Fat Guy BJJ Blog

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


Dazzling Fitness Articles

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?


Behold, My White Belt Moves

When I try to go north/south on my instructor:


When I try to escape anything from a purple belt or higher:


When I’m chilling on the sidelines and coach calls me to roll with a higher belt:


Me and the other white belts trying to shrimp during warmup drills:


When those little tiny white belts want to stand up rather than engaging:



Mouth Breathers and Milestones

Have you ever tried to explain the purpose of “rolling” to a new person?  They’re all like “What am I supposed to do?”  I’m all like “Improve  your position.”  He’s all like “I don’t know what positions are better.”  So, I put him in mount.  He then decides that mount is at the lower end of the “better positions” hierarchy and begins to do the thing that identifies most newbies: mouth breathing.

Mouth breathing consists of loud, Peppy-LePew-In-Love style breaths, a wild look of unfettered panic in the eyes, and flailing body parts.  I, being the big softy that I am, decide to casually fall to my side and let him escape mount.  He naturally responds by doing the only logical thing he could think of.  He climbs on top on me (I let him.  After all, it’s his first day and we want him to come back) and grinds his elbow into my face, all the while mouth-breathing cigarette breath all over my grill while continuing to flair at 1000 fmp (flails per minute).


Whatever.  I’m leaving that alone.  I will just say that you stank-breath mouth-breathing bastards are one reason why my agent orange acts up and I can’t go to regular classes very often. Keep calm, and eat a fucking tic tac. Chew some gum.  Something.

In other news, I’ve finally figured out a goal that I can achieve.  I am now striving to lose 10,000 sparring matches before I become a black belt.  At the rate I’m going now, I’ll probably lose 10,000 before I hit blue belt, but I digress.  If losing is learning, I’m going to be the most educated sumbitch in North Florida.  Yee haw.

Beach Sessions and Other Skinny People Bullshit

I’ve heard about people who like to do Brazilian Jiu Jitsu on the beach, and I just want to take a second and put a stop to that high-fallutin’ bullshit before it even gets started with this dude.  You see, skinny people have a lower crevice to to plane ratio than fat dudes. I know I need to explain that shit to you jock, mathematically challenged mother fuckers, so a “plane,” in this case, is not a fucking magical winged contraption that takes you from New York to L.A. really, really fast.  It’s a flat space, presumably between two non-flat spaces, in mathematics. In other words, you’ve got stomach, I’ve got crack.  You’ve got back, I’ve got more cracks.  Get it?

You can probably leave a beach rolling session with a few grains of sand stuck between your sack and leg.  I’ll leave with twice my body weight in sand lodged incurably between my rolls.  You can fix your problem by sticking a hose in your shorts.  I have to get my neighbor to lift my back fat if I want to fix my problem.  Comprende?

Further, I know how much fun it is to take your shirt off when you’re 8% body fat, but that ship has sailed clear to fucking Tunisia by now for me.  In fact, it’s been captured by Pirates and is being held ransom for hot dogs and chips.  So, yeah.  That’s all I have to say about that.

Low Percentage Life and Fat Guy Haiku

Side control is a lovely position in which your new friend with the stinky gi lays atop you and uses his shoulder to press into your chest so you can’t flipping breathe.  It’s so much fun that the first thing you learn in Jiu Jitsu, after escaping mount (same basic idea, except they press down on your chest with their bizalls), is escaping side control.  You learn it, and learn it, and learn it.  Then you “roll.”

Rolling, as I’ve said before, is an exercise in failure.  Everything you’ve just learned, which works perfectly well when you are practicing, now fails.  Mostly it’s because the white belt has to process what he’s doing and the more experienced guy just does it.

White belt’s internal dialog (while trying to escape): “Step 1….bridge against their neck.  Step 2….block the cross face……Step 3…..what the fuck was step 3?……ah yes, Shrimp.  Fuck.  Why didn’t that work?”

Blue belt’s internal dialog (while circumventing escape attempts and smothering the life out of the white belt):  “It’s such a lovely day out.  That pita bread I had for lunch was really delicious.  I should write a poem while doing long division and choking this white belt simultaneously.”

Yeah, something like that.

Speaking of poems, here’s some Fat Guy Jiu Jitsu Haiku for you:

You think you won but,

Secretly I farted twice,

With you in my guard….


Skinemax and the Underwear Lasso

I’m trying to figure out a tongue-in-cheek way to tell you all that I’m struggling….that I’m wondering if this shit is really worth it…..that I’m doubting myself and not seeing any progress, but sometimes I just have trouble being funny.

When I wake up in the morning, I’m more brittle than your mother’s dry ass cornbread.  I have to take pain meds or anti-inflamatories just to make it from my bed to the shower.  Then I have to soak my back and shoulders in hot water until I can move again.   Since I’m a fat bastard and I have an unimpressive shower, that means slow gyrations for maximum coverage.  It looks like soft porn on Skinemax.  Truly disturbing.

Then I have to put on underwear.  You’re laughing, but I’m serious.  I can’t bend over and pull them shits on because my legs, back, and arms won’t work correctly, so I have to perch precariously on one leg and bend my other leg at the knee and lasso my foot with the leg hole of my drawers, then pull them up, support myself on the counter with one hand while I do the same routine on my bad leg.  You fuckers don’t realize that when you’re sore after a jitz workout, I’m more sore.  Imagine doing your training with a midget wrapped around your waist.  That’s how it is for me.

Do YOU have to do that shit?  I doubt it.

Then I go through my workday….aching everything….and finally drag myself into the gym looking like roadkill and subsequently get destroyed by every new person who walks in off the street to start training.  I don’t win against old ladies.  I don’t win against blind people.  I don’t win against other fat bastards.  Ever.  You’d think I was the French army with all of the losing I do.

Then there’s the weight.  I kill myself, I lose 1.5 pounds per week.  I slip up for one day and eat wrong, I gain two pounds back.  Dafuq?

Sandbagging and Sunflower Seediness

My first clue that all might not be as it seems at the COPA Submission Grappling Tournament in Jonesboro, GA was when the guy who won the children’s division was in the bathroom shaving his chest prior to the competition.  Then there was the supposed “novice” who I saw sifting through seven different colored belts in his trunk before finally settling upon a white belt with two stripes.  Riiiiiiiiiiight.  If you’re a white belt I’m Rickson Gracie.

But, I digress.  All in all, it was a great tournament.  I didn’t compete, but I felt as if I could have.  Five minute rounds are fat guy friendly, and all douche bagging…oops, did I say douche bagging….I meant sandbagging…..aside, I could have made a decent showing.  However, I do have short list of things to work into my game before I finally compete in May:

  • Cardio
  • Sweeps
  • Guard Passes
  • Take downs
  • Closed guard
  • Butterfly guard
  • Submissions
  • Transitions
  • A convincing victory dance
  • Finding fat guy grappling shorts….

Yeah, other than those few things I’m ready to go.  Also, one sure sign that you are too tired to drive is when you dump an entire bag of sunflower seeds directly into the gear shifter area of your automobile, and then lose half of them into the transmission case, then hit your head trying to get out of the car, then curse loudly, then hit your head trying to get back into the car, then try to put the seeds back in the bag but miss half of them.

Fat Guy In A Little Movie

We’ve begun filming for our very first sports documentary about my struggles with weight loss and Jiu Jitsu.  Even though it may be a year or more in the making, we thought it might be cool to put together a little promo from the footage that we do have and give you a taste of what it’s all about.  Enjoy:

Three Jiu Jitsu Blogs Whose Owners I Would Not Like To Fight

Since I’m a blogger, and a practitioner of Jiu Jitsu….well, “practitioner” is a strong word….practicer……ehm, tryer…..yeah…..Since I’m a tryer of Jiu Jitsu, I guess that makes me a Jiu Jitsu blogger.  I thought I might write a blog post about Jiu Jitsu blogs that I think are cool, and whose owners could definitely kick my ass, so here goes:

1) The Jiu Jitsu Laboratory.  They write cool articles and make awesome observations on Jiu Jitsu athletes and life in general, and I’m pretty sure they can beat me at grappling.

2) The Ryno Tuff BJJ Blog. This is a really cool blog with lots of awesome content, including some comedy relief.  In fact, they named a series of BJJ characters which are pretty awesome.  Can you guess which one I am?  Yeah, the SHW or Super Heavy Weight.  They also correctly predicted that I suck balls when somebody puts me in knee on belly.  Guess who would win that match?  Xactly.

3) The Jiu Jitsu Blues. I really like this blog because the layout is awesome and interactive, and the guy has a similar “voice” to my writing style.  Also, he has the nuts to tell it like it is, such as the linked post here that reminds us that even after a decade we will probably still suck.  Pretty sure he can kick my ass too.

So, as the wise man says, “If you can’t beat them, join them.”  This is my way of making friends in the BJJ blog community.

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