Shipping Meme

***SHIPPING MEME***

During the past few days, I’ve been having conversations with my friends Zero Urrea and Marie Krepps about how much fun it is to link two things together with the letter X (a practice commonly found in Japanese anime). Would you go to a concert that was featured as Korn X Starset? You’re damn right you would! Would you ever play a videogame that featured the team of Super Mario X M. Bison? Sure, why not? And of course, the X link is used to signify collaboration between two romantic partners. Cloud X Tifa, Mario X Peach, and Squall X Rinoa are all mainstream examples of this. You could also mix and match between genres and canons…and genders. Would you ever read an erotic fan fiction that featured Tifa Lockhart X Stephanie McMahon? You bet your sweet ass!

Which brings me to something authors might have to deal with if their work becomes famous enough: shipping. If you write a novel that’s highly enjoyable, your readers are definitely going to want to tinker with various combinations of characters as romantic couples, for better or worse. You know who’s not okay with this? Anne Rice, who went to great legal lengths to make sure her fans don’t do that to her books. Some people are okay with this, others are not. More important is how you feel about your own fans doing this to your books. Me personally? I think it’d be flattering no matter what the combinations ended up being.

Unfortunately, I only have one edited and published novel to my name and it’s not even a full length book, so I don’t have a wide roster of characters to work with. Then again, if I include minor characters, this meme could actually be lots of fun. So here’s how this works: I’m going to make a list of Occupy Wrestling characters, use a number generator to randomly pick two of them from that list, and discuss how they’d work as a couple. I won’t use the same character twice and I’ll only generate five different couples. Are you ready? I know I am!

1. Debra Winter, Human Valet
2. Desilu McCourt, Amazonian Knight
3. Dovald, Superhuman Knight
4. Garra, Superhuman Knight
5. Hall Markata, Undead Necromancer
6. Jason Finnegan, Human Wrestler
7. Keegan Day, Human CEO
8. Mitch McLeod, Human Wrestler
9. Monzo Bleeder, Orc Wrestler
10. Nina Jordan, Human Cop
11. Riley Warpthroat, Skeleton Knight
12. Rosie Rogers, Human Referee
13. Snake of Jehovah, Skeleton Monk
14. Stephanie McMillan, Human Wrestler
15. Teiji Roughhouse, Rat Wrestler

FIRST COUPLE: Riley X Keegan

THOUGHTS: Keegan’s blatant bigotry aside, these two would be perfect for each other. They’re both hell-bent on dominating the wrestling scene. They’re both sadistic. They can intimidate the hell out of anyone. And lastly (and this is the most important part), they both look like they were just brought to life by a necromancer. Maybe when these two are in the bedroom, Keegan can use the Day Family Gem as a ball gag for Riley. Keegan does control his minions with that magical MacGuffin, after all.

SECOND COUPLE: Snake of Jehovah X Dovald

THOUGHTS: Another pair of viciously monstrous villains? Sure, why not? Though considering the fact that all Snakes of Jehovah look the same covered up with monk robes and snake masks, Dovald could end up accidentally cheating with another minion. But if that were to happen, how exactly would they initiate the cheating? Snakes of Jehovah are skeletal minions, with no sexual orifices or genitalia, so the closest Dovald could get to achieving sexual pleasure is to take the snake mask off and go through the eye sockets.

THIRD COUPLE: Jason X Stephanie

THOUGHTS: At least we’re back into normal territory since they’re both humans. Plus, they actually have things in common that they could bond over. They’re wrestlers. They’re despicable heels. They’re both championship material. Ship them, damn it! There’s just one curiosity I have: if Jason is a three hundred pounder who suffers a heart attack in the first chapter, even if he lived through it, would he be healthy enough for sexual activity? Would he have to be on bottom while Stephanie was on top? Would he fall asleep halfway through and lose his erection? So many burning questions.

FOURTH COUPLE: Hall X Nina

THOUGHTS: Spoiler alert: Hall ends up using his necromantic powers to raise Nina from the dead as an ash-covered zombie. I’m more curious about what you, the readers, didn’t get to see when all that happened. You think Hall is into that kinky shit? Does he forgo apps like Tinder and Grinder and just settle for a trip to the cemetery? Well, he doesn’t have to anymore if he’s got Nina as his minion. While Nina isn’t the most attractive woman in my book, there’s something sexy about a woman in uniform.

FINAL COUPLE: Desilu X Debra

THOUGHTS: If it wasn’t for the fact that Desilu tried to snap Debra’s spine in two with a camel clutch, this could actually be somewhat normal. Debra is a bisexual who appreciates both masculine and feminine features in both genders. Desilu is a big fucking Amazonian who knows how to wrestle (not just in the ring). Hell, she could probably do a better job of protecting her than Mitch ever could. That, and Desilu is happy to train Debra in wrestling herself since that’s all Miss Winter really wants: to be self-reliant. Of course, if Debra is that desperate for wrestling lessons, she might have to take a serious beating at the hand of Keegan’s minions. Oh wait, that already happened.

Okay, I must admit that I had fun doing this. Maybe I can do it again when I publish another novel. Hell, even my unpublished first drafts could use some love and war. What if I took Mario Bryan from Watch You Burn and paired him up with Daniel Mercer from Demon Axe? Or as the Japanese would say, Mario X Daniel. They’re both mentally ill, so they could help each other through their toughest episodes. Mario is schizophrenic and Daniel has PTSD. The two illnesses are similar to each other, but schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder and PTSD is an anxious disorder. This could actually work! But that’s a story for another day. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Fifty Shades of Grey is to literature what candy corn is to vegetables.”

-Bill Maher-

Gender Blind

Every punch and kick Rachel Gustafson threw at her practice pads was dedicated to her haters. The right hook was dedicated to Battle Born President Raymond Katz, who put this intergender match together to solve his “Rachel Gustafson problem”. The flying knee was for every fan who didn’t believe she could do battle with a man, let alone win the fucking match. The elbow strike was for the protesters outside the arena who never wanted this match to happen. The spinning back fist was for Sting Masters, who thought this match was going to be a cakewalk. Lost in her rage, Rachel threw enough rapid fire punches and kicks to accidentally knock over her trainer, to which she apologized and helped him back up.

The knock on her door followed by a voice shouting, “It’s fight time!” prompted Rachel to crack her neck in both directions and march out of the locker room with fists tightened and muscles tensing. The PA system had already queued up her walk out theme of “One of These Days” by Pink Floyd. Groovy bass guitar solo aside, the grunting voice of “One of these days, I’m going to cut you into little pieces!” perfectly described how Rachel felt about everyone in this arena.

Once she walked down the aisle, she could hear the boos reverberating off of her muscles of stone. The occasional shouts of, “You suck!” made those audience members ideal candidates for a hard right hook to the face. But they were the ones sweating like pigs, not her. Even from the middle of the aisle, she stared bullets into Sting Master’s smug British face. He was already in the octagon waiting for her with his arms folded and his red Mohawk looking as silly as ever. “Cakewalk my ass!” she said to herself upon reaching the entrance to the cage.

Rachel stripped off her hooded sweatshirt and athletic pants to reveal her sports bra and baggy shorts with various business logos on it. At least she didn’t have “Condom Depot” printed on her ass like a lot of fighters these days had. After getting her face greased up with ointment and being searched by the referee for weapons, Rachel stomped up the steel stairs and bolted inside the cage, running circles around the structure and giving the middle finger to her booing audience. She would have given one to Sting, but a flying knee would have been more appropriate for someone of his arrogance.

Once both warriors stood in their appropriate corners behind the black line, the seven foot tall referee stood behind the ring announcer as he got this main event going. Speaking with passion and fire into the microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are live from the sold out Tacoma Dome in Tacoma, Washington for Battle Born 57: Eye for an Eye! This event is sanctioned by the Washington State Athletic Commission. When the action begins, our referee in charge of the fight is Bill Dash. If you’re ready for some violence tonight, make some noise!”

The audience did make noise, but none of their cheers and boos were enough to take Rachel’s sniper sight focus off of Sting. The announcer continued his oratory with, “Three rounds in the Battle Born Promotions first ever intergender lightweight division match! Introducing first, fighting out of the red corner! This man is a striker who holds a professional record of twenty-six wins and six losses. He stands five feet seven inches tall and weighed in at 155 lbs. Fighting out of Manchester, England…STING…MASTERS!” More boos from an audience who clearly wanted this match to end in a double knockout.

“Introducing his opponent, fighting out of the blue corner! She is also a striker, but holds a professional record of nineteen wins and four losses. Standing at five feet eleven inches tall, weighing in at 153 lbs.. Fighting out of Denver, Colorado, ladies and gentlemen, she is the former Battle Born Promotions Women’s Lightweight Champion of the World…RACHEL…”GUTSY”…GUSTAFSON!”

Referee Bill Dash took center stage and brought both fighters toward his position. With the announcer holding the microphone in Bill’s face, he gave his instructions, “Okay, you two, I want a good clean fight. We’ve been over the rules in the locker room. Protect yourselves at all time. Obey my commands at all time. When I tell you to stop, you stop. If you want to touch gloves, go ahead and do it and then go back to your corners.” Not a damn fist was raised, only deadly steel-eyed stares. “Good luck to both of you and may the best fighter win,” said Bill before both fighters marched back to their corners.

The ring announcer and other unnecessary personnel vacated the cage and all that remained were two intergender warriors who wanted to smash each other’s faces in. Rachel saw red and only red. She remembered the interviews Sting gave in which he said he was going to, “Make her [his] bitch” and “Put her in her place.” All the laughing. All the booing. All the fake outrage going on outside with enhanced security. All the times Raymond Katz wanted to get rid of her for whatever reason. Those lava-like emotions bubbled towards the surface and she almost jumped the gun before the referee started the match.

“First round, are you ready, Rachel? Are you ready, Sting? Let’s get it on!” shouted Bill Dash and both warriors met in the middle of the octagon. No feeling out process, just throwing caution to the wind. Both fighters threw heavy punches and created wooshing sounds as those hits never landed. Rachel threw a kick at Sting’s hamstring and caused him to slightly wince, but otherwise suck it up. Another kick to the hamstring and a deep purple bruise formed on Sting’s pasty white leg.

Sting threw kicks of his own to Rachel’s midsection and she could feel the tiny bit of oxygen leaving her stacked body. The jeers from the audience intensified, but they weren’t the ones in this match and Rachel easily blocked them out. She threw more kicks to Sting’s legs and slowed him down considerably.

And then the wily Brit went for broke when he stormed towards Rachel with a series of hard rights and lefts. He missed the first two strikes, but the third, a stiff jab, caught her on the chin and sent a dot matrix of lights scattering across her field of vision. Another punch caught her on the bridge of her nose and her eyes watered like a raging river of hot tears. And then Sting used his good leg to throw a high kick and caught Rachel behind the ear.

The feminine fury wobbled and staggered about as she was being dissected by this brutal bully. He threw an elbow to her forehead and knocked her down while opening a gusher of a cut. The boos and outrage intensified even more, but all Rachel could hear were birdies tweeting in her head. Sting was little more than blur to her, obnoxious red Mohawk aside. She threw her feet upwards to try to keep him from mounting her and getting more vicious offence in.

Sting got overzealous and went for the mount anyways, but was met with an up-kick to the bridge of his nose, knocking him flat on his ass and busting him wide open with a waterfall of blood. Both fighters, bloodied and beaten, stood on their knees and punched the shit out of each other. Rachel’s vision was darkening with every knock she took on the face while Sting’s gusher poured like a busted fire hydrant.

Bill Dash was awfully close to stopping this fight when out of the corner of Rachel’s vision, a fan leaped over the cage and was immediately tackled to the floor by the seven foot ref. But then more fans jumped the fence and swarmed in on Bill Dash. The booing audience who hated this idea of an intergender match came rushing it all at once, even knocking one of the sides of the cage down.

Sting got up from his dazed kneeling position and was actually protecting Rachel with fists and feet towards the zealous fans. Bill Dash and other security members tossed around fans like sacks of potatoes. Meanwhile, a pair of husky arms grabbed the fading Rachel under her pits and dragged her out of the arena. She didn’t resist due to her weak body even though she wanted to. All she could hear was cussing, screaming, and riotous violence surrounding her. One fan even stepped on her ankle on the way to the cage and she didn’t even flinch. She huffed in exhaustion and closed her swollen eyes (or at least tried to) on her way to wherever the hell she was going.

By the time Rachel Gustafson opened her black and blue eyes and wiped away the crusted blood from her black ponytail hair, she actually thought she had woken up in a different time period. Was she an old lady by this time? Was this place a nursing home? No, it was a medical facility located far away from the Tacoma Dome. She recognized the plain white walls, the dull florescent lights, and the ultra-comfortable bed snuggling up to her spinal cord. Opening her eyes hurt like a motherfucker, but she did so anyways and caught a certain chubster in a cheap suit with horseshoe hair and a cheesy moustache standing over her bed.

“You’ve got a lot of balls coming here, Raymond. What the hell do you want?” asked Rachel in a weak, but angry tone.

“Miss Gustafson, I am so sorry for the way things turned out,” begged Raymond with his hands folded together. “This was supposed to be a special night for all of us. A revolution was unfolding before our very eyes. I didn’t think it would come to a full on riot.”

“Where’s Sting?” asked Rachel.

“We have no idea where he is. He could have gotten lost in the riot for all we know.”

“…So in other words, I’ll never get my win back from the man who stole it from me…because you wanted a fucking revolution?!”

“Rachel, I’m sorry, I really am.”

Having no more of Raymond Katz’s bullshit answers, the battered, bruised, and sore Rachel burst out of bed and held the CEO against the wall by his throat with both hands. “Don’t give me that crap! You knew from the very beginning this was going to happen! You wanted to get rid of your so-called Rachel Gustafson problem! So what do you do? You have a fucking riot in the middle of my fight! A fight, which by the way, I should have won by TKO!”

After listening to her boss wheeze and hack for hair, she finally let go of his chubby neck and let him plop to the floor on his giant ass. As he desperately caught his breath, Rachel kneeled down next to him and asked, “So what is the problem, Raymond? Is it because I asked for a raise? Is it because I asked to be promoted properly instead of getting pushed aside like a commodity?” She leaned her battle tested face towards his and said in a deep whisper, “Or is it because I tried to use the company’s health benefits to have an abortion when I needed one the most? If I had that baby, I would have died and you knew that!”

Once he had a sufficient amount of oxygen in his raspy lungs, Raymond threw his hands up defensively and said, “Trust me, Rachel, any problem I had with you has flown out the window. You’re important to me. I honestly didn’t believe this match was going to end in a riot. I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Rachel stood up and asked, “Anything?”

“Anything you want. You fought like a trooper tonight, against a man, no less. You deserve something special for that.”

“If I can really have anything I want…then I want to be released from Battle Born Promotions.”

“What?! You’re kidding me!”

Rachel punched a hole in the wall above Raymond’s head and caused him to flinch and yelp. “I’m serious, you fat fuck! No amount of money can ever make me forgive you. You put my life in danger that night and I should do the same to you. But I’m not going to…unless you don’t grant me my release.”

With nothing more to say to her now former boss, Rachel stormed out her semi-private room and collapsed on the floor. She needed nurses and doctors to help her stand up. Out of her still painful vision, she saw a man in a wheelchair covered in bandages except for his eyes, which were swollen and purple just like hers. The man gave a thumbs up and said in his signature British accent, “I’ll see you again someday. We’re not finished by a long fucking shot!”

“You’re damn right we’re not, Sting!” shouted Rachel as she was being dragged away by medical personnel.

Divas

Piper gazed at the butterfly-decorated Divas Championship belt in her paws with a sense of pride and joy. Holding this title was a dream of hers ever since she was a kitten. In her mind, dreams always came true and could never be taken away by oppressive forces. Her naivety was a source of sweetness for her adoring kitty fans as evidenced by the way they meowed and purred at her entrance. She did it all for them and she was determined not to let them down this evening during her title defense. With her black tank top, pink leather pants, and white boots snug against her white furry kitty body, she was ready to go. She kissed her Divas Championship belt for good luck before her music hit.

The arena darkened as the piano intro of “April Rain” by Delain caused the kitties and puppies in the audience to cheer and howl for their favorite wrestler. Once the intense guitars and drums sounded, Piper danced out to the isle to an even louder chorus of cheers. She high fived her tiny fans in the front row and gave a hug to an oversized Bassett Hound near the ring. Piper leaped on the apron and over the top rope with such athletic grace before prancing around the ring and parading her hard-earned championship. She even high-fived the Springer Spaniel ring announcer and hugged Willem the schipperke referee. Piper was certain this feel-good moment would last forever and showed it on her cute kitty face with a squinty-eyed smile.

And then the slow and sensual blue-eyed soul music of “Son of a Preacher Man” by Dusty Springfield echoed throughout the arena. The older dogs in the audience howled with lust while the tiny kittens booed their heads off. Coming out to the stage were three cats dressed in royal pink robes and little diamond-encrusted tiaras. Posing on the left side of the stage was the calico runt of the litter, Calypso. Posing on the right with her claws extended like a Marvel superhero was the fierce black and white Stitches. In the middle was the arrogantly strutting queen of the divas, Tori. Together this group was known as the Supermodel Kitties.

None of the boos in the arena could compare to Piper’s fiery stare down the ramp as the Supermodel Kitties pompously danced their way to the ring. For weeks leading up to this match, they called her “Piper-Diaper” and Photoshopped pictures of her in baby outfits. A tear formed in her eye at these traumatic thoughts and Calypso was sharp enough to catch it. She got up on the apron and flailed her paws next to her ears while sticking her tongue out at Piper.

The proud Divas Champion shouted, “Why, you!” before dashing to the opposite side the ring to deliver a drop kick. Calypso pulled the top rope down at the last minute and Piper crashed and burned on the concrete floor below. Calypso stayed on the apron and continued her nee-ner-nee-ner taunts while Tori and Stitches were scratching and biting the hell out of their victim. Willem barked and growled his warnings at a rapid fire pace, but the Supermodel Kitties refused to listen and resumed their taunting and beating of Piper.

Willem hopped over the top rope and did his best hyper barking while chasing the Supermodel Kitties to the other side of the ring. He gave a few more commanding barks at the now shaking cats before running back over to Piper and licking her wounds with his sloppy dog tongue. Willem spent the longest time tending to the cat’s wounds and she still wouldn’t wake up. It seemed as though the schipperke had no choice but to bark for paramedics on the ramp way.

The proud Supermodel Kitties wrapped their arms around each other’s necks and danced up and down chanting, “Piper-Diaper!” much to the dismay of the booing crowd. Calypso even had an animal diaper in her paws to illustrate such humiliation.

This charade would have lasted the rest of the night if it wasn’t for Piper nipping up to her feat and letting out a dreaded hiss. The Supermodel Kitties watched on with wide-eyed shock as Tori’s opponent leaped back into the ring and made a “come here” gesture with her paws. “You want some of this?!” Piper shouted. “Come and get it, you skanky hoes!”

A resounding “Ooo!” echoed throughout the arena while the stunned Supermodel Kitties’ jaws were on the floor. Cat wrestling was considered to be family entertainment, but Piper didn’t give a damn about her language at that point. She also waved off Willem when he tried licking her wounds again. With Calypso and Stitches slowly taking opposite sides of the ring, Tori was also in no hurry to get inside. But once she was, the ring announcer ran away without doing his job knowing how fierce this battle would be.

Willem barked five times at the ringside timekeeper, who rung the bell to signify the beginning of the match. Piper and Tori ran to the center of the ring and threw the sharpest claws they could at each other. Their violent hisses and howls added enough drama to this match to get the crowd to rise to their feet and cheer. The crowd really got going when Piper leaped in the air, wrapped her legs around Tori’s neck, and flipped the Supermodel Kitty on her back. Tori nipped up and got thrown by her arm across the ring for her troubles. This sequence of getting up and getting tossed continued for Tori until Piper applied a shoulder lock to her and kept the obnoxious brat grounded and howling.

It looked like Tori was going to slam her paws to the mat to signal a tap-out victory. And then Calypso got on the ring apron and mockingly cried at Piper. “Boohoo, I’m a big baby and I like to suck on pacifiers!” While Willem was rattling off his super-quick barks at the runty calico, Stitches reached through the ropes and swatted her knife-like claws into Piper’s butt. The champion howled in pain and jumped high in the air while holding her backside.

Calypso got down from the apron while Tori hopped to her feet and body slammed Piper to the mat. While the champ was down, Tori leaped off the middle rope and back flipped chest first into Piper, driving the air from the dreamer kitty’s already exhausted lungs. Tori then wrapped her arm around the champ’s chin and held her face in front of Calypso and Stitches for further humiliation.

The tiny calico pulled out a smart phone and recorded a video of Piper’s contorted face in what would be known as The Huh Challenge. Calypso mockingly said, “My name is Piper and I cry myself to sleep every night like a big fat baby! HUH?!”

Stitches giggled while taking the phone from Calypso and doing her own Huh Challenge. “My name is Piper and my favorite thing to eat is whatever’s in the litter box! HUH?!” The two outside kitties high-fived each other and giggled some more at Piper’s expense.

Meanwhile, a single tear dropped from Piper’s eye as she gritted her fangs and tightened her claws. This was the BS she had to put up with on live television for weeks now. She growled at the thought of her opponents acting like middle school children instead of legitimate wrestlers. She growled even harder when the audience tried to cheer her back into this match. Piper needed this victory. She needed to show that dreams always come true no matter how high the odds were stacked.

Piper slithered underneath the chin lock, grabbed Tori around her waist, and threw her backwards on her neck. The Supermodel Kitty flopped around like a fish as she was thrown backwards again. And again. And again. Calypso and Stitches weren’t even paying attention to the action going on in the ring as they were too busy taking selfies. Piper glared like a hungry tiger at them as she bounced off the ropes and flew over the top turnbuckle. She landed perfectly on Stitches and ripped her apart with her claws like a Christmas present while Calypso watched on in wide-eyed, shaky-bodied horror.

Piper turned her fiery glare to Calypso and gave her a leonine howl and an ophidian hiss. The champion chased the Supermodel Kitty around the ring multiple times. She didn’t care about the exhaustion in her body from the main event match. She was sucking down air like a whirlwind as she saw nothing but red when she gazed upon Calypso. The calico brat was getting tuckered out herself, so she slid underneath the bottom rope and drew the ire of Willem, who trapped her in the corner and gave off more rapid fire barks.

The champ slid underneath the bottom rope as well, and this time she was sure to dine upon Calypso’s pencil neck. She could already taste the blood like a shark swirling its prey. Even though Piper didn’t have as many teeth as a shark, she would make every vampire bite feel like a bloodlust chainsaw attack anyways.

And that was when she felt something sharp jam into the back of her neck. The intense pain and black vision suggested Tori used a foreign object to get the upper hand behind the schipperke’s back. Once Calypso dived out of the ring and curled in a corner, Tori finished the job with a high-impact kick underneath Piper’s chin, knocking her out just long enough to be pinned for three seconds.

Willem tapped the mat three times and the match was over. Piper’s championship reign, just like her vision, had faded away with quickness. The only dream she would be living was the one in her subconscious theater, which only played horror movies that day. When her eyes slowly opened, her bruised and battered body made her feel like road kill. The unending pain was just as emotional when she awakened to find an animal diaper fastened to her crotch. The Supermodel Kitties danced around on the ramp, celebrating with the title and mocking Piper with more nee-ner-nee-ner taunts.

The never-ending tears in Piper’s eyes caused her vision to fade to black once more. She didn’t remember being helped to the doctor’s office. She didn’t remember the stitches she would require. Her emotions were robotic as she tried to process being humiliated by the Supermodel Kitties. She stared into space not wanting to think about the future or how her diapered sorrow was broadcast not only for the television audience, but also the internet troglodytes.

The more she stared into those white walls, the less of a choice she had in what to think about. She tried to shove it down. She tried to hold back the tears. But the tears kept rolling down like whitewater rapids. Her depressed howling couldn’t be helped. Her childhood dream was shattered like a pot of dead roses. Piper had the innocence of a child for most of her life. Now she made the roughest of transitions into adulthood and realized that nightmares were the norm in this world. The tears poured like an avalanche of cold emotions as she laid there all alone in the doctor’s office. With such a humiliating defeat, she was more than just physically alone in this world.

But if her childhood innocence taught her anything, it was not to cry because it was over. It was to smile because it happened. She loved that butterfly-decorated championship. It gave her some warm memories of being adored by the crowd. All the hugs, high-fives, and cheers helped to dry her ultra-wet, ultra-red eyeballs. They were the only things that got her through the hard training and violent matches. And now that Piper was contractually obligated to a rematch, she couldn’t let those beautiful fans down twice.

As she wiped the last of her tears from her furry face, Piper reached her paw over and picked up a scalpel from the bench. Tori cheated by using a sharp object similar to this one, so why shouldn’t Piper do the same when she wanted to win her Divas Championship back? But what would her fans think of her if she did such a thing? Would they ostracize her if she sunk to the Supermodel Kitties’ level?

In that doctor’s office, Piper had a decision to make. What was more important to her: the belt and all the money that came with it, or the fans that energized her every night and stayed loyal until the end? She had a long night of thinking ahead of her, but one thing was for certain her mind: “Those bitches are going to pay!”

UFC: Ronda Rousey vs. Alexis Davis

MATCH: Ronda Rousey vs. Alexis Davis for the former’s Women’s Bantamweight Championship
PROMOTION: Ultimate Fighting Championship
EVENT: UFC 175: Weidman vs. Machida
YEAR: 2014
RATING: TV-14 for violence
GRADE: Pass


If you’re a UFC fan and you’re looking to make some quick money in Las Vegas, you would be a fool not to bet in favor of Ronda Rousey. In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years, here’s the deal with this badass chick. She’s undefeated in mixed-martial arts. She’s the current UFC Bantamweight Champion. Every fight she’s been in with the exception of one has ended in the first round. She’s earned a shit-load of awards from the MMA community. She’s an Olympic bronze medalist in judo (her main fighting style). She has movie deals with the Expendables and Fast and Furious franchises. She’s hotter than hell. She has so much going for her that her list of achievements would easily become a novel if I spouted them off to you.

Her opponent for UFC 175 isn’t anybody to sneeze at either. She is Alexis Davis. To earn her shot at Ronda, Alexis had to defeat three badass chicks in succession, which isn’t easy to do by any stretch of the imagination. Those three badass chicks are Rosi Sexton, Liz Carmouche, and Jessica Eye, all three of which have been in MMA for a long time and could destroy anybody in the blink of an eye. Granted, she beat those three via decision, but the argument will always be made that decision victories show how much endurance a fighter has. Alexis Davis will need a ton of endurance if she wants a victory of Ronda Rousey.

And now the field is set for what is sure to be an epic confrontation between two demon slayers. It is the co-main event of the evening, so the pressure on both ladies is especially high. The minute referee Yves Lavigne starts the match, Ronda and Alexis don’t waste any time in engaging with each other.

They throw punches, kicks, knees, and live to tell about all of those shots. And then out of nowhere comes the beginning of the end for Alexis Davis: a judo hip toss to the mat, which is not only a hard landing, but also a squashing technique since all 135 lbs. of Ronda Rousey’s body comes crashing down on Alexis Davis’ chest. With her arms trapped, Alexis has nothing to defend herself against the Armageddon-style rain of fists that come pouring down on her forehead. After ten stiff shots, Alexis’ arms go limp and that’s when Yves Lavigne stops the fight and awards Ronda a knockout victory.

There are two things about Ronda’s victory that are particularly amazing. One, after Yves Lavigne pulled Ronda off of Alexis, the latter was grappling with him thinking the match was still going on. That’s right, folks: Alexis was so punch drunk that she mistook a bald elderly referee for a smoking hot blond chick. And Alexis was really holding on tightly until Yves Lavigne explained to her over and over again that the match was over and she was knocked out.

And then of course, there’s the biggest elephant in the room when it comes to Ronda’s eventual Performance of the Night award: the judo queen won in only 16 seconds in the first round. Think of all the things one could do in 16 seconds of his or her life: make a cup of coffee, sign an autograph, eat a candy bar, just basic stuff. You know what Ronda Rousey did in 16 seconds? She beat the living hell out of another badass chick.

If you’ve read my review of a WWE match between Daniel Bryan and Sheamus at Wrestlemania 28, you would have seen that it got a failing grade due to the shortness of it all. And yet, Ronda Rousey vs. Alexis Davis in the UFC gets a passing grade even though it was only 16 seconds long. It seems hypocritical on the surface, but it’s not. In the WWE, we as an audience expect a long and dazzling battle complete with acrobatics and stiff shots.

In the UFC, if someone gets a fast victory over a legitimate fighter, it’s not scripted; it’s goddamn incredible. If Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader had a light saber fight that only lasted 16 seconds, we would all be disappointed because Star Wars is fictional and the writers have all the leeway in the world to create a war between those two. UFC is as real as it gets. It’s not pretty. It’s not dazzling. It’s just honest hardcore violence.

The phrase “don’t blink” has become used to many times in sports that it’s considered a cliché. And yet, for this match, it’s so true that you need Clockwork Orange eye bracers to keep from missing a single part of the match. And speaking of which, if Alex De Large watched this match while undergoing aversion therapy, the brutal violence would send his body into shock. No nausea, no shaking, no dizziness, just cardiac arrest.

Thank you, Ronda Rousey for putting on a judo clinic and giving the audience another reason to cheer for you. Thanks for doing it again at UFC 183 by defeating Cat Zingano in 14 seconds with a straight arm bar. If you’re going to watch a Ronda Rousey fight these days, make sure your watch has a second hand on it.

Cheryl Glenn

You’ve probably seen my posts for Devon Spirit Wolf and Constance Cable and are wondering why I have a fascination with female MMA referees. You’re already wondering if Cheryl Glenn will join the club and you’d be right in thinking so. Referees and females have something in common: they don’t get the respect and thanks they deserve for everything they do. If you’re a referee, you get criticized for every disagreeable decision you make. If you’re a woman, well, they’ll just call you things like “bitch” and “whore” while denying you the right to a safe abortion. I’d like to think of myself as someone who favors the underdogs of society.

Cheryl Glenn is somebody who is an underdog in a lot of ways. Aside from being a female MMA referee who only occasionally makes “bad” calls, she’s also in her early 50’s. She’s heard every sexist and ageist comment in the book. Since she actually is a grandmother, the sexist and ageist jokes come naturally for the ignorant masses. Mixed-martial arts is mostly watched by conservative males with a lot of energy and testosterone. If you think someone like Kim Winslow has a hard enough time being a female referee, then you can understand the plight of the fictional Cheryl Glenn as well. “Make me a sandwich, grandma!” Lovely. Just lovely.

But Mrs. Glenn isn’t one to back down from intimidation so easily. Aside from being a martial artist herself of many decades, she’s also been known to take away the ring announcer’s microphone and give the bigoted audience a piece of her mind.

Cheryl first made an appearance in a short story called “Dot Your Eyes”, where she was the referee for a lightweight main event between a gay fighter named Evan Rader and his homophobic opponent Heath Marks. Because Evan is openly gay, the audience thought it was funny to call him Evan Gay-der. Get it? Har-dee-har-har-har. My ribs are sore from forgetting to laugh. When Cheryl had her turn at the microphone, she told the audience if they didn’t stop chanting homophobic slurs, she was going to cancel the fight and declare it a No Contest due to audience distraction. They shut up pretty damn quickly after that.

Although “Dot Your Eyes” will never see the light of day due to its excessive vulgarity, there will be another time when Cheryl Glenn is used. When she has the microphone for another time, she’ll ask the lighting technicians to shine a spotlight on an certain audience member in the front row. She’ll give that audience member a speech similar to the one David Draiman from Disturbed gave at one of his concerts. It goes like this:

“Hi there! You obviously didn’t come here to watch the fights. You’ve been playing fucking videogames on your smart phone since the opening match. I’ll tell you what. Can you do me a favor? Because right now, to be honest, I can appreciate you not being a fan of the UFC. Hell, there are even times when the UFC pisses ME off. But right now, you’re being really disrespectful to the fighters who came here to perform for you. If you’d rather play videogames, then give up your seat to somebody who wants to watch the fights. So this is how this is going to work. If you want to be respectful, you can stay. If not, then security, if you see him take out his cell phone one more time, you have my permission to kick him the fuck out of here!”

It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman, young or old, gay or straight: Cheryl Glenn doesn’t fear you. She may be a grandmother and she may be a woman herself, but she’ll still kick your ass if you cross her. It could be a well-placed kick between the legs. It could be a judo hip toss a la Ronda Rousey. It could be five fingers of death right to your glass jaw. If you’re really curious as to how much of a grumpy grandma Cheryl can be, push her limits. She’ll not only push back, she’ll push your ass over.

　

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“War doesn’t determine who is right, only who is left.”

-Bertrand Russell-

Constance Cable

For some reason, it always seems like every MMA referee character I create is a powerful woman. Maybe that’s because women are a minority in MMA and they get picked on a lot by guys who always seem to have a craving for sandwiches. Dudes, listen: if you want a sandwich, go to Subway. If you want someone to save you from a beating in the middle of an MMA fight, look no further than Constance Cable. You can call her Miss Cable. You can even call her Connie. But whatever you do, don’t fucking call her Constance the Cable Girl. She has virtually no interest in hooking you up with over 500 channels, 100 of which are religious stations, 200 of which are music stations, and the other 200 are channels nobody gives a shit about. She’s also not a redneck comedian who picks on minorities. Like Devon Spirit Wolf, Constance Cable also holds very strong liberal beliefs. But unlike Miss Spirit Wolf, Constance expresses her beliefs in a mature and professional way. Preferably, a way that doesn’t get her into trouble with whatever athletic commission she happens to be working for. Imagine that: MMA aficionados can actually talk peacefully among themselves. In fact, when Herb Dean stopped Urijah Faber’s fight with Renan Barao, Constance came out in support of Mr. Dean, saying that holding onto someone’s leg and holding a thumbs up weren’t necessarily the best way to defend yourself. By the way, Constance Cable isn’t a real person in case you haven’t figured that out already. She’s a character of mine who’s seeking employment in one of my stories. I’ve managed to squeeze Devon Spirit Wolf into one of my short stories, so there has to be room for Miss Cable somewhere else. Maybe she doesn’t have to be an active referee. That would open up a lot of possibilities for her character. Whether she’s stopping a fight or relaxing in a bathtub with a novel, it’s her wisdom that will see her through any narrative. She’s going to need all the wisdom in the world, because let’s face it, Constance Cable is not a perfect referee. She’s going to have people mad at her for the calls she’s made. Suppose Constance is in her hot tub reading a book and all of the sudden an angry assassin creeps up on her property and attempts to silence her once and for all. That could be the start of a thrilling read. In fact, it sounds a lot like the preface to a CJ Box work (without all the Ayn Rand references, of course). Constance has to do something when that blade reaches her throat. How about an arm bar? Or a leg bar? Or just a good old fashioned elbow to the ribs. This premise would work better if Constance knew how to fight. All this talk about plotting gave me an idea for a short story. Thanks, stream of consciousness!

　

***CONCERT QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I like sausages! That’s Romanticide!”

-Marco Hietala from Nightwish-

Devon Spirit Wolf

Being a referee in any sport is a thankless job, especially in the world of mixed-martial arts. If you make one tiny mistake as a referee, a firestorm of criticism will descend upon you like the end of the world is already upon us. You’ll catch shit from Dana White, Joe Rogan, the fans, the fighters, everybody. If you don’t believe me, ask referees like Steve Mazzigatti, Kim Winslow, Yves Lavigne, and just recently, Herb Dean. I don’t have a Twitter account, so I never know if these referees are lashing out against their critics. That’s why I’ve taken the liberty of creating a character that I hope to one day use in a future combat sports prose. Meet Devon Spirit Wolf. She’s Native American, she’s smoking hot, but best of all, she’s opinionated. In fact, she has her own blog called The Bitchy Referee. In this blog, she has a take no prisoners attitude and she doesn’t let anybody get away with murder. I know referees are supposed to be impartial, but Devon can get away with it because she lives in a fictional world were neutrality is bullshit. In one of her posts, she says that she has a lot of empathy for real world referee Kim Winslow. Kim is one of the most criticized referees in the business. Not because she makes controversial calls, but because she’s a woman. Think of all the “make me a sandwich” comments she had to endure over the internet, not to mention other renditions of the kitchen genre. Devon is also a woman and also doesn’t put up with sexism. She also doesn’t put up with transphobia either. In fact, when Matt Mitrione made his bigoted comments about Fallon Fox, Devon was the first to say that Matt secretly swung both ways and that he had a dress collection in his closet. Ouch! You know what else Devon Spirit Wolf hates? Pro-life zealots. She actually had an abortion when she was a teenager. She knows it’s not the most pleasant experience a woman can go through, but she also knows that a woman should never be shamed for it. Any other topics you’d like to throw in front of Devon Spirit Wolf’s face? She may be small enough to fit in Demetrious Johnson’s pockets, but she’ll kick anybody’s ass, whether it’s verbally or physically. She has a Brazilian Jujitsu black belt, so don’t piss her off. Now if only she can find a job in one of my stories. I already had one referee who was verbally animated and her name was Cheryl Glenn. I’m sure Devon Spirit Wolf will find work as well.

　

***DOMESTIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If men want women to buy rape insurance, men should have to buy murder insurance.”

-Susan Wilson, the Deep Space Cowgirl-