Ronda Rousey's Mayweather Night Sweat

Stitch popped my mouthgard in and I bounced up the steps into the octagon.  Wait? Stitch?  No time to think.  I’m in it now.  Everything is big and yet everything is focused.  Where is that Brazilian bitch?  Where is Bethe?  She’s supposed to be right over there with her broke nose, so I can break it again.  She’s supposed to be right over there waiting to get beat.  I’m going to wreck her so many ways.  I’m going to end her pathetic career.  I don’t kill my enemies.  I kill their dreams.

Where is she?  Who the fuck is that?  Is that a dude?  Dana!  Dana what the fuck are you doing to me?  That’s Floyd fucking Mayweather.  I’ll kick your fucking ass instead Dana.  What is this now?  The WWE?  Springing a surprise contender on me?  Not cool.  Not cool at all.

Get ahold of yourself Ronda.  Fucking get ahold of yourself.  They want to play it like this, you can play it like this.  You can destroy it like this.  Don’t play the game.  Own the fucking game.  Undefeated.  I’m undefeated.  Now, and never.  Mayweather is a pussy anyway.  I can take him.

Is this for real?  Whoa.  Bruce Buffer.  I guess so.  Showtime.  Straighten out the shorts.  And. Here. We. Go.

What’s he coming with?  Jesus he moves fast. Ow. So that’s where he jabs from.

Are they cheering?  Are they fucking cheering ‘cause he just hit a woman.  I told Dana that.

Jab. Did that get him?  It felt like something.  Circle.  Where the fuck is he open?

I told everybody that.  I said that was why I shouldn’t fight a dude, because then the fans would have cheer when a dude hit a woman.  And they just did.  Fucking Brazilians.

Circle.  Where’s the opening?  Ow.  Yeah.  All day motherfucker.  That was my forehead.  Hurt your hand worse than it hurt me.  Used to those big boxing gloves.  Like pillows on your hands.

There’s just no where to go in though.  Keeps backing and circling.  Running like a bitch.  Jabbing like a bitch.  But he doesn’t leave that jab hanging long enough to grab it.  Clinch with me, you pussy.

Shit.  I don’t want to box with this guy.  Gotta get the takedown.  But he keeps running.  Won’t close where I can throw him.  Gonna have to shoot in with a wrestling takedown.  That’s a long way in.  Open for an uppercut the whole way.  Pull guard?  Just drop?

Gotta draw him in. Close.  Hands up.  Tight.  Lotta fists at his face.  Leg kick.  Think about that, fucker.  How did that feel?  Don’t think about how I’m gonna get you on the wrong side of my hip and send you for a ride.

Jeesus he’s fast.  Am I getting to him at all?  Punch and get nothing, just a touch.  Like one of those nightmares where you try to talk and no sound comes out.  Nightmare!  This is a nightmare!  Has to be.  Can’t be.  Ow!  I wouldn’t feel that.

Come on, fucker.  Wait.  What the fuck is that sound?

Its like a telephone.  But louder.

No.  Just the room phone.  Wake up call.  Wrong time zone.  Needed a wake up call.  Hotel room.  It’s just Saturday morning.

Jesus what a dream.  Nightmare.  It’s okay though.  Feed the fear.  Eat the fear.  Use it.  Win.  Like I don’t worry enough about this in daylight.  Worry about what though?  I know it.  Everybody knows it.  In real life I’d kick his ass.  But only if I believe it.