Saturday, July 29, 2017

The Rocktagon Recap of UFC 214: Cormier vs. Jones 2!

Can't catch the latest and greatest UFC PPV for some stupid ass reason? No problem, homey - our LIVE(ish) play-by-play coverage will keep you in the loop all night long.


By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@JimboX

"It's unbelievable how fake you can really be. Like, you are just such a fucking pussy. My God, it is amazing. It is amazing. Bu you know, hats off to you. You've got a great P.R. person, they do a great job with training you because you are just terrible. You're the fucking scum of the earth. You are a terrible human being, but you can sure turn it on huh?"

- Daniel Cormier, on Jon Jones (2014)

"I'm going to make you my wife. You're going to be Mrs. Jones for the night. I'm going to rub on that big ol' belly and you're going to like it."

- Jon Jones, on Daniel Cormier (2014)

"Just one more fight / about your leadership / and I will straight up leave your shit / 'cause I've had enough of this / and now I'm pissed..."

Limp Bizkit, "My Way" (2000)

Yeah, old Freddy Durst was probably singing about the last dildo he had to retrieve from his rectal orifices, but his timeless prose from 17 years ago might as well be applicable to tonight's Light Heavyweight Championship tilt.

It's not just that the Cormier/Jones rivalry is the best in MMA. Nor is it the fact we've been waiting to see this damn thing for more than two years. It's the inescapable reality that these are indeed the two best fighters in all of mixed martial arts duking it out to determine - once and for all - who's really No. 1. This is Muhammad Ali taking on Joe Frazier in 1975, Evander Holyfield going toe-to-toe with Mike Tyson in 1996, yes, even The Rock taking on Stone Cold Steve Austin at WrestleMania 17. This is greatness against greatness to determine who's the absolute greatest at beating people up in an eight-sided cage in our era; not only is it that most important MMA fight this year, it might just be the most important MMA fight of this generation.

Hyperbole? Exaggeration? Your fine scribe pitifully and unwisely giving in to the UFC hype machine? Nay, this is about as good as the sport of mixed martial arts is going to get these days, and after so many last-second cancellations - not to mention the fact that Ronda Rousey and Conor McGregor have been AWOL all year long - the sport of mixed martial arts needs this colossal contest like a crack addict needs a glass bulb and a match. And oh yeah, some crack cocaine, too, I guess. 

Hey, speaking of crack cocaine, this marks the first appearance by Jon Jones - roundly considered the pound-for-pound best fighter of this generation (his lamentable extra-curricular activities, most of which involving hit-and-run encounters with pregnant women, obviously cast aside) - in more than a year. You don't need me to tell you what kind of bad blood he has with current 205-pound strap holder Daniel Cormier; there's a long string of video and audio documentation verifying that these two men really, really don't care too much for one another, and you can check that shit out on your own time. What this fight is about - and what makes it the biggest MMA contest of the year - is that each of the men headlining UFC 214 are fighting for something much larger than a championship title. For Jon Jones, a victory represents redemption for a good five years' worth of idiotic, self-destructive behavior, perhaps even portending greater glories in that great, vale tudo cage fight we call life ahead of him. And for Cormier? Not only is it a chance to avenge is sole loss as a pro MMA fighter, it would officially make him the greatest fighter of this era. Rather than being nothing more than a foot note in Jon Jones' history book, a win tonight would allow Cormier to author his OWN chapter in MMA lore. Simply put, both men are putting their legacies - what they will be remembered for 50 years after both of them are dead - on the line tonight. This isn't just the zenith of MMA folks, this is the zenith of the human condition. One man leaves with eternal glory, and the other man leaves with incurable bitterness for the remainder of his existence. A mere cage match, you say? Not even close, bud ... this is essentially a live-action Shakespearean drama unfurling live on PPV, only with no pulled punches and a pretty good chance somebody's going to get choked, clobbered or roundhouse kicked unconscious.  

Fuck Wonder Woman, fuck Spider-Man and double fuck The Guardians of the Galaxy - this is 2017's TRUE summer blockbuster, and if you miss out on this show live as it happens you're probably going to regret it for the rest of your life. But hey, why should you do without just because the $60 asking price to order the PPV is too much, or because your local sports bar is too cheap to spring for the show, or your computer is too old and slow and shitty to livestream anything that isn't running in Shockwave? Well, worry your little head no more, dear reader, because our patented, industry-leading LIVE(ish) play-by-play coverage is going to keep you in the know all evening long. Beginning at 8 p.m. Eastern time we're going to post practically INSTANT updates between every round of every fight, meaning you won't miss a single submission, knockout or stupid thing Joe Rogan says all night long. Next to actually being there in Vegas as it happens, this is undoubtedly the best way to soak up the UFC 214 experience, whether you're some poor shmuck who lives out in the boonies and has to use his burner phone to connect to the Web or you're just looking for some LULZ to supplement the show while you're cramming nacho chips down your throat hole down at Hooters or Twin Peaks or whatever chicken-wings-and-titties restaurant you like to frequent. So what are you waiting for? Go on ahead and bookmark this shit and start hitting the refresh button as soon as the formal show begins. And hey, why don't you kids do us a favor and tell all your Twitter and Facebook friends about our free of charge public service this evening? We'd greatly appreciate it, and you'll probably get a blow job out of it - somehow.

We are coming to you LIVE from Anaheim, Cucks-a-fornia. Our hosts are Jon Anik, Joe Rogan and Dominick Cruz. The California State Athletic Commission HAS adopted the new unified rules, so hopefully, that will keep the officiating shenanigans to a minimum.

FXX Prelim Bouts

Featherweight Bout
Calvin Kattar (16-2-0-0) vs. Andre Fili (16-4-0-0)

While Fili's original opponent was supposed to be Dooho Choi, the South Korean featherweight dropped out a month and a half in advance, and the first choice for a replacement, Artem Lobov, turned the gig down because apparently, he was going to make more money helping Conor McGregor train for his boxing match against Floyd Mayweather than actually competing in the Octagon. So enter Calvin Kattar, a 29-year-old UFC newcomer from Massachusetts who's currently riding an eight-fight win streak over a bunch of bums you've never heard of in the Boston area. Veteran Fili has to be the strong favorite heading into this one, but you never can tell what the hell's going to happen once that cage door locks; which means you've got a golden opportunity to make yourself famous tonight, Calvin - please, do try your bestest to not fuck it up.

Fili is two years younger than Kattar and has a two inch reach advantage. Kattar is the one who DOESN'T look like a tatted up date rapist, in case you were wondering. Hey, why else do you think his nickname is "Touchy?"

Kattar out with jabs and leg kicks early. Fili whiffs on a huge overhand. Fili with a body kick. Fili with another solid leg kick. Kattar with a good straight jab. Fili with a big overhand. More Fili leg kicks. Fili whiffs on a head kick. Fili with more overhands, buy Kattar is doing a good job blocking them. Kattar with a leg kick of his own. Fili with another leg kick. Kattar with a body shot. Fili whiffs on a huge kick. Kattar connects with his best jab of the fight so far. He connects with another jab. Both men throwing heavy shots, but nothing is really connecting. Kattar with a high kick. Fili with a high kick and several hard jabs. Kattar lands a good one-two combo. Kattar tags him again. Fili with more leg kicks. Kattar with a body kick. Fili with a knee to the face. Kattar stuffs the takedown attempt. Then he takes Fili down and pounds the shit out of Fili until the round expires. 10-9 for Fili in my books, despite Kattar's offensive flurry in the waning seconds of the frame.

Round two. A lot of head movement from both guys. Fili with a hard kick to the stomach. Kattar with a series of leg kicks. Fili with a hard jab to the chin. Fili whiffs on a head kick. Kattar with a hard shot that just missed knocking the fuck outta' Fili. Fili with a knee. Kattar with a hard right hand that staggers Fili. Kattar catches the leg and punches Fili upside the head. Kattar with another hard jab. Fili with a mean kick to the body. Kattar with a low kick. Fili almost connects on a head kick. Kattar whiffs on a would-be uppercut. Fili with a hard hand to the side of the Kattar's head. Kattar has landed 20 shots so far in this round, compared to Fili's 15. Kattar absolutely rocks Fili's face, but somehow he manages to survive the late onslaught. That was definitely Kattar's round, making this 19-19 all heading into the decisive round.

Round three. Goddamn, Fili has some of the goofiest head movement I've ever seen. Kattar whiffs on a roundhouse kick. Kattar knocks Fili down, but he's right back up. Kattar with a mean inside leg kick. Kattar with ANOTHER hard counter jab. Two minutes to go. Fili with an uppercut and a brief flurry of punches. Kattar back on the offensive, clipping Fili with a hard shot. Kattar goes for a flying knee and misses by about three miles. Kattar grabs Fili's leg and slams his ass to the mat. Katta is on top, elbowing the fuck out of him. He lets Fili get back to his feet. Less than 30 seconds to go. Fili misses on a headkick and doesn't hit Jack Shit for the remainder of the round. I've got it 29-28 for Kattar on my scorecard.

It's 30-27 across the board for Kattar. He says absolutely nothing interesting in the post-fight interview with Joe Rogan, so hooray for squandered opportunities!

Worst. Menage-a-trois. Ever.

Featherweight Bout
Renato Moicano (10-0-1-0) vs. Brian Ortega (11-0-0-1)

It's a battle of unbeaten 145-pounders, as Renato Moicana (3-0 in UFC competition since 2014) goes toe-to-toe with Brian Ortega (who is also 3-0 in UFC competition since 2014 ... you know, pending you overlook his no-contest after testing positive for the gas in his company debut.) Ortega hasn't fought in about a year since knocking Clay Guida's head off his spinal cord, while Moicano was last seen decisioning Jeremy Stephens in April. Both these guys are years away from title contention, but hey ... the longest journey does begin with a single step, don't it?

Moicano is the one with all of the MS-13 tattoos who looks like that kid who sat in front of you in eighth grade Algebra II. Ortega, conversely, is the one with the cornrow bun who may or may not have changed your oil the last time you went to Jiffy Lube. Moicana rattles off a couple of head shots. Ortega clips him with a big uppercut and Moicana responds with a nice counter jab. Ortega clips him again with a right hand. Moicana with two unanswered jabs. Now both men are swinging for the fences. And that's our cue for an eye poke timeout. Well, that's over with. Moicano bleeding like a motherfucker underneath his nose. Moicano grabs Ortega's leg and almost throws him through the cage. Moicana with a one-two combo. Ortega bobbing and weaving. A minute left. Moicano with a hard counter right. And there's anothe hard overhand from Moicano. Now Ortega is bleeding. Moicano with a flurry of punches and Ortega lands a jumping knee right as the horn sounds. 10-9 for Moicano, if you asked me.

Round two. Moicano comes out swinging. He almost takes Ortega's face on a high kick. Moicano with a good combo. And there's ANOTHER heavy overhanded shot from Moicano. Ortega whiffs on a roundhouse kick. Moicano lands a ton of shots in the clinch. Ortega with a stiff jab. Moicana with a great one-two-three combo. Ortega misses on an elbow shot. Ortega trying to pick his shots. Moicano lands a combo. He's got 26 landed shots to Ortega's 7 in this round. Ortega finally lands a combo. Moicano with a great straight jab. Ortega working some body shots now. Moicano with a hard jab. He whiffs on an uppercut. Ortega with more body shots. Moicano's face is all fucked up. And there's Moicano with a takedown with ten seconds to go. And there's where we stay until the horn. 20-18 Moicano on my scorecard.

Round three. Both these motherfuckers are throwing like crazy. Moicano with leg kicks. Ortega whiffs on an elbow strike. Ortega shoots for a takedown. He can't get it. Moicano with another hard jab. Ortega with more body shots. Moicano has 77 head strikes so far in this fight; Ortega only has 23. Moicano with a one-two combo. Ortega whiffs on an uppercut. Then he whiffs on a takedown. Ortega trying to chase Moicano down. Moicano clips his ass, then he takes him down but oh shit Ortega catches him in a guillotine - it's deep as fuck and MOICANO TAPS!

The official time is 2:59. That's his fourth consecutive third round finish in UFC competition, which has to be some kind of record. Ortega thanks God for the victory and says he and his camp knew Moicano was a "points fighter" and they've been working on that takedown counter submission for weeks.

Alright, time for Michael Bisping and Kenny Florian to give their input on tonight's main event. Yeah, this doesn't mean diddly to nobody, I reckon.

Catchweight Bout
Aljamain Sterling (13-2-0-0) vs. Renan Barao (35-4-0-1)

Don't ask me to get in the specifics, but apparently the California State Athletic Commission thinks it's totally cool if Renan Barao fights at 140 pounds but considers it a fucking LIFE-THREATENING PROPOSITION for him to fight at 135. Anyhoo, Sterling is nicknamed "The Funkmaster" and is fresh off a decision win against Augusto Mendes. Meanwhile, the former 135-pound champ is 1-1 since losing the belt, his last victory coming against Phillipe Nover about a year ago. Needless to say, both guys really need the W this evening to remain relevant in a talent-glutted division ... and something tells me both men will be looking for a spectacular finish, too. 

Well, it's pretty easy to tell these two apart. Renan is the tan fellow with the tattoo of his abuela over his left nipple while "The Funkmaster" is the one with the year-round-tan, if ya catch my drift. Funkmaster with a high kick right out the gate. Renan with some hard leg kicks of his own. Renan whiffs on a roundhouse kick but successfully hits a one-two combo on Funkmaster's chin. Hey, did you know Funkmaster was on the same wrestling team as Jon Jones? Well, you do now. Funkmaster goes for the Hulk Hogan Big Boot but Renan catches him and take shim down. But what's this, Funkmaster has a really good looking ankle lock in. Renan punching him, but Funkmaster ain't letting it go. He gives up the leg and Renan starts punching the shit out of him. Renan with more punches to Funkmaster's sides. Looks like Funkmaster is trying to go for an omoplatta, of all things, but he just can't hike his leg up there. Renan with knees to Funkmaster's ribs, then he hops back into the full guard. Renan trying to spin out, but Funkmaster has his arms tied up. Renan has outstruck Funkmaster 30 to 10 thus far. Funkmaster looking for a triangle, but Renan snakes his way out. Renan hops back in the full guard. And both men are content doing nothing as the horn sounds. 10-9 for Renan, without question.

Round two. Renan whiffs on a spinning kick. Funkmaster with a running boot to the stomach and a light jab. Renan kicks Funkmaster so hard his leg gives out. Renan goes for a choke, but Funkmaster gets out. Funkmaster pushes Renan against the cage. He's looking for a takedown, and he gets it. He has Renan's back. He has Renan's leg pulled 180 degrees over his head. Renan gets out, but Funkmaster still has his back. Now Funkmaster is delicately punching Renan's head. Renan trying to get back up now. Funkmaster isn't letting go of that bodylock. Now he's punching the shit out of Renan's head at will. He's landings some HARD shots. Renan escapes, but Funkmaster gets right back on top of him. He is murder death killign Renan with elbows, but uh-oh, now Renan is working for a triangle. He loses it. Now Funkmaster is kneeing the fuck out of Renan's ass. He's landing a billion elbows from the top and Renan is bleeding like a stuck pig - he's LITERALLY saved by the bell. 19-19 heading into the third.

Round three. That last one may have been a 10-8 for Funkmaster, so Renan HAS to finish him to win this bout. Funkmaster with a NASTY front kick to the face. Funkmaster has Renan pushed up against the cage. Funkmaster punches Renan's hips. "Renan's just trying to fill up that energy bar," Cruz says. Funkmaster with a high kick. Renan whiffs on an overhand. Funkmaster looking for another takedown. The ref says "get back in the center of the octagon, ya fucks." About a minute left. Renan with a high kick that don't connect with nothing. Funkmaster stuffs a takedown attempt. Renan has Funkmaster's back, but he literally isn't doing shit except holding him there. And there's the takedown. Funkmaster spikes Renan on the top of his head to finish the round, and we all LOL. That HAS to be 29-28 for Funkmaster, maybe even 29-27.

29-28, 29-27 and 30-26 gives Funkmaster the unanimous decision victory. Joe Rogan tells him to stop dicking around and start the interview 'cause they ain't got enough TV time left. He uses the national TV time to let everybody know he has some real estate available in Long Island, if anybody's interested.

Don't you just hate it when the walrus stops fights prematurely?

Featherweight Bout
Ricardo Lamas (17-5-0-0) vs. Jason Knight (20-2-0-0)

Lamas is 3-2 in his last five fights, his latest being a submission win against Charles Oliveira last November. Meanwhile, Knight is 4-1 during his UFC tenure, with his last foray in the Octagon concluding with a knockout against Chas Skelly. Seeing as how Knight is ranked 15th overall in the UFC featherweight standings and Lamas clocks in at the number three spot, a win for "The Kid" tonight would be nothing short of a gigantic upset - while a resounding win for Lamas might put him back in the running for a title shot once Max Holloway and Frankie Edgar are finished with their feudin' and fightin'.

Jason Knight is ten years younger than Lamas and apparently has the preamble to the Constitution tattooed on his ribcage. Lamas, meanwhile, looks like Miguel Torres circa 2009, sans that sweet, sweet ass mullet. Knight momentarily has a standing guillotine, but Lamas gets out of it. Knight still has it locked in, though. Lamas spins out into the side guard. Knight literally slaps Lamas with his feet. Lamas hops in the full guard. Knight has his leg hiked all the way up to Lamas' neck and is digging his heel into Lamas' side. Is he working for an omoplatta? Knight throwing upkicks like a motherfucker now. Knight has a heel hook in. Lamas escapes and both men are standing. Lamas landing a billion hard shots, but Knight doesn't go down. Fuck, how is he still standing? Lamas with a ton of hard head shots. No way Knight remembers numbers any more. Knight shoots for a takedown and just kinda falls down. Lamas with a HUGE bomb from the top. A few more punches and the ref (who, by the way, looks like Dr. Robotnik, only with his beard tied into Willie Nelson braids) says "that's all, Sweet Sue."

The official time of the TKO is 4:34. He says Knight has "some brass balls on him" and says he ought to call himself "the hillbilly zombie." Yeah, that performance was good enough to probably earn him a title shot sometime in early 2018. Too bad Rogan never said anything about his future plans, though.

Time for the main card, kids. Jeez, can you believe they're still using that "Now I'm Seeing Red" song for the PPV intros? LOL at Joe Rogan calling Cris Cyborg the "most feared woman" in the history of MMA. Even feared by that once in a human history female fighter you guys were so high on about two years back? Speaking of which, Tonya Evinger looks just like my middle school bus driver - do you know how masculine you have to look to make Cris by-God Cyborg look feminine by comparison?

PPV Main Card Bouts

Light Heavyweight Bout
Jimi Manuwa (17-2-0-0) vs. Volkan Oezdemir (14-1-0-0)

So is this an unannounced title eliminator bout? Depending on how things shake out, it very well could be. Manuwa has had back-to-back knockout wins against Corey Anderson and OSP, and if he wins tonight he'll almost certainly be next in line for a shot at the 205-pound belt. Oezdemir, on the other hand, is riding a four-fight win streak, complete with back-to-back wins against OSP and Misha Cirkunov (uh, just pretend you know who that is, OK?) Believe it or not, the O-Man is ranked fourth in the UFC Light Heavyweight rankings, and a victory (especially a flashy finish) this evening might actually propel him to the top of contender queue ... or, at least, earn him a date with the loser of tonight's main event match-up in a formal number one contender bout a little later down the road.

Volkan comes out to some Balkans-sounding hip hop shit. African-Briton Manuwa comes out to some even worse sounding hip hop shit that slowly turns into "California Love," so there's that, I guess. Holy shit, I had no idea Manuwa was 37-years-old. I mean, he doesn't look a day over 35 to me.

Volkan is ten years younger, but Manuwa has a nearly five-inch reach advantage. Manuwa with leg kicks early. Manuwa has him clinched up against the cage. Holy goddamn shit, Volkan just rocked Manuwa in the clinch, then hit him with about half a dozen shots that sent Manuwa flying halfway across the cage. About three shots on the mat and the ref waves this shit off already. The official time is just 22 seconds into the very first round. Oh, so that's why his nickname is "No Time!" In the post-fight, Volkan says "I don't know what's happening to my hands, it's dynamite," (or something like that, don't quote me on it) which gets a pretty big guffaw from the audience. He says he wants the winner of tonight's main event, and with a finish like that, the manly hunk of Swiss cheese might just get it.

Tony Ferguson, Paige Van Zant and Cub Swanson are all in the house. I've always wondered - do they have to pay for tickets to these shows, or is it all part of their official UFC contract?

Shit, I can't be the only one tired of Anik using the whole "they're closing the cage door" analogy, am I? Alright, time to pimp the Lawler/Cerrone bout now - not that it takes that much hype to get the fighting faithful excited for the match-up, eh?

Welterweight Bout
Robbie Lawler (27-11-0-1) vs. Donald Cerrone (32-8-0-1)

This is pretty much the fightiest fight of all-time. These two assholes are legendary for momentarily forgetting their years and years of technical training and instead engaging in retarded gorilla brawls with their adversaries, and putting these guys together in the same cage is pretty much the equivalent of watching a truck carrying gasoline slam headlong into a truck carrying shoddily-made Chinese fireworks. Even better, both fighters are coming off demoralizing losses, so you just KNOW they feel like they have to overcompensate tonight to get back in the title hunt. If this shit right here doesn't set a new CompuStrike record, I'll take a chomp out of my next turd and post it on Instagram.

Cerrone, as always, comes out to "Cowboy" by future U.S. Senator Kid Rock. Lawler (who is basically a miniature version of Junior dos Santos) comes out to some rap song that has some twangy country strings in it. Or something like that - I can't really hear shit. 

In case you were wondering if pro wrestling is on the cusp of being mainstream again, I just spotted a kid in the crowd wearing a Bullet Club tee shirt. Both men get big reactions, but I think Cerrone received the louder pop. Big John McCarthy is the ref. Lawler comes out and immediately punches Cerrone a million times, kneeing him in the solar plexus an additional half a million times. Cerrone's eye is aleady swollen shut. Big "Robbie" chant breaking out. Cerrone with more uppercuts in the clinch. "Cowboy" chants piping up now. Lawler has Cerrone bullied up against the cage. Both men back in the center of the cage now. Cerrone with a takedown. Cerrone in the north-south position. He knees Lawler hard in the back and they are both standing again. Cerrone with some whiffed kicks to end the round. I've got it 10-9 for Lawler.

Round two. Cerrone with a head kick, but Lawler blocks it. Cerrone with a leg kick. Cerrone with a good combination, his best of the fight so far. Lawler with a high kick. Cerrone fires back with one of his own. Cerrone whiffs on a flying knee. Cerrone with some HARD leg kicks. Cerrone with some heavy counter lefts. Cerrone with a hard knee to the body. Cerrone with ANOTHER hard kick to the stomach. Lawler now has a big red welt on the side of his chrome dome. Cerrone leading on total strikes, 45 to 42. Lawler with some vicious retaliatory elbows. Cerrone with a flush straight jab to end the round. Yep, it's 19-19 heading into the final frame.

Round three. Lawler connects on a head kick. Cerrone fires back with a knee to the body. Rogan says Cerrone was in a motocross accident that literally left his guts hanging out of his body. "He ain't got no liver!" Lawler's corner cries immediately afterwards. Cerrone shoots for a takedown but Lawler stuffs it. Cerrone with an elbow to the face. Another stuffed takedown attempt for Cowboy. Cerrone connects on a head kick. Both men swinging for the fences now. Cerrone with a knee to the head. About a minute left. Cerrone has landed 29 shots in this round, Lawler only 17. Lawler whiffs on a head kick, and that's the fight, folks.

It's 29-28 across the board to give Robbie Lawler the unanimous decision victory. The fans are booing like crazy. He says the last fight was dedicated to Matt Hughes. Joe asks him where he fits "in the big picture." Lawler says he's going to go hang out with his friends, ask him a little bit later.

Pictured: Eileen Wuornos on her way to the gas chamber.

UFC Women's Featherweight Championship Bout
Cris Cyborg (16-1-0-1) vs. Tonya Evinger (19-5-0-0)

Our first of three back-to-back-to-back championship tilts puts the two manliest broads in the history of life up against one another in what should be the closest thing to a women's penitentiary shower raping most of us will ever witness. On one end you've got Cris Cyborg, who doesn't really need an introduction - all you need to know is that her clit is bigger than your penis, and she'd probably kill you in a parking lot brawl. Tonya Evinger may not have the name value of her adversary tonight, but what she does have is an impressive track record in MMA. Currently riding an 11-fight unbeaten streak, the ex-Invicta Bantamweight Champ can make herself an instant legend with an upset victory tonight. Of course, considering what Cyborg has done in the past, that's an accomplishment MUCH easier said than done...

Evinger comes out to "In The Air Tonight," which - next to "I'm Coming Home" - has to be the most overplayed song in MMA history. "This weight class was literally created for Cyborg," Rogan says. "She almost killed herself to get to 145." Cyborg gets the lights out treatment and a surprisingly loud pop. Her walkout music sounds like something from a bad 1990s telenovela and her entourage looks like they're cosplaying as Ouran High School Host characters. LOL at the announce crew trying to say everybody else in the UFC's Women's Featherweight division is too pussy to fight her.

Evinger is the only 145 pound fighter I've ever seen with pronounced love handles. One left hook drops Evinger, but she's right back up. Cyborg with some rights and she has Evinger crushed against the cage. Give her credit, this Evinger broad knows how to eat a punch or two. Cyborg with a brutal leg kick. Cyborg whiffs on a kick and now Evinger is looking for a takedown. Evinger gets the takedown, but Cyborg is right back up. Evinger takes her down again, but Cyborg immediately gets up and knees her in the face. Cyborg says she got eye poked, so we're taking a brief time out. Fuck, Evinger managed to claw that bitch with three fingers. The action resumes. Cyborg with some knees, Evinger clinches. Cyborg tags her, but Evinger shakes it off. Cyborg has 23 shots to Evinger's 9. Cyborg rocks her with a hard right hand and a knee right at the horn. 10-9 for Cyborg, easy.

Round two. Cyborg with leg kicks early. Cyborg with a hard left jab, and a HARD head kick. Cyborg with several lefts and a knee to the solar plexus. Cyborg with a right hand, a head kick AND a knee to the face. But Evinger ain't dying. ANOTHER mean left from Cyborg. Then she ROCKS her with a right. Cyborg with a knee to the stomach up against the cage. It's official - Evinger is the toughest broad since Eileen Wuornos. 20-18, Cyborg.

Round three. Evinger is swollen all over. Cyborg with a right and a head kick combo BUT EVINGER STAYS UPRIGHT. CYBORG FINALLY DROPS HER. She lets Evinger right back up. Cyborg doesn't connect on the Superwoman Punch. She finally drops Evinger with some HELLACIOUS knees to the face. A few hammer fists on the ground and the ref doesn't even think twice about waving it off.

The official time of the TKO is 1:56. Rogan says it's been a long time coming. Cyborg doesn't really say anything substantial, but boy howdy, is it a hoot listening to the commentators shit all over the rest of the women's featherweight division for not taking the fight.

Hey, the UFC is coming to Mainland China on Nov. 25! Not coming to Mainland China on Nov. 25? Freedom. Now Joe Rogan is talking about Snoop Dogg smoking weed in the announce booth. Talk about your uneasy transitions to the next bout ...

Does Demian Maia have what it takes to
neutralize Tyron Woodley's infamous
"muh systematic oppression" technique?
UFC Welterweight Title Bout
Tyron Woodley (16-3-1-0) vs. Demian Maia (25-6-0-0)

Say what you will about Tyron Woodley (especially if it's kinda' racist), but there's no denying he's an explosive force in the 170-pound division. While his last title defense was an absolute shit show until literally the last minute of the fight, he can certainly do a lot to raise his marketability by taking it to Brazilian Jiu-jitsu maestro Demian Maia early and often this evening. After all, Maia struggled a bit in his title eliminator bout to even get here tonight, and if the world-class BJJ champ has any obvious holes in his game, it would definitely be his striking defense. But that does bring up an interesting little dynamic; if Maia is able to get Woodley to the mat and keep him there, does the reigning champ have the defensive chops to avoid having his arm yanked out of its socket all Antonio Rodrigo like? We shall see, children. We shall see...

Portending very, very bad things, Maia comes out to Linkin Park. Woodley comes out to some rap song I don't know nothing about - not that he can hear it, since he's wearing these huge assed headphones. Or is he listening to his walkout song on his headphones? These are the questions that keep me up at night, folks.

Maia shoots for a takedown. Woodley shakes his way out. Maia has a nasty cut over his left eye. Maia shooting for another takedown. Yep, and it looks for all the world that Maia is trying to suck his dick right now. Maia goes for another takedown, and Woodley holds onto the cage and gets warned. Maia connects with a left. Maia is 0-7 on takedown attempts already. Nope, the eighth takedown attempt don't work, neither. Woodley has down literally nothing but shuck Maia around in the first round. Nothing happening in the last 10 seconds. 10-9, Woodley.

Round two. Woodley with a good combo. No dice on the leg kick, though. Woodley drops Maia, and he welcomes him back to his feet. Another stuffed takedown attempt for Maia. AND ANOTHER ONE. Woodley shucks him off again. Woodley whiffs on a body shot. Woodley has 15 landed strikes, Maia only has 5. Total nonstop action for the final half minute. 20-18, Woodley.

Round three. Watching Maia try to take down Woodley is like watching a retard try to tackle a greased pig. Maia's eye is practically swollen shut. NO TAKEDOWN FOR YOU, MAIA. Woodley with a "partially connected" right hand, per Anik. Woodley with a 1-2-1 combo. "His legs are cartoon big," Rogan comments on Woodley's tree trunks. Now the fans are shitting all over the fight, and we're not even halfway through yet. "You can't make this exciting and please the fans and keep your belt," Rogan says. Woodley sprawls on a takedown attempt. He even pushes his head in the mat, like "smell this, bitch." A minute to go. Maia with a leg kick. Fuck, can you even imagine a Woodley/GSP fight happening after this? Both men drop their hands and just stare at each other for the final five seconds. 30-27, Woodley.

Round four. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I'd rather watch Jake Shields fight Ben Askren in a no striking allowed bout than this shitshow.  Maia is now 0-14 on takedown attempts. Maia going for a single leg - and he can't get it. And Woodley slips his way out of another takedown. Maia with a leg kick. A minute left. Woodley lands a hard right. And then ... fucking nothing. 40-36, Woodley, but let's face it, there are no winners in this scenario.

Round five. Maia, of course, goes for a takedown, but he can't get it. That makes it 0-17, for those of you playing at home. A loud "boring" chant breaks out. The updated tally? 0-20. Maia misses by a mile on a head kick. Anik says this fight is about to break the record for least strikes in a Welterweight championship bout. Meanwhile, Rogan is freaked out because the crowd is waving their cellphones in unison. Deafening "BORING!" chants break out with a minute to go. The final score: 0-23 on takedown attempts. God, fucking damn-it

It's 50-45 and two 49-46's for Woodley. The crowd boos as soon as his name is announced. Uh-oh, Dana is in the cage. Woodley says he's the best in the world and the crowd boos even more. He says he wants to fight GSP at MSG and it doesn't even get a reaction. After that, the camera catches Demetrious Johnson, Chuck Liddell and Gordon Ramsey and they ALL get louder ovations than Woodley. LOL, fuck him so hard.

Time to hard sell the main event. Considering how badly that last title bout deflated the crowd, these two guys are going to have to put on a fucking classic to get the stank out of the room.

Well, considering this is what Tyron Woodley is fighting for, is it really any wonder his title defenses are so goddamned boring?

UFC Light Heavyweight Championship Bout
Daniel Cormier (19-1-0-0) vs. Jon Jones (22-1-0-0)

To paraphrase whoever the lead singer of the All-American Rejects is, this ends tonight. I've spent the better part of two years regurgitating reasons why this is the most important MMA fight in UFC history and at this point, I reckon there really isn't much of a reason to repeat myself anymore. All you need to know is that this two men right here are far and away the two best fighters on the planet - and that includes boxing, wrestling, karate, K1 or whatever other stupid useless bullshit martial arts you want to trudge up - and we're lucky enough to get to watch them go toe-to-toe for the most prestigious championship in combat sports. One of these guys is going to walk out of here knowing for a fact he's the best MMA athlete on the planet, and the other is going to walk out, completely unsure what his legacy is going to be ... or wondering if it even matters anymore. You know how they sometimes say a fight is about more than a belt? Well, this is about so much more than the 205-pound strap. This is about two men doing their god-damnedest to achieve immortality through the most technical form of hand-to-hand violence ever created, and if you can't get excited about that, then you might as well do yourself a favor and commit suicide right now.

Jon Jones comes out to "The Champ is Here" and is rocking a freshly polished chrome dome. Holy fuck, does that make him look so much like prime Mike Tyson, it's scary. LOL at Cruz trying to compare the wild excesses of Mike Tyson to those of Chuck Liddell. Cormier gets the lights out treatment. He beats his chest, screams at his knees and slowly jogs to the Octagon. 

Not that you don't already know this, but Jones literally has a one foot reach advantage. Jones clearly the crowd favorite tonight. LOL at Cormier trying to make his best mean face. Cormier literally slaps the mouthguard out of Jones' mouth. Jones with a takedown, but Cormier right back up. Cormier with a leg kick. Jones with a front kick to the knee. The size discrepancy here is ridiculous. Jones whiffs on a big elbow. Jones with a big overhand. Jones is outlanding D.C., 30 to 11. Jones with a solid jab. D.C. catches Jones with a big shot. And another one. He lands a kick to the stomach to conclude the round. 10-9 Jones.

Round two. Jones with a left hook and a knee to the body. D.C. says he got hit with a head butt, so we take a time out. D.C. bleeding heavily under his eye. D.C. with another hook. D.C. with a leg kick and a 1-2 combo. Jones keeps kicking D.C.'s thigh. Jones with a hard body shot. Cormier with a shot that almost clips Jones in the back of the head. D.C. with a big uppercut on a stuffed takedown attempt. Jones working from the clinch. D.C. with a leg trip, but Jones is right back up. Jones works from the clinch again. Jones with a body shot. D.C. controlling the tempo now. Cormier with a big right seconds before the bell sounds. I've got it 19-19.

Round three. More thigh kicks from Jones. Jones whiffs on a haymaker. Jones with a body kick. Jones with a knee, D.C. fires back with some uppercuts. D.C. with a good combo. Cormier leading on head strikes, 28-19. Jones rocks D.C. with a head kick, Cormier stumbles, Jones gets the trip and Jones starts RAINING VIOLENT ELBOWS. Cormier tries to keep his shit together, but Jones is just too fast and too furious - the ref has no choice but to wave it off. Your winner and NEW UFC LIGHT HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, JON JONES!

The official time of the TKO is 3:01. Cormier still looks punch drunk; he shakes off Big John's hand and walks away and the crowd boos him like a motherfucker. "I know it hasn't been easy to root for me," Jones says, "you motivated and pushed me to keep fighting and prove all y'all wrong." He thanks D.C. for being his best rival and motivator and puts him over as a great father and mentor. "He's a true champion for the rest of his life." To which Rogan replies: "I just hope your life is nothing but good from here on out." Well, way to jinx a motherfucker, Joe. 

Goddamn, Cormier is STILL half retarded from all those elbow shots. "I guess if he wins both fights, there is no rivalry," he says through a teary intonation. Jones then grabs the mic and calls out BROCK LESNAR. "If you want to know what it feels like to get your ass kicked by somebody who weighs 40 pounds less than you, meet me in the Octagon."  THREE MILLION BUYS CONFIRMED ALREADY.

Note to the children of Daniel Cormier: if you're wondering why your daddy can't remember your names anymore, here's why.

Alright, folks, we'll have more coverage come tomorrow morning - lord knows, there is PLENTY of stuff to talk about, ain't there?

SO, WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? Since Jon Jones vs. Brock Lesnar would make a bajillion-gazillion dollars, of course they're going to do that next. That heavyweight/catchweight freakshow bout additionally leaves ample time for the No. 1 contender picture to clear up, so how about booking Volkan Oezdemir against Alexander Gustafsson in an all Aryan title eliminator in the meantime? While we're at it, a Daniel Cormier vs. Jimi Manuwa bout makes all kinds of sense in the wake of tonight's fallout, with the winner of that contest taking on the winner of the upcoming Shogun Rua vs. OSP bout for the presumptive right to be next, NEXT in line for a crack at the 205-pound title. Considering the dearth of talent in the Welterweight division, the most sensible thing to do at the moment is book Tyron Woodley against Robbie Lawler in a rematch - try as I may, I just can't envision Jorge Masvidal or Neil Magny getting a title shot anytime soon, let alone the UFC actually trying to market it as a PPV-caliber main event. Cris Cyborg would probably wreck every other woman in the UFC at this point, but she's gotta' defend her title eventually; although we all want to see her go camel toe to moose knuckle with Ronda Rousey, that shit probably ain't ever going to happen, so odds are she'll be taking on somebody like Holly Holm next. And hell, why not do a Demian Maia vs. Donald Cerrone match-up next? Certainly, it can't be any worse than the evening's shit show of a Welterweight championship bout, that's for damn sure. 

THE VERDICT: If it wasn't for that absolute turd of a Welterweight title fight, we'd be talking about this card being a runaway show of the year candidate. You had a main event that delivered high drama and one of the most memorable postfight moments in recent UFC history, a downright terrific ode to Rock Em Sock Em Robots from Donald Cerrone and Robbie Lawler, a woman that could be your hometown's Walmart manager somehow making it three rounds up against the baddest woman(?) on the planet, Volkan O. making himself famous against Jimi Manuwa and an undercard that didn't have a single subpar bout whatsoever (with the Moicano/Ortega and Lamas/Knight bouts being especially awesome.) Still, this is one of those rare UFC PPVS where, at the end of the night, you almost feel like you got your money's worth - an increasingly infrequent occurrence, to be sure.

SHOW HIGHLIGHT: Lawler/Cerrone had the best bell to bell action, but Jones/Cormier just felt all kinds of epic, complete with one of the most emotional post-fight scenes we've ever seen in the Octagon. 

SHOW LOWLIGHT: That Woodley/Maia fight was so bad, Black Lives Matter officially changed their name to Black Lives Matter, Except For Tyron Woodley's. 

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT: A tie between Jon Anik backhandedly saying "all of these FXX fights could headline a FS1 show" and Joe Rogan philosophically musing "there are a lot of bigger brothers who have made some monsters."

FIVE THINGS I LEARNED FROM TONIGHT'S SHOW:

  • Sometimes, the best strategy is to intentionally let a dude beat the shit out of you, then submit him all easy-like with about three minutes to go in the final round.
  • Swiss Cheese may be porous, but apparently, it can knock you silly from the clinch.
  • If a guy has ever had his guts yanked out of his body in a motorcycle accident, it's probably a good idea to punch him in the spleen over and over again. 
  • If it first you can't land a successful takedown, it's probably not worth it to try another 22 times.
  • Just because you have parts of your brain leaking out of your nose and your face resembles the Toxic Avenger doesn't mean you can't cut a surprisingly eloquent post-fight interview. 

Well, that's all I've got for you this week. Crank up "Teen Pregnancy" by Blank Banshee and "Never Come Down" by Brave Shores and I'll be seeing you cageside in just a few.

Friday, July 28, 2017

DOUBLE REVIEW: 'Dunkirk' / 'Pool Party Massacre'

Both movies feature lots of people getting their innards splayed open, but I'm guessing only one of them will pick up any Academy Awards nods come Oscar season...


By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@JimboX

You know, way too many men out there don't know how to grill out. This is something we have to remedy pronto

Grilling food with charcoal is practically a survival skill. The day may come when the government stops supplying us gas and an EMP blast could render all our microwaves and toasters totally useless. Then what? That's right, the only way any of us will be able to enjoy hamburgers and hot dogs is by stockpiling Kingsford Match Light Instant Charcoal Briquettes and finding some way to make the shit catch on fire. So in short, those who know how to grill will continue to thrive after the total and complete breakdown of society, while everybody who doesn't will probably get eaten by feral poodles or something. 

We here at The Internet Is In America are all about making you laugh, but we're also about importing vital life lessons through said guffaws. If for some silly reason you can't figure out how to seer a T-bone on a sheet of aluminum foil roasting over charred lumps of coal by now, then the onus is on us to teach you how ... especially you kids without fathers, whom undeniable government science tells us are probably going to be black.

So take heed, young 'uns - this is absolutely everything you could possibly ever want to know (or need to know) about the art of cooking out ...

001. Some people like to cook using propane grills, but since I reside in a part of the country where the meth usage rate is something like 7 out of every ten people, having one of those tanks sitting in your driveway is just screaming for a home invasion at some point. Thus, we'd strongly recommend sticking with the classic charcoal cooker, which is usually too clunky for the average speed freak to carry off on his back. 

002. You've got two types of charcoal. There's the kind that lights instantly and then there's the kind you have to spray with lighter fluid before you can set 'em ablaze. I'll just save you the time and effort and tell you you might as well just stick to the instant light kind, since they burn up quicker and you don't have to spend as much time shellacking them with flammable juices. And don't even think about tossing away the bag when you're done, as you'll see in just a bit ...

003. There's no exact mathematical formula for how much charcoal you need to use. If you don't lay enough briquettes down the fire won't get hot enough to cook a bologna sandwich but if you layer 'em on too thick, you'll have to wait half the damn afternoon for the flames to die down before you can even think about putting your Earl Campbell's Hot Links on it. A good rule of thumb to follow is this: if the charcoal briquettes aren't touching the metal of the grill above 'em, you don't have enough, and if the sheer volume of briquettes is making the metal grilling plate jut out sideways or at a weird angle, you've prolly got too many. It may take a couple of incinerated burgers before you get the formula down, but eventually, you'll figger out exactly how much your unit needs just by eyeing the sumbitch.

004. So, lighting the charcoal bricks on fire. This part is actually really easy. All you have to do is tear off a couple of slivers of paper from the bag, roll 'em up like birthday candles and space them across the bricks so that all eight cardinal directions are covered. From there, all you got's to do is get a lighter of some kind and torch 'em, and within a minute or two you'll have a raging (albeit controlled) inferno on your hands. Two things to note, though: for fuck's sake, take the metal grilling plates off before you light the shit on fire, and if you're doing this in your carport or underneath a tarpaulin, do not leave the unit unattended, unless, of course, you don't mind coming back to half your fucking house on fire. 

005.  No, you DON'T put the meat directly on the grill. Are you fucking retarded or something? If you do that, the briquettes will totally fuck up the flavor and get dust all over your meat so it's like you're trying to have a barbecue at Auschwitz. What you do is go get you some flame-retardant aluminum foil, curve all four corners up so none of the juices go swishing nowhere and BEFORE you slap down your meat, you cover the whole goddamn thing in no-stick butter spray. THEN you put in your meat and gently lay it atop the burning coals. But wait until the coals have reached a glowing orange ember - anything before that and it will literally set your beef and pork on fire and anything after that the heat will be too low to cook anything. And be careful with the oils and grease ... as soon as that shit hits the fire, your unit practically becomes a flamethrower with a mind of its own.

006. You can pretty much cook anything on the grill. Beef, fish, chicken, turkey, what the hell ever. You can even wad up some veggies in fire-safe aluminum foil, toss 'em in an unused corner and grill 'em nice and slow while you're fixing the main course. Just leave the center of the grill open for your biggest chunk of meat, since that's typically the part of the unit that stays warmest the longest.

007. For fuck's sake, be careful with the utensils. All it takes is one errant poke from a two-pronged metal meat flipper and next thing you know you've got a five alarm grease fire on your hands. Just to be on the safe side, always have a jug of water nearby, in case you unexpectedly have to play amateur fire department. And though this should probably go with saying, don't try to pick up the aluminum foil off the grill with your bare hands - I mean, goddamn, just how ignorant are you people, anyway?

008. You'll probably have to marinate the beef in something while it's cooking (you know, to keep it from burning to a crisp or becoming Brundleflied with the aluminum foil.) From my experiences, Worcestershire sauce is a great way to keep your meat flavorful and doughy, although olive oil and liquid mesquite dressings theoretically work just as well.

009. There's no scientific equation for how long it'll take to cook your shit. Depending on the heat of the grill and the quality of your meat, your hamburger patties could be over and done with in five minutes or they could take 20 minutes to get just right. For whatever reason, hot dogs take goddamn forever on the grill, and I've never had my brats and sausages ready before half an hour had expired. Some people like to cut into their beef to see how pink it is, but you can probably determine just how "well" the meat is by looking at it. If it's pink, it'll probably kill you. If it's grey, it might be done but even if it isn't it probably won't kill you. If it's brown all over, it's definitely done. And if it's black, well, fuck, you need more practice. Interestingly enough, though, hot dogs, brats and sausages usually taste WAY better when they're burnt to a crisp, so you may have to let those suckers roast for an extra hour or two. Take it from an expert grillsman like me, though - its usually well worth the wait.

010. And lastly, we come to the dressings. If you're REALLY cooking out, all you need are three things: buns, condiments and paper plates. You don't even need paper towels or utensils, and extra fix-ins like baked beans, chili and grilled onions are merely optional. Besides, you can eat that shit anytime, what you're here for is that delicious, straight off the grill taste, and all that store-bought stuff only serves to emasculate your manly ass meal. Here's a quick and dirty mini-guide-inside-a-guide to tell you alls you needs to know about the shit you put on or around the spoils of your grill:

  • Bacon, mushrooms and sauteed onions are all acceptable toppings, as are lettuce and tomato. Pickles are permitted, but only if they aren't that sweet dill shit, which we can all agree are fucking terrible
  • Although I'm a fan of putting unorthodox stuff on restaurant-purchased burgers, (fried eggs, jalapeno rings, guacamole, fried onion rings, humus, etc.) out there shit like that is VERBOTEN on home-grilled burgers. Again, the star attraction should be the meat itself, not the kooky crap you're piling atop it like a retard at Cici's Pizza.
  • You don't need to do nothing fancy with the buns. The regular store-brand shit at Ingles or Piggly Wiggly is good enough. The whole wheat, enriched shit isn't worth the extra cost and to be frank, nobody gives a fuck whether a hamburger has sesame seeds on it or not, so don't even waste the time mulling such inconsequential matters.
  • The following condiments are acceptable: mustard (regular, honey or spicy brown), ketchup, hot sauce, barbecue sauce, chipotle sauce and mayo. If you put anything else on your burger or hot dog, do understand you're citizenship will be terminated on the spot
  • Of course you're allowed to put cheese on your burger. Where the fuck do you think we are, Nazi Germany or something?
  • A simple rule for other people's cookouts: if they have potato salad, coleslaw or macaroni salad on the table, get the hell on out of there as soon as you can, because I guarantee you people who think that stuff's edible will have no idea how to make a hot dog or hamburger taste good.

And lastly, even if you're a vegetarian you can still go out there and put some veggie dogs, tofu burgers and fat-assed portabello mushrooms on the grill and - perhaps for the first time in your life - experience what it feels like to be a real man. Successfully grilling out for the first time is a rite of passage, like finally getting poontang or taking your first car for a spin while blasting Motley Crue on the tape deck. It's one of those key firsts in life that represents your passage into adulthood and, thusly, self-sufficiency and independence. The sooner you figure out how to work a grill, the quicker, I assure you, you'll turn into a well-rounded man in all categories. That's because grilling out isn't just about feeding the stomach, it's also about nourishing the alpha male locked inside each and every one of us that's just champing at the bit to run wild like his noble, unyoked ancestors - naturally, one flame-broiled cheeseburger and charcoal-kissed kielbasa at a time.

But it' not just a bunch of white people looking sad while sitting in sea foam, though, in case you were wondering.

Speaking of things that'll put some hair on your chest, Dunkirk is easily the manliest major studio movie since The Revenant and if you haven't seen it yet for whatever stupid ass reason, you need to haul your keister down to the local multiplex pronto. Hell, this thing is so good it might even be worth the exorbitant IMAX surcharge, for once. 

This is prolly the only time I've ever ended up spending $50 damn dollars for me and my girl to catch a movie and I wasn't immediately assailed by buyer's remorse once the credits stopped unfurling. Dunkirk is undoubtedly the crowning achievement of Chris Nolan's career and the complete antithesis of the contemporary mainstream Hollywood cultural Marxism indoctrination-fest; it's a glorious throwback to the war epics of yore, a film that neither sanitizes the horrors of World War II with melodramatic romance subplots nor labors over its overwrought anti-war ideology. Long story short, if La-La-Land was dedicated to making great, humanistic war movies like this and Hacksaw Ridge instead of the regressive-progressive identity-politicking drivel of Wonder Woman and Get Out, I'd have NO problems forking over $43.47 for a greasy tub of popcorn and a ticket stub (an aside, I know, but why doesn't one of these mega-chain theaters start offering big ass tubs of other snack foods instead, like fried mozzarella sticks or chicken nuggets? Give me a 64-ounce box of pizza rolls and a never-ending, refillable bucket for cherry-vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper and I'd pretty much watch anything without complaining.) 

After being bombarded by so much superhero/social justice warrior masturbatory fodder all summer long, Dunkirk comes along and reminds us what real human drama looks like. This is a movie where pretty much everybody in the cast is no more than three inches away from certain death at all times, and even the most innocuous things quickly turn into instruments of destruction and dismemberment. For example? There's a part early on where a bunch of British troops are trying to scurry their way up a destroyer on a cargo net, and the tides wind up pushing the vessels together and you watch a whole bunch of Limeys get their pelvises crunched into a fine paste. Nobody in this movie "Hulks up" and defies the odds, they're all just running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to avoid the five million things going on in the background that'll kill them fucking dead in a heartbeat. In that, there's absolutely nothing political about Dunkirk;- in fact, you don't even hear the word "Nazi" uttered once. This is merely a movie about people thrust into extraordinary circumstances, doing whatever it takes to stay alive. And if that means hopping inside an overturned dinghy and plugging up the bullet holes with your bare hands to prevent a watery grave - while the Jerries are STILL firing a thousand rounds per second at the coastline - then so god-damn be it. 
if;">
Dunkirk is one of those old-school ensemble cast movies that Hollywood apparently forgot how to make around 1982. You've got Tom Hardy up in the air targeting Krauts and having to scrawl how much gas he thinks he has left in his spitfire underneath the smashed up fuel gauge with chalk (and you would be amazed just how much high drama Nolan is able to get out of such small, simple plot dynamics, too.) Then you've got Fionn Whitehead and one of them kids from One Direction as two British soldiers running around the beachhead avoiding carpet bombs and having to play "jump the creek" over half-destroyed docks, probably saying about ten lines of decipherable dialogue the whole movie. And then you've got the guy who voiced The BFG steering his leisure yacht to rescue some English troops in France, and along the way he picks up The Scarecrow from Batman Begins and in a bout of PTSD-addled rage, he grabs one of his nerdy sons and pretty much gives them the old Kevin Nash Jackknife Powerbomb down the stairs and then you start wondering if he's going to kill everybody on board before they even get halfway across the British Channel. And if that wasn't enough, you've also got Jack Lowden stuck in a slowly sinking fighter plane trying to get his seatbelt off for half an hour and Kenneth goddamn Branagh playing a commander who literally walks back and forth on a pier telling people where to put their stretchers for the whole movie, but you're still fucking mesmerized by everything he says and does. 

This whole movie feels like it comes from an alternate timeline, where the prevailing social and demographical mores of the U.S. in the 1950s never changed. There's only one woman in the entire movie (and she only has about three lines, tops) and there's literally just five seconds of screen-time featuring black people (who don't have any lines at all.) The rest of the movie is wholeheartedly dedicated to grizzled, rugged white people getting shot, exploded and incinerated in a desperate struggle to survive, with nothing even remotely close to a contemporary sociopolitical message for the audience (although at my showing, half the crowd did boo like motherfuckers during the trailer for An Inconvenient Truth 2, which is probably the funniest thing I've witnessed at the local cineplex since that one time a dude yelled "Get Django, motherfucker!" after the first lashing scene in 12 Years a Slave.)

Needless to say, this is far and away the best movie I've seen this year and the first I'd consider a truly great motion picture. This thing is an absolute lock for next year's best sound editing and cinematography Oscars, and if Chris Nolan doesn't at least get nominated for best director, Hollywood might as well pack up their shit, sell all their cameras to the Chinese and call it a day. This is a perfect example of what Hollywood can accomplish when they're NOT hell-bent on promoting their "hooray for globalization and multiculturalism, and also fuck all white men" pagan religion - and you need to see it, even if it means actually paying to watch a movie for a change. 

We've got 450 dead bodies. No breasts. Multiple air raids. 15 downed fighter planes. Six sunken ships. Mass drownings. Mass bullet riddled corpses. Gratuitous Francophobia. Gratuitous tea with toast and jelly. Gratuitous pocket watch ticking, for literally the duration of the movie. Torpedo fu. Flaming oil slick fu. Blunt force head trauma fu. Shellshock fu. And, of course, the thing more or less responsible for the movie existing in the first place ... premature evacuation fu

Starring Tom Hardy as the battle-scarred Royal Air Force pilot who plays 1942 in real-life and sacrifices himself to the Huns to save scores of his countrymen's lives; Aneurin Barnard as the Froth who almost gets his guts blown out, ED-209 style, because he don't speak a lick of English; Fionn Whitehead as the low-ranking soldier hopping from boat to boat who knows better than to go below deck when half of Hitler's U-boats are within a one-mile radius; Tom Glynn-Carney as a 17-year-old kid who's not really sure what to do when a possibly homicidally-deranged soldier tosses his brother down a stairwell head-first like a lawn dart; and Cillian Murphy as the battle fatigue-ravaged troop who might just have to commit a triple murder to avoid getting sent back to the French shoreline.

Written and directed by Chris Nolan, who produced it alongside his wife (thankfully, she does a much better job here than she did in Batman v. Superman), with Hans Zimmer and Hoyte van Hoytema turning in Oscar-worthy contributions as composer and cinematographer, respectively, that are so good it's worth watching the movie for their work alone

I easily give this one four stars out of four. Not only is it the best movie of 2017 so far, it might just be the best war movie of the 21st century - and as a bonus for parents, if you want your kids to know what real heroism and real sacrifice and real adversity is like, Dunkirk ought to easily erase a lifetime of hippie-dippie, liberal public-school indoctrination on what allegedly constitutes "bravery" and "valor" in just two hours.

Stop ... hammer time. Get it? Because it's a reference to an old rap song or something.

Changing gears considerably for this week's second feature, it's certainly been a while since we put the spotlight on a low-budget degenerate cinema horror movie, and if you're on the prowl for a quasi-decent, titties-strewn bloodbath, Pool Party Massacre might be just the thing you're looking for.

From the get-go, I'm not sure if the people who made the movie meant for it to be a semi-parody or if they were just that incompetent at crafting a horror film. The digital cinematography is downright excellent, but by golly, the acting in this movie is all shades of terrible. This is one of those movies where EVERYBODY either overacts or underacts - nothing seems believable, nothing seems sincere and nothing seems even remotely professional. Seemingly every line is played for comedic effect, but - as you will soon see - there's pretty much nothing even remotely funny about the flick. 

It's also one of those movies where pretty much everybody in the cast is at least in their early 30s, but they're trying to pass 'em off as people in their early 20s. Also, whoever wrote the script has no idea what the youth lexicon nowadays resembles - thus, the probable explanation for the deluge of such passe neologisms as "dadbod," "ratchet" and, of course "totes" littering the script like crunched up beer cans dotting the sides of U.S. 41. 

What we're working with here is basically a mishmash of Mean Girls and The Toolbox Murders. We start off promising enough, with this one horny broad getting her throat torn open with a giant landscaping knife, but before long we're knee-deep in a friendship drama revolving around this one stuck-up, super-rich and especially snotty white girl whose parents utterly adore her presumably Hispanic dark-skinned gal pal. Naturally, the parents skip town for the weekend and the two decide to invite over their equally vain and stupid girlfriends over for a dip in th pool, but dabnabit, there's some psycho killer on the loose who just can't stop himself from driving screwdrivers through the eye sockets of heavy metal enthusiasts or ripping trust fund babies' mandibles off with the crooked end of a tack hammer. 

Then one of the gals' boyfriends shows up and he brings along his pervy brother who keeps making raunchy sex jokes to the disgust and dismay of the rest of the cast. There's even a TEN MINUTE long sequence in which he tries to explain the fan theory that Cameron just imagined Ferris in Ferris Bueller's Day Off ... which, of course, is right before he steals a picture of the party host's mom, takes it to the bathroom and begins masturbating to it up until our psycho murderer decides to shove a power drill through his sternum for being all gross and whatnot. 

Naturally, there ain't much of a story here. Eventually, everybody in the cast sans our two leading ladies wind up getting maimed, disemboweled or butchered, and this being a modern slasher movie, you just know there's going to be a "twist ending" in there somewhere, and this one packs perhaps the most telegraphed "surprise" in the history of the genre. Still, if you're just here for the flying plasma and bare flesh, all that tertiary stuff about "plot" and "editing" and "camerawork" prolly won't turn you off too much.  It ain't a classic by any stretch, but as long as you can turn off the part of your brain responsible for critical thought for an hour and 19 minutes, you might actually enjoy it. 

We've got 10 dead bodies. Four breasts. Throat slitting. Eyeball gouging. Reckless dog tossing. Hammer through the jaw. Multiple pickaxes to the skull. Knife through the chest. Used condom flinging. Intestines rolls. Gratuitous death metal soundtrack. Gratuitous S&M subplot. Gratuitous slo-mo ensemble cast walking shots. Gratuitous Dirty Sanchez jokes. Power drill fu. Electric tree trimmer fu. Rubber mallet fu. And, of course, the thing more or less responsible for the movie existing in the first place ... underemployed baristas in Las Vegas REALLY needing the supplemental income fu

Starring Kristin Noel McKusick as Blaire, the bitchy party host who says "You keep your sperm away from my house"; Margaux Neme as Nancy, the dark-skinned (but not that dark-skinned) best bud who says "You killed everybody to become famous? Couldn't you have just made a sex tape like everybody else?"; Crystal Stoney as Britney, the obligatory super slut who gets her trachea sliced open with a ball-gag in her mouth muffling he screams; actual Internet sex-celebrity Alexis Adams as the equally obligatory dumb blonde who doesn't get anybody's ejaculation jokes; Destiny Faith Nelson as the token black girl, who gets her innards scrambled in the shower; and Nick Byer as Clay, the scene-stealing, ultra-pervert who has the movie's best line - "you girls are a disgrace to hot chicks everywhere."

Written and directed by Drew Marvick, who'll probably have a long and prosperous career in low-budget, exploitation filmmaking ... if nothing else, for the fact he's selling headless action figures to finance the flick's marketing budget.

I give it two stars out of four. Of course there's much better stuff out there, but you could certainly do far worse with contemporary horror fare. Hey, at least it ain't that pretentious female lib bullcrap like XX ...