Pac Man vs. Black Man

The poor man's versoin of The Fight of the Century is right around the corner. After the bout, Mayweather and Pacquiao plan on starring in a re-make of Pulp Fiction.

The poor man’s version of The Fight of the Century is right around the corner. After the bout, Mayweather and Pacquiao plan on starring in a re-make of Pulp Fiction.


Few events in human history will compare if Ho Chi Minh’s love child Manny Pacquaio fulfills his destinty and pleases the boxing gods by knocking the shit out of Floyd Mayweather tonight—even worse than Pretty Boy does to his gold-digging girlfriends.  The Vegas odds are two-to-one that Floyd makes a number one or number two in his pants during the fight, and a million-to-one that people will be happy if Floyd wins.  Well, all except dumbass black people that is.

I don’t understand how this fight has become so racially divisive.  Thank god Pacquaio isn’t white or this would be Holmes-Cooney all over again.  Black dudes are unanimously rooting for Floyd almost as unanimously as they voted for Obama, only in even greater numbers of course because felons can’t vote.  It’s so retarded; you would think they were rooting for Malcom X in boxing trunks.  Meanwhile the only thing Floyd’s ever done for the black community is be a picture of obscenely wasted wealth.  His real value will be about ten years after he retires, when he’s flat broke and the new perfect example of how not to turn out to be a penniless ex-athlete.

But back to tonight.  Is it just me, or has the entire promotional build-up to the fight felt constipated?  Let’s get this shit over with already.  Watching Pac Man being trotted out in interview after interview to mumble barely intelligible nothingness has been downright painful to watch.  This guy’s not exactly Muhammad Ali.  And Floyd’s trash talk hasn’t been much better; he’s remained so aloof in training that he’s barely even had time to beat his girlfriends.  For the so-called Biggest Fight Ever, this has been one lame-ass publicity tour.

Speaking of lame-ass, have you had the misfortune to have your eardrums assaulted by Pac Man’s god-awful “music?”  They say he learned how to sing by imitating the dying cries of the cats he used to cook for lunch, and boy it shows.  He’s like the Frank Sinatra of the Phillipines; they even call him “Old Chink Eyes.”  Fortunately for deaf viewers, Pacquiao’s recorded a special little diddy for his entrance music tonight, reportedly entitled “The Egg Roll Blues.”

Besides the five-year blue balls for boxing fans and Pac Man’s horrendous crooning, the stupidest aspect of this fight is the enormous and outlandish price tag.  I’ve ranted and raved previously about the hundred samolians those PPV fucks expect people to shell out to have the privilege of viewing the fight in their homes, but what bars are expected to pay is even more ridiculous.  Anyone who ventures out on fight night to watch the fight at a random bar is going to be sorely disappointed.  Businesses have been asked to pay more than most can conceivably make back, so pickings are going to be slim indeed.

Either way, thanks to a typical boxing snooze-fest of an undercard, the real fireworks won’t begin til probably eleven, maybe even as late as midnight.  Unless you’re black and severely mentally handicapped, all of humanity will unite as one to collectively will that little gook to victory.  But if you ask me, thanks to the half a decade delay, this fight smells a lot more like Leonard-Hagler than Leonard-Hearns.  And that smells like shit.

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