15 Minute Philosophy: Martial Art

“Martial Arts is a way of life, an all inclusive system and method of combat. It is any and everything and excludes nothing.” – Master Kafi Roberts

MP3: 15MinPhi Martial Art

This was originally written for a certain instagram boxing troll that still lives with his single mom, along with people outside of the school and organisations I have worked and partnered with that think they can give me orders. But I realized: not only do these mere mortals not matter, but I never put into writing the training and experiences I’ve been through that qualify me as a quote unquote “expert” in combat, let alone at least one asshole you don’t want to piss off. Original quote I had for this essay: “The tragedy of the stupid is they almost never know what danger they’re getting in until it’s too late. If you only knew just who were talking to, you’d need a change of underpants.” Don’t say you weren’t warned after reading this!

“Pictured: not someone I’m worried about”

Back to the original quote. Not much up there about not picking fights even if that was what I was doing. So who is that guy I’m quoting up there? Oh nobody, just one of the people that contributed his own style of martial arts to the school (Universal Kenpo & Ju Jitsu, or UKJJ in short), and one of the masters that I have a black belt under, an honorary one to be clear. He also has the distinction of hosting one of the training locations I almost died at! He is not, however, the main instructor I was and still under should my services be needed again. That would be Grandmaster Dennis Horton, who actually recruited me from the now decommissioned school that taught Shorin Ryu Karate (which is where I got my start, and also my first black belt, 1st degree), put me through quite the training regimen, some of which I am sworn to secrecy to this day (again, almost died), and where I got the main black belt I wore until I retired and moved away.

“I have my doubts she has gotten that kind of conditioning.”

What did we teach, and what did I learn while there(yes, I was also an instructor which is a 3rd degree black belt or Sensei, and if you noticed there are only 2 stripes, the reason is I was ceremonially promoted after I moved, given I was doing that job for years anyway): Combat Martial Arts. Not BJJ (which we think stands for BlowJob Jiujitsu), not MMA, not McDojo Taekwondo; actual hand to hand and weapons training meant for real world combat situations. It includes (but is not limited to): Shotokan & Shorin Ryu Karate, Kenpo, Sanuces Ryu Eye To Eye Ju Jitsu, Tai Lau Kune Do, Hun Gar Southern Kung Fu which incorporates Tiger, Crane, Shaolin & Dragon fists(they started teaching Northern Kung Fu after I left, the bastards; that’s the fun one that fits my frame a lot better), other fists of kung fu including Snake (yes @journal_of_anthro_engineering, I know a bit of your style), Eagle, Monkey, Leopard, and Mantis, Muay Thai kick boxing, a bit of stand up boxing even though it’s a bit redundant, defence against Brazilian Jiujitsu, and a bit of Drunken Kung Fu technique.

“Pictured: none of the above. ”

But wait: there’s more: weapons forms including Bojitsu (Staff, my first weapon actually, and I still have it), Kenjutsu (katanas or really any long bladed weapon; I specialised in duel wielding so I could utilise my favored machetes more effectively), Silat (knife techniques), escrima (Filipino fighting sticks), okinawan weapons like Sais, Kamas (basically sticks with hooked blades at the end), nunchucks, hatchets (yes, we got some Native weapons in too), and others I can’t remember, along with pistol, shotgun and long rifle marksmanship.

“pictured: 74″ of social distancing. ”

” pictured: diversity. ”

Basically, if you made it to brown belt (we’ll get to why that’s important in a moment), you could effectively take on just about any style out there and use just about anything as a weapon (including a dinner plate once, true story), the latter being what I specialised in. If you were one of the 8 or 9 people out of 5000+ attendees to come through and most likely wash out of the program that made it to 1st degree black, you can do that against an entire room and make it out safely; a comparison I give to make it easier to understand us versus other martial schools is that we’re the Green Berets to the rank and file U.S. Army, or Seal Team 6 to the average Navy Seamen. I made it to 2nd before I left and got the teaching rank of 3rd later. So one might say I was an exceptional member of this society. But what is all of that without experience? Glad you asked!

“Here to answer any questions you wish to “axe” me. See what I did there!?…. I’ll see myself out. ”

Classified field assignments aside, we went through many tournaments: local, statewide, and world wide. Keep in mind: one requirement was that we always fought at least one rank above our current one. A quick story to showcase this along with our own reputation: 3 of us ended up stopping 15 other guys (that’s 5 on 1 for those of you raised by public school), half of them wearing black belts, from charging a ring our instructor got into an altercation with his combatant and 3 other people. We were wearing brown belts; we were actually green belts. I’ve told the story of one of us ruining some poor guy’s Rocky 4 moment with an actual doctor intervening to end the match (“Come on guys, I’m wiping the boy’s blood off my foot!”), and another of us during a weapons match hilariously choosing an escrima stick in one hand and a nunchuck in the other, and mercilessly beating the hell out of the founder of the event (it was their inaugural one, I don’t think they ever held it again). As for my own exploits (which, looking back as the main photographer, I regret not getting most of this footage), I have a few that stand out: facing off against a 300lb linebacker (the match had to be called early due to both of us continuing to fight despite the rules, I won), the founder and grandmaster of a martial arts school who previously lost against my own instructor (he’s dead now for an unknown reason, allegedly), a back to back to back 3 round 3 minute continuous sparring match with fresh opponents, losing by a single vote in the last round (anyone that’s fought for at least a minute nonstop knows what that means), and an actual U.S. Army Ranger that attends our school during off time and is also larger than me (he gave me the best challenge out of everyone outside of my classmates, though I managed to accidentally throw him into a pile of chairs); just in case you think me comparing us to the Green Berets was hyperbole, we actually helped train one, and last I heard he made it into the SEALS. Weapons mastery aside, one of things that makes me dangerous is I have a knack for pulling the most random moves out of the box: case in point, I have the distinction of being the only student (or at least one of the only) to ever knock my instructor off his feet, using an angled flying leg sweep not taught in class, and he isn’t exacly new to dealing with off the wall techniques, especially mine. No worries, he continued to kick my ass after as per usual, but unpredictability, or chaos, is another skill set I bring to the table.

“Meanwhile, at least she’s working on her form and actually hitting something. (last one I promise.) ”

So how about application outside the field? Again, a whole lot of classified tales aside: one time I had to pull a guy off the host of a party I was attending, utilising a Japanese death lock (one of the choke holds taught, also my personal favorite): no matter what flailing and swinging the poor schlep did he couldn’t get out, eventually everyone there had to pull us apart. Another time was at a hot springs: some fat chick for whatever fucking reason picked a fight with me, and one of my deflection moves made her hit herself in the face, prompting her to stop and cry (why don’t I take women seriously @nick_schulaner?). This also prompts the natural male response of some giant Texan to get involved, asking if I just hit a woman. After trying and failing to explain what happened, I lost patience and just said “yeah, and what the fuck are you gonna do about it?” He swings, I evade and promptly lost my footing in the muddy hot spring we were in (failing the 3rd step of awareness: know your environment), and he gets on top of me and pushes me completely under water; most others would be completely at the mercy of their opponent at this point. A side note: I was known as the “nice” one compared to the other instructors there, meaning I tend to be more gentle and playful with both students and opponents, fighting without really trying to hurt them, sometimes to my own detriment. But once you piss me off, that unlocks a very brutal side of me, one few have ever seen (visited the folks a while back and saw the solid oak front door where I lost it for a flash and tried to pull back a punch aimed at it: the crack in the door is still there; pretty sure had I not I would have penetrated. For a nice visual, here’s a Bleach reference: https://youtu.be/Ul5J2gjJPcI ). This was one of those moments where I lost it: I managed to get my feet under me, stood up with him on my back, and threw him out of the tub and proceeded to reach out of it to continue attacking. This is when (finally) everyone else decided to intervene. I managed to escape out of their grasp, make it to where my pants were, and draw a blade, commanding everyone there to stand down and the fat bitch to leave immediately (she actually walked the 3 or 4 miles back to the highway still in her bathing suit). A happy side note, the guy that was thrown out of the tub and I ended on pretty good terms, something guys usually do after a good fight. Quite a few more stories, but I’ll save those for another time.

“Pictured: 8” of “shut the fuck up and do what I say”, favored by actual border guards. Ask me how I know! ”

One last thing about my training. Brown belt. The hardest rank to attain in my school, physically speaking, even beyond black belt. It requires 3 days of testing. Day 1, a Wednesday, given classes are Mondays and Wednesdays. The standard 50 pushups & sit ups warm up, about 8 or 9 different katas/forms to pull off flawlessly including the Hun Gar kung fu form, 7 throws, 10 takedowns, the standard ukemi/break fall techniques, staff & escrima forms and techniques (fun story: I performed my staff blocking techniques against my instructors master staff: mine broke in half halfway through, and I managed to continue defending myself with the remaining half. One of my other classmates that had the same happen to him? Not so lucky, or intuitive I guess. Arrogant to claim the title Weapons Master? Maybe….), and after all that, recite all of the martial arts definitions, lessons and mantras taught. There’s more to that which I have forgotten, but most people don’t make it through that. Day 2, Thursday. You go with Grandmaster Horton himself to Venice Beach. You begin with a 3 mile run in the sand, perform a 45 minute session of calisthenics exercises, run the 3 miles back to the starting destination (sidenote: if you paused or walked during any of this, you failed), and performed decline knuckle pushups well beyond failure, the count going to at least 600. You were encouraged to stop or quit at any time if you wanted, though again you would fail in doing so. Day 3, Friday. How I wish I could tell you what that entails, but I am sworn to secrecy about that. All I can tell you to give you a hint is that a week later, when I came in to receive my new brown belt, I could barely walk.

“meanwhile… (I lied.)”

As I look back at this and everything I haven’t written, I for one find that incredible. Not just for the accomplishments themselves, but the fact that through most of that I was overweight and not nearly as powerful as I am now, although I had a fair amount of strength, speed and endurance back then, and built it up to quite a decent level. This training, in case it wasn’t already made clear, had a core tenet to it: you had to be willing to accept death, and therefore be willing to die (this is one reason why I can’t talk about a lot of stories); if you weren’t, you washed out. I made it through all of that and even farther than even most of the handful that do, purely through some intellect and mostly from sheer willpower. These days I wonder, with the power I have now, how I would fare enduring those trials today. So when some front desk guy or a bus driver tells me I’m not allowed to use certain language because I correctly labelled the local population Retards (it is the middle of March 2020 as I am writing this, look up Coronavirus and Toilet Paper Gate), I find that hilarious: on what authority are you giving me this order, and do you have what it takes to make me comply with said order? Give it your best shot buddy. Some black kid just getting into boxing like @georgemsimpson2000 guided by testosterone poisoned by cortisol thinks he’s badass enough with his USDA Prime marbled muscles and his rent free address he invited me to so his homies can back him up in kicking my ass? Aside from the fact that his sport is sanctioned ring centric yet he pussies out of having to sign a death waiver to fight me, then accusing me of not being a mature martial artist by picking a fight even though I merely asked him to put his money where his mouth was, I’ve been training to fight longer than he’s been able to walk. You think I fear this steroid taking fucking kid? Perhaps you should consider thinking again, and to help with that, let’s give some tactics that I might possibly employ should I take this poor boy up on his offer. And boy, if you’re reading this, and still think you and the home boys have the upper hand, take a seat while I tell you just who you’re talking to.

“Pictured: my worst nightmare, allegedly.”

First problem with inviting me over to where you live: you ever consider why I don’t let everyone know where I am? For one, SWAT has been here, twice. But second is if someone were to track me down, I would go to jail where there’s no tequila, and they would go underground forever. As far as your offer: it assumes I would engage you in the visual arena to begin with. And I have quite the roster of tactics I could theoretically employ (this ambiguous enough for you FBI?), the most conspicuous of which would be a .22mag from a bolt action ruger or crossbow bolt at range. Poisoning the household tap water (unlike the armed forces, I don’t mind a bit of collateral damage: they raised you, they’re responsible for your action’s consequences), microwave gun to your head and equipment, leaking your info to certain outlets in your area (you are in Georgia after all), to name a few. Should I actually get kinetic with you in the visual arena: again, not counting the rage factor, I was trained to take out an entire room if need be and to fight in several directions at once; you think I’m worried about a roided up boxer trained to fight one person in one space? And that’s considering I’m completely unarmed: this doesn’t bring into play the hand to hand or ranged weapons I might employ, the steel plate armor along with the hand and foot weights I walk around with daily that gives me exponentially more kinetic force than your weighted gloves do. This also doesn’t take into account that I might employ the slow poison method prior, nor any back up I might have, who would also be trained to the same degree I am. So while you message me in private about how bad ass you are but want me to show my face (what’s the matter, afraid someone might hold you accountable?), you might wanna take this into consideration, provided you have the capacity to do so. Then again, you and your single mommy probably ran to the store last night and tried to buy toilet rolls lysol and water that were all out of stock weeks before. So why did I write all of this? Well aside from being entertainment for myself, at least my followers get something to read when the Simpson’s Dome drops on th eir cities, right?

“Also applies to apparent Navy SEAL Snipers that are also comedians. Still waiting on this to be signed.”

“Take a wild guess what I’ve heard back since these were taken? Go on, I’ll wait. *crickets*”

Update: actually found a couple of old videos, knew there were a few up there! Check them out, down below!

There’s even one of me there doing an absolutely terrible job. If you want that one, email me at bacon@thegoddamnbacon.com and I’ll send it to ya! Be chaos my friends!

End Times Report: All Hell’s Broken Loose

Well shit, this escalated quickly! In 72 hours it seems every major metropolitan area has rioting in the streets, news and clothes outlets are being burned down, and the National Guard is being brought in (as predicted right here, though not quite the way expected) to enforce an actual lockdown, with the emergency phone alert coming through as I was recording live. Think I can make this shit up? Tune in below to find out!

Friday Night: Chaos


Saturday Afternoon: Curfew


15 Minute Philosophy: Threat

“Most of humanity today have such a false sense of security, have been so removed from reality and natural selection, they don’t recognize just what kind of danger they’ve gotten themselves into until it’s almost too late.”

MP3: 15MinPhi Threat


Wednesday, 3 minutes after 11 PST in the morning as I begin to write this, comfortably in my soon to be past bedroom. All is quiet, with not even the trains going by right now. It’s been well over a week since all hell broke loose here, and last I heard I had to be moved out ASAP for the “safety” of the other tenants, lest I flay them alive and handcuff their children apparently. So what has transpired since then? What villainous dastardly deeds have I committed since I was declared public enemy number one? Just what kind of danger has been there really for everyone else since I’m still on the premesis?

Obviously I cannot speak for the other households here, but I can speak for my own. I’ve continued to go to work, with traffic picking up a wee bit in the last few days. A new and final carb is being tested out for the diet and nutrition research I’ve been doing the last couple of years, with delicious results. Finally bottled the tequila being infused with pickled jalapeños, and enjoyed them along with steaks and premium wine and cigars at a buddy’s place. Speaking of which, there’s a pineapple sitting in the window to ripen up before I infuse it with a bottle of bourbon. I’ve installed a new (to the car at least) radio head, so now I can listen to my podcasts through the speakers in my car via a hard connection rather than bluetooth, solving both the problem of every bluetooth speaker ever’s charging port breaking, and possibly being contact traced via bluetooth. I’ve gone on a couple of livestreams, and told my side of the story on the events that happened here to various degrees of comedic effect. Allie, one of the kids frequently on the premesis, discovered helium and wanted to show me her new singing voice as I was on my way to work. Speaking of the kids, while gone for a little while which isn’t out of the ordinary(pretty sure the rain was also a factor) , they were back in full force this weekend, along with others I didn’t recognise. In all, despite the emergency get out of dodge call because I’m more of a danger than coronavirus infected murder hornets, life has pretty much gone back to normal here.

So about that “imminent threat” I pose meaning I have to upend my life for the “safety” of others. In fact, let’s talk about that word, because it’s fast becoming the new N bomb as far as I’m concerned, especially when it comes to women. Yes, I said it: women. Show me a male that does things outside of his line of work for “safety” and I’ll show you a man that was broken before he even had a chance to grow up. Only when it comes to women, female and otherwise, is “safety” a priority. Who went full retard on my balcony at 1:30 in the morning? A woman. Who called the cops out of fear of confrontation? It wasn’t the man that came outside to find out what was going on and ended up defusing the situation. Who were the subjects of all this being started in the first place? A pair of girls that apparently are allowed up well past midnight on a Friday evening outside of their place of residence. All of these women who fear for their “safety” are the ones making all of the racket and calling guess the gender to come rescue them. Call me crazy, but back when I was growing up, damsels in distress were at least sexy and in real danger, for some odd reason often being tied up on train tracks. These days, no real danger, and certainly not sexy at least up here: all the reasons to panic fear, all the accusations being levied, have been in language only, having no tangible presence in reality. I could be wrong about this and a process server is on his way right now to serve me, but as of this writing I’m the only one to have taken any legal action since all of this went down. Quite the opposite should be happening if I did what they said I did and still posed a threat to what should be the most precious thing to them. But it’s not. Because it’s in their head, not in the real world. Furthermore, to take action takes work: in this example having to file police reports, request subpoenas, go to court at 7am, etc. Legal work, but work nonetheless. Much easier to call the landlord and make up a bunch of bullshit to get me outta here. There’s another reason I think all of this was a setup from the get go, but I’ll save that crazy theory for another time.

This isn’t just about The Incident though: I’ve been waiting to write this for a long time, because I see this just about everywhere. If you’ve heard of clown world or my theory of Retardism, then you’ll know where this is going. The reality is that most of humanity today, at least in the 1st world, cannot recognise what is a real threat to their lives today and what isn’t, at least in the real world. Consequently if not because of, threats in language (not afraid of coronavirus anymore? No problem: murder hornets!) freaks them the fuck out. Again, best example is what I’m going through right now. The threat I “pose” with my mere presence, in their mind at least, isn’t real, but she wasn’t worried about disturbing the murder hornet’s nest (see what I did there?) unarmed until there was a machete pointed at her throat, a true testament to not recognising true danger until its almost too late. Every mask wearing Corona Retard up here keeping 6 feet apart is worried about the pandemic, and shaming others giving this virus the real level of worry it actually warrants, yet they’re perfectly OK walking in the middle of the street staring straight ahead or at their telephone-equipped brain replacement, assuming my 1 ton and change chunk of steel and fire on wheels will go from 40-0mph in time, all because they’re in between painted lines on the asphalt. Speaking of cars, that’s one of 2 places everyone, men and especially women, feel seemingly invincible, if their behaviour is any indication: they’re willing to cut you off, speed up just to get in front of you, and all kinds of behaviour that would be unacceptable otherwise. Not all by a long shot to be fair, but more than enough to be of notice. The other place, of course, is the internet: arguments, insults, threats of bodily harm, you name it. I don’t even need to go into it: keyboard warrior has been a thing since before I ever had an online presence. Funny to see how people act behind the veils of their perceived safety, even in fairly tight knit groups.

Take the 3rd Man Militia for example. Great group of guys and girls by far, don’t get me wrong, and I could have this whole thing misunderstood, and hopefully so. But apparently there’s been talk of some wrong doing of mine to another 3rd Man, to the point that Charlie (JakobCharles.fm) reached out to say I should apologise to her (notice a theme here!?), for whatever unspecified reason, leading me to think even he doesn’t know what the problem is. I still have yet to hear back from her, but why is he the only one saying anything to me about this, while apparently everyone else is talking behind my back? Am I really about to be excommunicated from a group I’ve had nothing but good things to say about over fucking rumors? Again, that’s an open question, and this all could be just over inflated nothingness, but that’s my point: I’m not the most imposing figure and certainly not the most prone to initiating violence, but could you imagine any of them saying whatever this shit is to me to my face if they can’t even do it online? By the way, if there’s any teeth to this, the next 3rd Man Drinking Zoom Chat is gonna be very interesting, because as I told Charlie, I’m done trying to appease people I’m accused of doing wrong to without concrete evidence. Speaking of my stature, again, not the most imposing figure, and for the most part most people get the sense to not fuck with me. But the sheer amount of people, sober or otherwise, that have seen fit to say all kinds of things to me personally is shocking. Granted most people don’t know my background of combat training and experience, or the true degree of physical ability I have, and in fairness I worked in the past to downplay whatever power or martial skill I have to lure unsuspecting dopes into underestimating me. But you would think at a minimum someone walking around as easily as you are with an extra 50lbs of metal attached to him would give at least a bit of a pause. Perhaps the fact that there’s always law enforcement to back them up is enough to ignore any impending retaliation I might have, but the 2nd amendment exists for a reason: they might not get there in time. It’s not until I actually start moving do they suddenly realise pissing me off or attacking me wasn’t the greatest decision in their lives.

Which brings me to solutions. With much if not most of humanity today freaking out over perceived if not made up threats while ignoring if they’re able to even recognise real ones, what’s a Man to do? Simple, if action even needs to be taken: make it real. Bring reality to the situation. My current situation may be too far gone, but who took action and filed a report as soon as possible and, more importantly, who didn’t? “Actions speak louder than words” is a saying for a reason, and after this is all said and done I will be vindicated. Someone (vegans for example) want you to make some sort of argument or some other version of wasting your time providing evidence they’re not gonna listen to anyway? Charge em for it, and even better, provide links they can easily and verifiably transfer funds to (By the way, if you’d have some extra trump change laying around and want to donate to a good cause, PayPal.me/PayBacon or Venmo @Bacon-Maldito, just saiyan!) Speaking of which Rajon sent me a tweet from some guy saying grappling is superior to striking, of which I had my own reply on that, of which he went to tough guy mode. What did I do? Same thing I do to any internet tough guy: told him to sign up for a local martial arts or mma tournament (now that I think of it, probably not that many going in right now, whoops!) and send me proof, and I would drive to it to confront him in person. Care to guess what the success rate of shutting people up is? If you guessed 102% with a 2% chance of error, you win a prize! Some Karen or Kevin tries to tell you to put on a mask or stand on a square painted on the ground? Tell them to come physically make you. Perhaps not all of you can do this, but if they actually try, they’ll quickly realize the error of their ways once they can’t call the cops because you’re crushing their trachea or smashed their kidneys, ask me how I know! Point being is that everyone can and often will run their mouths and say whatever it is they think is safe to say and try to get you to appease and pay or whatever they can get away with. Until it costs them something. So make it cost em. As for the idiots that can’t (or won’t) realise an actual threat to them or theirs, first make sure your ass is covered: see the previous 15 Minute Philosophy post Alone for more. After that, as Rob Says: “let ’em burn”, even hand them the fuel to do so if it profits you. And don’t bother feeling sorry for them or theirs: for one, it ain’t gonna do anything, and they’re not gonna learn their lesson without suffering in the first place. And after all, this same idiot would likely drag you into their own misery if they could if they haven’t already tried. Why in fucks name would you feel sorry for that instead of lighting a cigar on their burning body, roasting smores on it, kicking back and enjoying the show?

BURNING ALL BRIDGES: Laughter At Humanity Show Never Appeases Accusations Without Absolute Proof Spectacular

“Everyday is another day I wonder just what the fuck I’m gonna be blamed for next.” 

SLP: Walk In The Park

MP3: SLP Walk In The Park

Consulting: AssholeConsulting.com, ChildOfTruth.com & SafetyPhD.com Marketing: NickSchulaner.com

Accounting: ElkinsCPA.com

Fitness: PersonalStrengthConsulting.com

Premium Meats: NoseToTail.org

Podcasts: CaptainCapitalism.blogspot.com & OlderBrother.com, GaryAndDino.com, BigAngryPhil.com, Peak-Human.com,  FighterPilotPodcast.com, CynLibSoc.com, MasculineGeek.com, Robsays.net & TJMartinell.com

Special Shout Out: JakobCharles.fm




The days keep going by, life continues to go on, and guess who gets blamed for something yet again! Go on, take your time figuring this one out, I’ll wait.

Everyone gather their thoughts? If you guess yours truly, congratulations: you win a prize! Case in point, Charlie of the 3rd Man Militia reached out to me over an issue with the group I’m apparently the root cause of. So what’s the latest accusation this time, and are there some people up here that actually have the stones to tell Karen to fuck off even though “people are dying by the hundreds” of the covidcrisis? Grab a well chilled can of cider and tune the fuck in, down below!

(Show Note: for whatever fucking reason the original file would not upload, so I had to split it into 2 segments. My apologies for the inconvenience hey, I CAN apologise for things I actually fucking did!)

Part 1

MP3: LAH Make It Real Pt 1

Part 2

MP3: Make-It-Real-Pt-2

Article Links:




Eye Candy

15 Minute Philosophy: I Remember

In celebration of this very special Memorial Day, I delve back into a story of the Wiccan Dog Walker, why Jenns with 2 N’s are crazy, whether cat ladies or god rescue girls are insane, and how I timed things right and got the best version of her before she got a “boyfriend”. Check it out, down below!

MP3: 15MinPhi I Remember

End Times Report: Fighting

In this inside the studio edition of the End Times Report, two guys that are fans of MMA, BJJ, wrestling and boxing talk to a real life combat martial artist about the validity of any of these sport adapted styles of fighting usually seen on TV, all while drunk on margaritas and smoking a 3£ cigar from the Dominican Republic. How did that go? Make sure your rim is salty and listen in down below!

MP3: ETR Martial Arts Chat

15 Minute Philosophy: Alone


“When it matters the most, the only person you can rely upon is you. Everyone else has their own ass to cover.”

MP3: 15MinPhi Alone

Welp, it’s official: after nearly 5 years of being a rather decent tenant at my current place of employment, I’m back on the rental market. 5 years. Outside where I grew up, that’s the longest I’ve ever spent at any one place of residence. This also happens to be the first place that didn’t come furnished (a real benefit of living in a transient tourist town where few lived long term is no one moves furniture, including bedding), so this is the one real place I really got to customise to my liking, both when and especially after Hot Russian Ex departed. I put in a lot of work here both to save money long term, but all kinds of creature comforts and decorations and mementos gathered over the years: All LED lighting (cuts my lighting bill by 90%), insulating every crack in the floors and windows, upgraded shower head and kitchen sink nozzle, insulated out line for the water heater, not to mention all the crazy wiring I had to do to get most of the electronics here working. Even have the cheapest (for better AND worse) Internet subscription possible, more than half of which is paid for by the downstairs neighbours. All in all, one of the best rental settings a man could ask for: close to everything including transportation and freeways, a kick ass courtyard, and a decent landlord, all for a decent price given the current market.

All of that is going away. All over a fucking Karen. Actually, calling her a Karen is an insult to Karen: this is a Shrieking Shiela.

“Prompting the local LEO’s to visit at 3 on the morning.”

If you’ve listened to the last few shows, you’ll know what Incident I’m referring to. To save time, let’s just say I’ve been recently accused of the worst crimes to humanity possible outside of murder and rape. Overnight I went from a homebody that mostly kept to himself, only really conversing with those I live amongst in passing, usually while ferrying groceries or repairing my vehicle, to literally Hitler himself. Speaking of that which I am accused, another thing I hoped to never have to do is exactly what I did a couple of days ago: I filed a police report against thy neighbours, documenting precisely what happened the night of The Incident. Yes: it is serious enough to warrant that kind of action. Which brings up a very interesting question: now I don’t have children so I can’t empirically answer this, but if I did and someone that lives in close proximity verifiably did something physically horrible to them, I’d at the very least physically have this person removed and prosecuted as soon as possible if not taken personal action. At the time of this writing, no legal action is being taken on me, which leads me to two trains of thought: 1. They have some sort of legal or criminal background or issue therefore they can’t go to the authorities, or 2. They know damn well they’re lying and would at the least end up with a charge of filing a false police report, or hell, 3. Probably both. The lady (and I use that term looser than her chastity belt) responsible for all of this was smoking that night, and since I’m no qualified toxicologist I can speak to what was in that vape pen of hers. I’m just saying that, even given the stakes on my end, I shouldn’t be the one taking action more seriously than the “mother” that apparently isn’t.

“Bet Gina of ChildOfTruth.com wouldn’t have this issue with her future kids.”

Either way, doesn’t matter: I’m the man in this equation, and a lone one at that: every factor has it’s double edge. Meaning no matter what, I’m the only one capable of being responsible for whatever happens. So despite anything I say or any evidence I bring up, the blame is squarely on me, something I learned a long time ago but apparently I haven’t learned that lesson hard enough; hopefully this will be the event that truly bakes that one into the ol’ Bacontainer in my head once and for all, along with quite a few other lessons. Another of which: don’t have neighbours if you can help it, let alone hang out and drink with them. A caveat: if you’re a man, only hang out when there are other guys there if not only guys: every issue I’ve ever had here was started and inflamed by a woman, that is not a joke or hyperbole. I’m not kidding when I say the place I choose to lay down even shallow roots will have a border defended by at least the range of a 5.56: the most volatile thing in the world is other human beings, and frankly I’m tired of dealing with them on my front door, whether it’s crazy women (but I repeat myself) or the men they inevitably end up calling to handle whatever problem they started.

“Yes, I’m saying women are different than men.”

Which brings me to the landlord, who given his name we’ll call The Man. The Man and I have known and interacted for over 5 years now, longer than I’ve even laired here. Over the years, we’ve both gone through quite a bit: sometimes together and sometimes separate. Tenants disputing at gunpoint and having SWAT called in at 3 in the morning. Trash bins being set on fire next to gas lines. My car being broken into for the first time since I ever held a drivers licence. Not all negative: we’ve helped each other move heavy appliances around, fix several things on the property, I even did some landscaping free of charge. What I’m saying is that he knows me, even picked me out of several people, all of which had more formal paperwork and rental history than I did at the time. He’s seen how I interact with the people on the premises, and in particular the many children they have here. He has the rather clean record I have here for nearly 5 years, save for a few sex noise complaints. We’ve been on good terms for almost this entire time. Hell, the one and only time I ever missed a payment was back when we wrote checks and Hot Russian Ex wrote one under the wrong account, and that was only by a day. You would think that The Man would take this into consideration when and if an Incident like this should occur. You would think that perhaps after all of that The Man would at least ask for my side of the story before laying any kind of judgment, let alone consider anything I had to say. Hey, that’s what I thought: oh, ye of too much faith! Granted he was not in the premesis and there weren’t any cameras to bear here (which would’ve torpedoed this entire fucking catastrophe), even The Man isn’t immune to Clown World. According to him via my accusor, I have a spotty memory augmented by whatever drug and alcohol I was consuming (are cigars a drug now? Asking for a friend). I was the aggressor and the predator, and God forbid could it have been the other way around because I have testosterone and they don’t. Doesn’t matter: guilty as charged, without the possibility of proving any kind of innocence, all in the name of “safety”.

“This is getting more true by the day.”

That tells me a few more things I should’ve known before now. Yes, I have appealed to continue living in the unit I have made rather worthy of calling home: why leave if I don’t have to, why not fight for it if I have at least a shot? Given I’m writing this, you can guess how that went over. Granted I’m not being thrown out with my stuff by the local sheriff: I’m being given a decent amount of time to find another place to live. But that gavel came down rather quick, before I even had time to share my side of the story, which leads me to ask: if you’ve already made your decision, why in fucks name would you bother asking me what happened? What that means is that, when it comes down to it, nothing of our previous history matters: he sided with Shrieking Shiela & The Vaginas, and now all of that investment I’ve made here is going down the toilet. Understandably he has his liabilities to cover being the land owner here: that’s my point. When it comes down to covering your ass, the only person that’s going to do it at all costs is you; relying on anyone else is flimsy shielding at best. Another thing I think plays a factor here is that, for pretty much the entire time I’ve been here, I’ve been paying close to if not below market value for my unit, though I did my part to help make up for that by keeping his expenses keeping me here low, whether that was more efficient use of utilities or repairing things without his assistance. What better opportunity to get this abject freeloader out and some higher paying tenant in? Helping that theory was him saying that Shiela was his “best” tenant, who lives in a recently renovated unit: draw your own conclusions. While I’m not saying this is the driving factor, I can see this being one reason why he would get rid of one of his most reliable tenants to date.

“Let’s just say I’ve been through worse than this.”

Not all is lost however. I’m still gainfully employed for the time being, with business picking up. My vehicle is running the best it ever has having recently performed maintenance on it (along with a new radiohead: suck it contact tracers!). So despite the rental market being a bit bare at the moment, I can still get by, and again I’m not exactly being dragged out here; I never said The Man was a bad guy, he merely is protecting his own interests. Where this goes is anyone guess at this point (hey, I’ve been homeless before, in ski country during winter to boot!), but with a bit of luck and planning, maybe I’ll wind up in an even better place. But even if I were to somehow manage to keep this place, why? Why would I want to stay at a place where the resident tenants hate my guts, although they now know not to fuck with me (I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: humans today feel so secure they don’t realize what danger they’re getting themselves into until it’s almost too late. It took this for them to figure out how dangerous I can be when pushed, and that was a light showing.) why would I want to live among them? The Man has been very fair up until this point, and has other rental properties I could ask about and likely will: why not keep my options open? But why keep myself under the same guy that sided against me without so much as an appeal? Hell, for all the faults it has, at least the legal system gives you an arraignment process and your day in court before you’re judged by your peers or the judge himself. Hell, aside from my own nefarious purposes, why live anywhere near these people at all: why not completely uproot and move to a different city or even state? Not sure myself. All I know at this point is that no one will ever have your back more than you will, even with the best of histories and previous backings: not your landlord, not your neighbours, not even your own family sometimes, let alone your significant other.

“Ask me how I know!”

Guess I needed World War 3 to break out here for me to learn that lesson permanently. Are you gonna wait for your experience until it happens to you?

“Had the idea of carding women like this when I turned 18. Might have to make that a policy now.”

End Times Report: Live Streaming on Plenty Of Fish

Took to the local park to get out of the house since it was nice out (back to raining again as I type this), and talked about different experiences I’ve had on going on different chicks’ live streams. Cigar of the night: another Alec Bradley that was phenomenal!

ETR POF Live Hilarity