Fat Guy BJJ Blog

The slightly sarcastic, nominally entertaining Brazilian Jiu Jitsu adventures of a 30-something Dad


May 2016

Deep Throat Thrombosis and the Donkey Dick of Destiny

If you’re already up on my situation, I’m attaching this picture as proof of life:


So I had myself an interesting weekend. I was scheduled to have surgery to repair my Atrial Fibrillation problem (aFib) using some sort of secret squirrel shock therapy or some shit.  In order to do that, they needed a good look at the inside of my heart.  Apparently, in order to do that, they need to go INSIDE my body since, you know, lungs and bones and skin and shit are in the way if you try to image from outside the body.

Long story short, Thursday morning I find myself deep throating a TEE probe (Transesophageal echocardiogram).  Now, that might sound benign, but when medical terms come out and you have no idea what they mean, you’re about to get fucked by technology.  In this case, I had the opportunity to give technology a blow job, which, honestly, is way over due.  I mean, technology has done so much for me, but I digress.

Here’s what the probe looks like:


Aaaand, here’s a donkey dick:


I trust you can see the similarity. Anyhow, the donkey dick of destiny uncovered a major problem.  I have an Atrial Thrombosis, which is an over-educated dickbag way of saying I have a blood clot in my heart.  That’s not good.

Now, the clot won’t kill you as long as it remains in the heart.  If that shit gets pumped out into the system, you’re solidly fucked.  Hence, it doesn’t make much sense to put my heart back into rhythm where it will, subsequently, immediately pump the thrombus out into my circulatory system and start fucking shit up like the mosh pit at a Hatebreed concert. Instead I’m on blood thinners.  Lots and lots of blood thinners.  With the hope that the thrombus will stop being a twat waffle and go quietly into the night.

So that’s how my weekend is going so far.  A night in the Cardiac ICU and a blowjob, although I was hoping to receive one rather than give one, but fuck.  What can you do?


Look At it! Look At My Precious!

Juan Verde Blue BeltLook at my precious!  Never mind the fact that it looks like I stole my kid brother’s belt for this photo (I got a little over-zealous with how much weight I’ve lost).  Never mind the fact that it took me slightly less time than it took the Grand Canyon to form. I have it, and it is mine!

There are many blue belts, but this one is mine.  And yours sucks. Well, maybe not, but mine is certainly better.  Actually, this one isn’t mine.  I ordered a slightly larger one.  But I digress.

And with this belt promotion, my journey to the dark side is complete.  I’m sorry all of you Jedi enthusiasts, but I’m of the Sith.  I’ll do kesa gatame on your mommy.  I’ll do a leg lock on a hedgehog. I’ll pass guard on a retard.  I’ll put a twister on your sister. It’s real over here.

I guess I can’t be accused of #whitebeltprivledge any more.


Top Tips for New Jiu Jitsu Competitors

Jiu Jitsu competition is something….it truly is.  I don’t quite know whether that something is good or bad yet, but it’s something. Here’s my experience with the IBJJF Atlanta Pro last weekend, organized into bite-sized morsels for your reading pleasure:

Bring a fan. Not that kind that claps and yells your name; the kind that blows cold air and provides ambient noise at night.  In fact, bring two, just in case your knucklehead room mate  illustrious coach decides to ninja kick it off the nightstand and break it all to shit just as you attempt to get a good night’s sleep before your fights.

Don’t be in a hurry. 
I was scheduled to fight at 3:30.  We were to report to the bull pin 40 minutes before our scheduled fight time, so at 2:50 I was doing light calisthenics and getting hyped.  This pic here is me at about 7:42 pm when we still hadn’t been called to roll.  I resorted to scrawling my life’s story into the concrete walls of the ballroom just to stave off the boredom.

Warm-ups?  WTF are those?  There were no mats to warm up on, which is probably a lot of fun and giggles for the little tiny ass featherweight guys.  But for the bigguns like myself, we need a minimum operating strip of runway to get this party started.  I can’t just walk out there and fight.  My neck, my back, and my spleen are now traumatized.  Thanks a lot IBJJF.  Next time I’m bringing my own team to get me ready and help me loosen up.



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