidman ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Chris Weidman at UFC 162

UFC 168 ( versus Chris Weidman ) :

video review : Chris Weidman versus Anderson Silva at UFC 168

UFC 183 ( versus Nick Diaz ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Nick Diaz at UFC 183

UFC Fight Night ( versus Michael Bisping ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Michael Bisping at UFC Fight Night

UFC 200 ( versus Daniel Cormier ) :

video review : Daniel Cormier versus Anderson Silva at UFC 200

UFC 208 ( versus Derek Brunson ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Derek Brunson at UFC 208

UFC 234 ( versus Israel Adesanya ) :

video review : Israel Adesanya versus Anderson Silva at UFC 234

UFC 237 ( versus Jared Cannonier ) :

video review : Jared Cannonier versus Anderson Silva at UFC 237

UFC Fight Night ( versus Uriah Hall ) :

video review : Uriah Hall versus Anderson Silva at UFC Fight Night

Tribute To The Kings ( versus Julio César Chávez Junior ) :

video review : Julio César Chávez Junior versus Anderson Silva at Tribute To The Kings

Triller Fight Club ( versus Tito Ortiz ) :

video review : Anderson Silva versus Tito Ortiz at Triller Fight Club

The Lady’s Dressing Room ( poem ) … Jonathan Swift

Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)
By haughty Celia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues.

Strephon, who found the room was void
And Betty otherwise employed,
Stole in and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay;
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.

And first a dirty smock appeared,
Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared.
Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide
And turned it round on every side.
On such a point few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
And swears how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.
Now listen while he next produces
The various combs for various uses,
Filled up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt.
A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair;
A forehead cloth with oil upon’t
To smooth the wrinkles on her front.
Here alum flower to stop the steams
Exhaled from sour unsavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsy’s hide,
Bequeath’d by Tripsy when she died,
With puppy water, beauty’s help,
Distilled from Tripsy’s darling whelp;
Here gallypots and vials placed,
Some filled with washes, some with paste,
Some with pomatum, paints and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fouled with the scouring of her hands;
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings of her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.
But oh! it turned poor Strephon’s bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed
With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed.
No object Strephon’s eye escapes:
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot
All varnished o’er with snuff and snot.
The stockings, why should I expose,
Stained with the marks of stinking toes;
Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking,
Which Celia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found
To pluck her brows in arches round,
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.

The virtues we must not let pass,
Of Celia’s magnifying glass.
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on’t
It shewed the visage of a giant.
A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Celia’s nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
(For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out alive or dead.)

Why Strephon will you tell the rest?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it standing full in sight
For you to exercise your spite.
In vain, the workman shewed his wit
With rings and hinges counterfeit
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes;
For Strephon ventured to look in,
Resolved to go through thick and thin;
He lifts the lid, there needs no more:
He smelt it all the time before.
As from within Pandora’s box,
When Epimetheus oped the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of humane evils upwards flew,
He still was comforted to find
That Hope at last remained behind;
So Strephon lifting up the lid
To view what in the chest was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent.
But Strephon cautious never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope
And foul his hands in search of Hope.
O never may such vile machine
Be once in Celia’s chamber seen!
O may she better learn to keep
“Those secrets of the hoary deep”!

As mutton cutlets, prime of meat,
Which, though with art you salt and beat
As laws of cookery require
And toast them at the clearest fire,
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon the cinder drops,
To stinking smoke it turns the flame
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came;
And up exhales a greasy stench
For which you curse the careless wench;
So things which must not be exprest,
When plumpt into the reeking chest,
Send up an excremental smell
To taint the parts from whence they fell,
The petticoats and gown perfume,
Which waft a stink round every room.

Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away
Repeating in his amorous fits,
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!

But vengeance, Goddess never sleeping,
Soon punished Strephon for his peeping:
His foul Imagination links
Each dame he see with all her stinks;
And, if unsavory odors fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits
By vicious fancy coupled fast,
And still appearing in contrast.

I pity wretched Strephon blind
To all the charms of female kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refuse
Because she rose from stinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene
Satira’s but some pocky queen.
When Celia in her glory shows,
If Strephon would but stop his nose
(Who now so impiously blasphemes
Her ointments, daubs, and paints and creams,
Her washes, slops, and every clout
With which he makes so foul a rout),
He soon would learn to think like me
And bless his ravished sight to see
Such order from confusion sprung,
Such gaudy tulips raised from dung.

dreams I had

a girl interviewing me for school

living in an apartment in Detroit

meeting Stevie Wonder

having sex with Michelle Waterson

watching a movie that started to become real

my next-door neighbor and a bunch of dogs

a girl who was about to let me put my tongue in her ass

living in a college dorm and seeing an enormous insect

a gay school teacher giving me his phone number

lying to a high school security guard to get out of trouble

a woman named Rebecca

a girl staring at me like she wanted to fuck

driving my cars from a bus

witnessing a crazy traffic collision

being late for class

arguing with Alex Malpass

taking pictures of girls I used to know

two old people who vacationed a lot

being at school with Wendy and Leanne

a co-worker named Eugene

a video girl who seemed to have a crush on me

kissing and fondling a girl named Wendy

living with people and a caged bird

walking to a college campus and teleporting back home to get my car

500 girls at a hotel

a teen prison inmate attempting an escape

a man and a woman near the end of their romance

my car being repossessed

being on a tower and trying to run home before being eaten by lions

attending an event with tables of free White Castle burgers

a parachute man

waiting till the last minutes to study for a college exam

taking notes in a history class

taking a photo of a police officer at my job

seeing an airplane going down outside my window

working in a mansion with Sheila

being trapped nude in a bathroom stall

going to Solomon’s Temple in Detroit

a freaky bisexual girl

meeting a distant cousin

seeing two dragons fighting in the night sky

hiring Pinky and Misty to exercise at my mother’s house

asking for Cap’n Crunch at Target

going back to the past

somehow getting an enormous amount of cash from a bank ATM

trying to interview Hulk Hogan for the site

a girl and her sister

being featured on a “reality” TV show with Jack Osbourne

my boss Heather sitting on my face

working for AVI

being in an elementary school reading class

a beat I made

being at home in my apartment

playing Night Of The Living Dead

trading insults with a girl named Eliza

a tube of peanut butter toothpaste

a girl giving me her baby in Miss Dubose’s class

a sweaty porn girl with amazing tits

going back to the past

a dream I had about a girl interviewing me for school

She started out by asking me a question about “God”. She was reading off of a paper or the screen of her phone to put it in the exact words she’d prepared in advance, but she was reading it too fast and monotonously, which made her sound like a novice interviewer.

I guess she was. It seems she was doing the interview as part of a school; high school or college; assignment. There was no video that I was aware of, but she must’ve been recording audio of it as another girl about the same age as her watched us from a few feet away.

I interrupted to ask what God she was talking about. Her reply implied the Christian God. “So the God of Christianity,” I said. She confirmed, which was probably weird for her because she was apparently a Christian and Christians reject the possibility of other Gods.

She continued to read a verbose question that assumed the existence of God to which I replied by saying I don’t think there is; emphasis on the word “is”; a God. She didn’t reply back. She just went on to the next question, actually a set of questions, about war and morality.

I interrupted her again. “You’re asking me too many questions at once,” I might’ve worded my complaint; “I hate when people question-pile like that.” “Hate” would’ve been too strong of a word in real life and I doubt I would’ve used a gay term like “question-pile”, but it worked.

She summarized her questions down to one that got to the point. I don’t remember her exact words, but she was asking what I thought about innocent civilians dying in wars. “I don’t care,” I said as the two girls stared at me with blank expressions; “I mean it doesn’t matter.”

I said that, though I generally thought it was wrong, it didn’t matter in any objective sense because morality is subjective. I started to ask if she knows the difference between “objective” and “subjective” before telling her I’m not going to put her on the spot and explaining it myself.

2021 ( September 05 )

a dream I had about living in an apartment in Detroit

Perhaps that was me who looked like a cross between YZ, a rapper from the 1990s, and Doug E Doug; a young man striving to be the best school teacher in the world. I was already a teacher, in fact; if indeed it was me whose face I saw in this pleasantly cryptic dream; perhaps just a happy substitute at the beginning of his illustrious career.

I lived in a Detroit apartment that went from cluttered and congested to relatively spacious in what seemed like hours. I remember looking around at all the furniture and knick-knacks I’d collected over the years in a state of pride. “My home actually looks like a home,” I thought, maybe in those exact words, instead of a college dorm.

My suite, at least the early tiny of version of it, was on one of the mid-level to higher floors in a complex scarily and dangerously close to an airport. I could literally see the wings of the airplanes, taking off and landing, a few feet from my window. Never mind the noise they made. Knowing me, that was my trade-off for cheap rent.

The owner of the building used to be somewhat famous. He was either a former NFL player or a character from an old TV show. I can’t remember which, but I remember seeing him on TV, at present time in the dream, walking around a low-lit and seemingly vacant section of the apartment in some kind of local news segment.

Eventually the dream switched to the kitchen of the house I grew-up in. Frank was visiting. His mother had just put something white, or made something white we put, in the cabinet I don’t remember whether or not was there in real life before she died. We talked about the significance of it in regard to its sentimental value.

2021 ( September 04 )