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Fightlinker UFC 77 Roadtrip, part 4

(as mentioned, our journey home is being covered by Jake since I’m way too scarred from the experience to think about it again. Warning … there’s only about 2% MMA content here.)  

It’s Monday, and Ryan and I are exhausted. We’ve had a hell of an experience, and our experience in Cincinnati was fantastic. We met so many great people, texted several great people who we never managed to meet up with (Adam, we’re looking at YOU), downed several gallons of beer, and even got to see a quaint “mixed martial arts” show, where a plucky young hometown native got hit so hard in the face by knees, I’m pretty sure he saw God.

Now, on Sunday, we have one last goal: getting the fuck out of Dodge. With our bus tickets prepped, and our drugs ready for ingestion, we round up all unfinished business, rub one out to prevent blue ball bus syndrome, and look forward to saying goodbye USA, and thanks for the fish. The schedule couldn’t be easier: the bus leaves Sunday night at 6:30. All we have to do is show up, and we’re off.

Of course, little did we know that Cincinnati is not the kind of city you can leave so easily; actually, this place is like fucking Hotel California. All of a sudden, everything starts going to hell, and we can’t get out. Our bus is late. So late, in fact that any hope of catching our layovers is as likely as Ryan finally sporting a full beard (if you’ve seen his photos, you’ll understand why I call him “Patches”). We try to transfer to another route, and despite the chilling prospect of rotting in the bus terminal for another 3 hours, we take it.

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4 hours later, the stupid fucking whore bus is nowhere in sight. The bus lady is nice enough; she changes our tickets one more fucking time, so we can catch a goddamn layover. The new schedule tacks on a depressing 4 hours more waiting time. By now, had the cursed 6:30 bus actually come on time, we’d be a third of the way home. Instead, we’re stuck holding our dicks at the bus terminal. We’re trying to remain calm, but emotions are running pretty high all around the terminal; so high in fact that the bus company calls in a police officer just to make sure that people don’t riot and burn the place down Malibu-stylez.

So with 4 hours to kill, we decide to hit the town, grab a beer and get fucked up; anything to kill the time. We’re fucking morons, so upon leaving the station, we decide to walk through the ghetto in search of a cab. That’s when some crazy crackhead finds us, and zeros in for the kill. He looks like he’s about to mug us, but fortunately the bus station is still in sight and a cop is standing by the doors within shouting range.

Crackhead Billy wants us to follow him down the darkest fucking road I’ve ever seen. We’d be lucky if we only got raped down there. We give him a dollar each, tell him good luck, and make a quick escape back to the bus station, ignoring his angry growls until the cop sees him and he books it in the other direction.

Back in the bus station, we ask the ticket lady to call us a cab, since the Cincinnati bus station is apparently too scary for them to hang out near. While we sit outside and try to laugh at what was probably one of the more scary moments of our lives, a guy with a thick southern accent comes off a bus and tries to bum cigarettes off us. He then sticks around and tells us all about those “fucking ethnics” on the bus with him and how they were “pissin’ him off”. He told us they “didn’t know who they were fucking with”, pulled out a tiny fake looking police badge and said “they’re lucky I didn’t kick them off the bus to die by the side of the road.”

A taxi finally shows up, and we say so long to Officer Mark Harmond (or maybe his even stupider cousin). Our cab takes us to Kentucky, which is just on the other side of the bridge, but a world apart. We suddenly feel a lot safer, and take the opportunity to see a shitty movie, eat a total of 12 White Castle Burgers, and drink a quick pint before finally getting on the bus at 1:50 in the morning. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us, and Ryan curls up like a fat baby and falls asleep. With Cincinnati fading quickly behind us, I can only think of two things: (1) That I’m all “fun’d” out and need a break, and (2) that I forgot my fucking Mickey’s hat at the movie theatre. Fuck me. I had to suck some major dick to get that merch.

  • Swedish guy says:

    Does sound like an awesome stay! Any chance of photos of the crackhead? Or the fake southern police offer?

  • Accomando says:

    “fucking ethnics” on the bus with him and how they were “pissin’ him off”

    At least he was PC with his hate.

  • intenso says:


  • nem0 says:

    I hope you gave the crackhead some Canadian beaver funny-money. Let’s see the fucker try to buy drugs with that.

  • kentyman says:

    “How much can I get for a toonie?”

  • Jake says:

    He didn’t say ethics. He used the word white people aren’t allowed to. As for our beaver money, do you guys know that our 5 dollar bill has people playing hockey on it? That very thought depresses me

  • garth says:

    i love the idea of a hockey player on money. we should have sports heros on ours. fuck, we should have gretzky on ours.
    why not re-print bills every year with the MVP of the major leagues on it, from football, baseball, and basketball? That would be awesome.

  • Swedish guy says:

    Matt Serra on the tenners?

  • intenso says:

    if they put athletes on money, you know assholes out there would start “collecting” it.