Wobble-shop Benjo: ****-wool raked up out the half-rats Skilamalink fly-rink O' Baldric Eggling.

This thread will function as a kind of omnium gatherum for the melange of dissenting observations and opinions I have about MMA, MMA bouts and fighters, things I find humorous, and essentially any other thing. Why? Because sewage warrants proper curation as much as anything else. Arguably more.

Toshers and specklebellies welcome. No mutton-shunters, namby-pambys or needy-mizzlers. Pull up a stool and smother the parrot.

* Edited at 11.01.2021, 6:47 PM ET *

 #POWERFULBREXIT! Sorry if your a remainer XD

* Edited at 02.16.2022, 7:52 PM ET *

Is back at it for another night of crying like a little baby. LOL big dosser

You’re not Rowan Croft aka Grand Torino are you? 😂 

Well done Mr Trudeau. Your despotic ******** is causing a ******* bank run. Jesus christ.

Why do people pay attention to politics like their discussion or opinion will influence any government when it's arm chair opinions, I don't mind this thread but can you really think of any leader that doesn't **** up or is corrupt in some way.

That is a human trait, nobody is perfect, Justin did not make these decisions he is a figure head, there is a team behind him. Every politician is involved in shady business, makes mistakes, and we all act like we are the perfect ones and should make the decisions.

From your keyboard? If you really think your opinion matters, it really doesn't, especially in these times. This is the age of one not recognizing the bad they do and their flaws, and the fact that politics in the end doesn't really matter because your vote doesn't ******* mean anything it's all fixed. 

Chas Skelly   vs.   Mark Striegl 

Story time:

I sharehoused a little between the ages of 15 to about 17, and in one such arrangement used to live with a couple of stoners in a collapsing Hampton's-themed Queenslander. Staircase with treads warped like scotch finger biscuits left out in a brief light shower. Sprawling latticed verandah overgrown with an  ancient, spurious wisteria that was dead half the year and showed the bones of sparrows and starlings mortally wounded by the traffic which had gone there to die. There was a communal bucket bong on the dining room table perpetually, which looking back was probably a kind of open-source project for generating new and virulent strains of influenza, a CFT Television seated on a plastic Milk crate, an X-Box seated on another, and crowding both a frumpish, leprous black velour couch with the fur mostly rubbed off the back and sides and what remained shedding and blowing over the floorboards. It had been dragged off the curb by my flatmates--dyed-in-the-wool wake n' Bakers who had hastily hauled it up the stairs like a dark crime, pallid and slick with amplified anxiety caused by a belief as surprising as it was insane-- as unmistakable skunk-induced paranoiacs are given to be--that they best get it into the house before whoever deposited it there to Mildew under pole cat and drunkard urine realised their folly in bequeathing such a treasure unto the world gratas, and decided to take it back--or else before some astute antiquers happened upon it first.

A sallow thing with sloughing plush sagging in every direction, it was both decrepit and perverse, and just seemed to sit around breathing heavily waiting for somebody to put ****ography in the DVD player. Had it been a man, he'd have been a balding alcoholic accountant named Harold Bishop, probably employed by a pool supplies store. Fridays you'd have found him in a budget strip joint, the carpet stuck-over with a tacky Pleiades of spat-gum boot-rubbed to tar spots, his coke-bottle glasses dangling around his neck, wearing a brown tweed sports jacket missing two buttons. Skin so greasy you could  just lean over with a zippo and light him up. There would be no explosion. Just a graceful blooming of flame. He wouldn't even notice. He'd just sit there burning gently as a Roman candle, stolidly sipping the first in a duckline of eight neat gins, illuminating the room. 

If you'd had tried to spark up a conversation with him, he'd have turned sharply and slit-eyed, like a rat sprung by the janitor eating a urinal cake right out of the trough, raised one hairy little paw with the palm up barely bigger than baby dolls and hissed Lissen, sport. I'm here for two things. The gash and the peanuts.I could give a ****, yannow? And later he'd have gone home to some microwaved crab cakes and instant roast, jerked off to a copy of penthouse dated 1986 crispier than freshly popped burned toast, featuring some megapermed peach-rouged harlot sporting a 4 Foot Bouffant petrified in contempt of gravity with a tin of hairspray that was emptied in a single use and burned a hole through the atmosphere and space-time itself both, plastered in foundation thicker than marzipan on a wedding cake in a futile effort to cover emergent AIDS buboes---of which she had surely long since expired--her bush left to completely run to seed and trailing pubis shaggier than a Hungarian water dog dumped in the woods half the length of the bed post she'd be straddling.

Back on point: My flatmate and I decided that we should try and clean up a little one day, and part of that involved giving the couch a good once-over. We had to remove the cushions which, as is the case with many old couches, had a habit of consuming all manner of things: Change, keys, remote controls and whatever bits and bobs and shuffling them off to no-quarter never to be seen again. However, when we did remove the cushions, we found a cavity under the frame that was that graveyard. We'd lifted one of Harold's sticky folds and hit the jackpot. A  little dragon-pile of  semi-useless and worthless things; spare keys, about six dollars in change etc. But there was one thing that caught our interest: About two-thirds of a partially eaten McDonald's Cheeseburger.

Now, obviously a half-eaten cheeseburger shouldn't be an object of fascination. However, what made this particular burger so was its remarkable state of preservation. We estimated that it had been embedded  in its linty little sarcophagus for anywhere between 8 and thirteen months--a roundabout estimation of the time we had collectively decided we should stop eating on the couch.

I threw out a question pregnant with a suggestion:'You know, I bet you could still eat that..'
Neither of us wanted to. But in the interests of 'science', we devised a plan to make the third half of our living arrangement an unwitting  test subject, citing the fact (or more accurately the possibility) that whatever alchemy had prevented the decay of the burger would undoubtedly prevent him from contracting Food poisoning--which we assumed was a mild thing no more serious than a head cold.We hadn't heard of or known anybody who'd died from it. And even it were more dangerous than we had estimated, we supposed we should do it anyway.

Naturally, one does not feed an 8-month-old half-eaten cheeseburger to somebody apropos of nothing and expect to get away with it without an accompanying charade. There were presentation issues that needed to be overcome. The bun had become especially dry and powdery, not unlike meringue, or the salt-jerked and sun-bleached brittlestars one sometimes finds at the seaside, and had fused together so that the cheese, bun and patty were inseperable.The eaten edge was jagged and showed obvious signs of mastication.

In an effort to create the conceit, we placed the burger in a microwave steam dish and gently nuked it on the medium setting at intervals, slowly bringing it back into a state of hydration until finally, the bun--although not reverting to its store-bought state of freshness, was a fair mock-up of that condition, and the parts indeed became un-welded. The pickles were the most impressive. They appeared as though they had been forked out the brine not two minutes prior.

The next stage involved going to Mcdonalds. We drove out and ordered large Bic mac meals and remarked on how Mcdonalds had no business charging what they did for suck dreck, and bought a cheeseburger, which we shared, keeping the wrapper.On arriving home, we took a knife and carefully sheered off the ragged edge of the mummyburger,  wrapped it in the recently salvaged wrapper, and placed it in a bag with a large chips, and placed the whole thing on the table next to the bucket bong.

Our flatmate--a chubby guy with straw-coloured hard and reddish arms freckled up to the elbow, arrived home from work, saw the bag and asked: You guys get Macca's today? We said we had, and they had mixed up our order and given us both extra cheeseburgers, but we'd left him a serve of large chips and half of one cheeseburger. He opened the bag and asked suspiciously : Did you chew it? Did you put your mouth on it? I told him I hadn't, that I had used a knife, that I wasn't a ******* animal and couldn't believe he'd think I'd give someone a half-chewed burger, and to take a look. He did, and seeing the clean cut became satisfied, and took the chips and burger and reheated them in the microwave. He sat back down and unwrapped the burger, and took a bite.And nothing happened. He took another and another until it was totally consumed. The rest of the night, which involved smoking copious amounts of marijuana, went fairly typically. He did not develop severe vomiting or Diahorrea that evening, or the following evening or the evening following that.

Chas Skelly is basically the equivalent of that burger. He's been in the doldrums for some time, hasn't fought anyone. And although in normal conditions you'd expect that to be a factor, it's truly amazing that he turns up ostensibly exactly the same fighter he was five years ago, having neither evolved nor changed in that time. He's not good, and you expect  him to be terrible and are amazed to find him passable.

Skelly, Dec.

* Edited at 02.16.2022, 10:32 PM ET *

Well. I'll be reading that at break tomorrow

Fish, Did you mean to post that in the Walker vs Hill thread?

I'll probably post it there too just so that Greg knows I don't only hang **** on WMMA fighters.

@Baldric Eggling

That's quite possibly the best thing I've read all year lol!

******* Charles ****ens here @fish

I think baldricfishring is a little bit to much involved into this forum thingy. Starts to look a little bit unhealthy in my opinion. I have a feeling that you treat Gregory as if he was your mom, you mention him so often it gives me those vibes, you know? Are you okay? Isn't that a little bit too much of spending time at a forum for a 40 year old? 

I have never seen anyone so involved into discussions on the internet to prove himself the right one before. There is always that point you either realize you are wrong or you just don't see a reason to continue exchanging opinions. He does that with so much dedication, for sure more dedication than it is worth lol

The musings of a madman. 

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/person-attacked-by-shark-at-sydney-beach-20220216-p59x3q.html

Shamus the Shark out for breakfast. 

Political question for the masses about left-right dichotomy.

Where would you place a racist Communist on the left-right scale?

@Ukmmaguru

We'd throw them in the ******* gulag comrade! 

@StephenTerry

I’d place them in the gas chamber!

Hi, I'm Jerin Miles. Head of community relations at facebook/ Meta. I just got honeypotted and subsequently busted grooming/ arranging to meet a 13 year old boy for sex at a hotel, on camera, after exchanging sexualised messages with him. Why is this company infested with so many progressive Paedophiles? It's just one after the other. These are the people defining what is ethical and isn't on that platform. Props to Shonda, a goddamn warrior.

* Edited at 02.17.2022, 6:17 PM ET *