Having my way with Ulysses

Made him puke what he never ate.

I'm a fighter. I believe in the eye-for-an-eye business. I'm no cheek turner. I got no respect for a man who won't hit back. You kill my dog, you better hide your cat.

5:36 pm

Money May is more famous but the people wanted Cotto.  The people were there for Cotto.  He didn’t have 50 Cent, he didn’t have Justin Bieber what the Christ was that kid doing there, but he had the people.  And he was bigger in the ring, did you see the size of him next to Mayweather?  He looked good.  And he made up for the Mayweather promotions guys who stunk up the undercard.  Carlos Quintana knocked out Latimore with one eye shut and I wish I had both eyes shut watching Jessie Vargas.  Mayweather came out first few rounds with his 1-2 punches.  Cotto, I don’t know man, his strategy looked aggressive but just not enough action, you know?  We were waiting for the action.  Mayweather may be more famous and he got like, what, like four times the money they promised to Cotto no matter who won, but look, he was  still the challenger in this shit.  Cotto had the title, man, he’s the WBA Junior middleweight champion, his shit’s for real.  And if you don’t believe me look at round 5, round 6.  Cotto owned it.  He owned it.  He came out mean round 5 and had old (and I mean OLD) Money May in the corner fast.  May comes out, Cotto gets him right back in that corner.  And a bad ass left eat that Mayweather!  Round 6 and our boy’s comfortable.  He’s el jefe now and his hook style’s something to see, bouncing on his toes a lot too.  But it was those flurry in round 8 that had the people screaming.  Mayweather shaking his head.  Mayweather laughing.  Mayweather bleeding.  Oye Pretty Boy Floyd, not so pretty now with blood falling out your nose, eh?  He nervous.  He scared.  Pobrecito thinks he’s going to lose in his own ring.  And the thing is, I think he did.  Look at round 8.  Easy for Cotto.  Those two stiff uppercuts.  Come on bro, look at round 10.  Cotto’s for sure.   Those combinations in round 11.  Show off all you want Mayweather, but one 2-1 punch doesn’t get you that round.  He was fighting a bad fight and fell back on showmanship.  Score it for me judges, I’m paying your salary.  If I pretend to be winning then you can score it for me and maybe sleep at night too.  And they did.  117-111, 117-111, 118-110.  What the fuck?  No wonder Cotto left the ring and no interview.  Damnit man, he was robbed.  Mother fucking robbed.  If it had been Mayweather’s exact performance but a different fighter’s name, Cotto would have won by decision.  You don’t think so?  Watch it agian.  Look at it again.  Keep both eyes open this time.

Is love worse living?

His part should say in honour bound: So help me symethew, sammmarc, selluc and singin, I will stick to you, by gum, no matter what, bite simbum, and in case of the event coming off beforehand even so you was to release me for the sake of the other cheap girl's baby's name plaster me but I will pluckily well pull on the buckskin gloves!You’re reading me.  Oh my God I  feel you.  Wow.  Are you shitting me?  I can’t believe this shit I see you.  Holy freaking shit.  Ok.  Ok.  I’m cool be cool.  Um.  yeah.  Now this is real.  I’m real.  I thought about this.  I was just thinking about this.  No way dude.  I wanted you to read me and here you are.  Wow.  This shit will knock you into the middle of next week.  So.  Right before I thought about what it would be like when you read about my dad dying and think about me how sad, I had an argument with myself. The me on the left was thinking about how damn glad I am to be the hell out of there.  I can’t take any more crying, mostly without tears. Uncle Barney leaping in to take care of everything, sending me off with five bucks for pork steaks and wanting change back.  Wow.  I snuck some of that sherry from Tunney’s which was super gross, give me a minute.  I’m still blown away.  Anyway.  Then the other me on the right, my left when I’m looking at you was thinking about the fight.  Cinco de Mayo, I missed it.  Floyd Mayweather Jr and Miguel Cotto.  Mayweather is the best in the world.  He’s got the brains for it even after getting head butted by Victor Ortiz.  Accurate.  Best technical fighter.  Brutal too, going to jail for beating up his girlfriend.  But they want him to fight Cotto first.  Money talks then he walks.  Mayweather wants it, but Cotto wants it more.  He’s a bleeder, so he puts on a good show, and he’s hot for it.  He had a point to prove against Margarito’s plaster hand wraps and he’s back baby.  And he’s at peace and peaceful is more dangerous than angry in a fight.  I should know.  Dad was perfectly calm when he belted me over that picture of naked Lady Gaga.  I wonder if my friends will read this too?  See it online somewhere maybe.  See I’m in mourning, dressed for a funeral.  Did you see that guy just now with the red flower in his mouth?  Smiling at that drunk he was listening to.  See what he was wearing?  Buttonholes on my shirt are too big.  Keep slipping open.  God it was brutal, the whole thing from dad drunk to his grey face with that big fly crawling on it.  The big coffin.  Why was that?  That last night.  Dad was wasted he looked so short, shouting loud for his boots so he could go out, get more drunk.  He could have knocked out Mayweather that night easy.  Now I’ll never see him again.  His drunk red face.  Death.  Dad is dead.  He tried to talk to me, lips moving couldn’t get it out past his teeth, but I heard him tell me to be a god son to mom.  You’re a good kid, be a good son to your mother.  Tried to say more.  Poor dad.  He was my dad.  He went to Father Conroy for confession so I hope he’s in purgatory now.  My father.  Mr. Patrick Dignam.