Colossal Personal Concerns


Right out of the gate, the Colossus drops a bomb of knowledge–we are not all created the same. Everyone knows this. It’s as plain as the perfectly sculpted nose on my face. Everyone is good at different things, which is perfect, as it’s the way it’s meant to be. No one will argue with this as how could they? In any nursery school, one of the first lessons you will learn is that we are all special and unique in different ways.

Imagine how boring life would be if we were the same.

So then, why is it that, even though practically everyone you talk to will nod in agreement with this simple, true statement, we seem to be getting further and further away from this in our daily lives. “How so?” I hear you ask. Well, it seems to me–actually, strike that, it’s a cold hard fact–that more and more people want to do more and more things that they’re not actually capable of.

Who am I to say what anyone is capable of? And that’s the thing! Who is *anyone* to say what anyone else is capable of? No one can make that call, and no one should, because we’re all different, from person to person.

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So, what’s this all about? What’s Meggings? Why, as men, should we be against them? Well first off, Meggings are the male version of leggings.

As far as I can see they’re exactly the same as the ladies legging but the marketing geniuses have come up with a clever ploy to hood-wink all you confused males out there that could possibly wear these things!

They simply changed the L in leggings for an M, thus making them manlier. BRILLIANT! Argggghhh…. I can’t fucking take it anymore, what’s happening? Is it me? Am I just an ageing, out of date fool that should just shut up and watch as males are turned in to females in front of my very eyes?

The Meggings are a symbol. They’re a line in the sand. We, as men, have to say no more, it’s not happening! We’re not going to fall for it…NO!!!!

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When drugs are mentioned what image does it conjure up in your mind? Al Pacino, with his head buried in a face full of coke with his “little friend “close by his side? A hippie stoner smoking to “pacify” and becoming at one with the sofa? Or maybe it’s a massive professional wrestler with a needle filled with a strange substance, meant for a horse, jabbing it in his overly muscled buttocks. Maybe it’s the single mum of three who needs her little blue pills to get through her day–to quote the Rolling Stones, “mother’s little helper.” Point being, all of these things are DRUGS, and they have different levels of acceptance by the eternally wise public.

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Self Awareness – Bad Liars & Boring People (& the end of the world)

Now, these two types of people are different in some ways but at their core they are very similar. I’ll explain…

When it comes to the bad liar variety you can have someone tell you a terrible, badly thought out lie and in them doing this you can find it, them and the whole experience mind-numbingly boring and maddening.

In the boring guys case, you could have one of these (boring guy) telling you the inner workings of ‘simulation theory’ whilst you nearly fall asleep mid-way through their intelligent waffle, whereas on the other hand someone else (not you) would appreciate listening to this bomb-blast of knowledge that you’re being subjected to.
The person telling you just isn’t aware of whether you’re interested in what they are saying or not, as the case may be, or they don’t care as they find it so interesting themselves, how could anyone else not!

The common factor in these two types of story tellers is self-awareness, or rather the lack of it.

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It was a Sunday and it was surreal, well that about covers it, thanks for reading :)

Oh I’m such a joker! What am I like!?

Now, the start of the day wasn’t surreal at all. Maybe a little startling as someone was hammering on the door at around 10.30 am. This was only my third day of living at Wesley the ‘old owl king’ Murch’s gym, Olympians Mma, so I wasn’t sure if this was a regular occurrence.

The knocking was getting progressively louder as I tried to summons the energy to move something, anything, as I was still in bed! Once I removed my quilt the ice cold air that inhabits Olympians Mma jolted me into movement as the cold air attacks any exposed skin with a vengeance, which is always a good inspiration to move as quickly as possible.

My mattress was strategically placed towards the end of the mats near the edge of the cage, giving me a wide panoramic view of the squat rack and dip bar. It was all quite beautiful when you factor in the sunlight protruding though the windows.

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Where to draw the line?

Jesus, where to begin with this–and by “this,” I mean conspiracy. Here’s the major problem with conspiracies: in general, people hear the word and they switch off, whether it’s Elvis being alive and well and working in a fish and chip shop down my road, UFOs, 9/11, or UFOs being responsible for 9/11, etc.

The general public will hear the word “conspiracy” and throw it all in the same retarded melting pot, which in itself is a conspiracy. I think conspiracies to the general public are like a mysterious, never-ending Subway sandwich that they have to consume. They’re not sure what’s in it or which end to start from, and they’ve already eaten. In other words, they just don’t have the stomach for it.

With work, family, and life in general, there’s not a whole lot of time to look into who really shot JFK in Dallas–not when Dallas is on and you can see who really shot JR. I’m not like most people (family and friends tell me this all the time) in that I’ve never worked a 9 to 5 job. I make my living from MMA (cage fighting to the uninitiated), and, while listening to someone who makes their living from giving and receiving blows to the head might not sound like the best of ideas, it does give one advantage–time. My work is short and intense and physical, so there’s only so much hard training you can do.

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I was wondering which of the many topics I should delve into now that I’m free from the confines of writing strictly about mma. The one I have chosen didn’t spring to mind right away, which is strange as it is been something that has been on-going for six years, or so.

You are probably sat there reading this wondering what’s been happening for 6 years or so that I haven’t mentioned before and there really is no easy way to say this but I believe my cat is trying to kill me. There, I’ve said it.

Now, of course I’m writing this in a light hearted way but that doesn’t mean that the underlying issue isn’t true. Yes it’s funny that a three hundred plus pound MMA fighter (cage fighter) is scared of his cat, actually let’s not say scared as ‘scared’ is too strong a word, let’s go with ‘wary’. Before I justify my wariness for my cat, I feel that I need to explain who the protagonists are in all of this just so you get the clearest and most whole picture in your minds. So who are Me, you and Buggaloo?

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