Fists, Fighting, & F@cking: The Charles Martel Story

[Guest]

Chapter 1: I Knew I Was A Fighter The First Time I Beat My Dick

 

Some people will say they knew they were a fighter the second they left the womb, and those people are lying idiots. How the fuck could you possible even remember that? I don't know one person who remembers being pushed out of their mom's uterus, let alone being aware enough to take stock of what the fuck you're going to do with the rest of your life. I'm pretty sure my first thoughts were "gimme some titty, I'm hungry as shit mom."

 

Anyway, the first time I realized I was going to be a professional fighter was the first time I ever jerked off. The obvious joke here is that I was beating my meat so furiously and aggressively that I realized I was destined for something violent in my future but the truth of the matter isn't as dramatic. I was bored one day after school and saw a video in our collection at home I hadn't noticed before, it was a recordable VHS tape that had UFC 1 written in Sharpie on it. I had no idea what it was, but being burnt out on watching the same old crap movies we had I threw it in the VCR. To my surprise it was hardcore porno and the two hottest chicks I'd ever seen (up to that point, I've seen some shit now but that'll come later in this book) were blowing some lucky lucky pricks prick. Being a horny 13 year old I pulled my pecker out and started slapping the shit out of it with reckless abandon. So there I am cock in hand having myself a time and the screen suddenly switches to the actual UFC 1 event, I mean at this point I'm committed to finishing what I started so I carry on loving myself as Royce and his Gracie train make their way to the Octagon for the first time. Damn if I didn't climax right as Royce "tapped" Art Jimmerson merely by mounting him. My therapist still thinks this is the exact reason I always get wood when I'm making my walk to the cage. At any rate that was the moment I realized what I wanted to do with my life.

 

I joined a gym that, at the time, was considered an MMA gym. All that meant was we had some boxers, kick-boxers, and wrestlers all cross-training together thinking we had any sort of an idea as too what this whole sport was about. The guy who owned the gym, Marcus Reynolds, considered himself an up and coming fighter manager and I signed with him after training there for about three weeks. About six months later he handed me my first pro fight contract. Yes that's right I took my first pro fight just after my 14th birthday. My parents weren't exactly "hands on" parents if you get my drift and they were willing to sign off on the waiver as long as I gave them 50% of my purse.

 

I walked out to the cage that night to take on another fighter making their pro debut in Wade Wilson and I had one game plan in mind, throw as many punches as fucking possible. Which I did. I landed every single punch I threw but came up with more air than opponent when I was throwing combinations, or at least what I thought were combo's at the time. For whatever reason Wilson just wanted to clinch up and throw knees, he didn't throw any other strikes, just knees from the clinch. That was a weird game plan, fuck that guy he gave me my first win. It was pretty apparent I had some talent but needed to shore up my boxing if I wanted any real chance in this sport. I was hooked and willing to do whatever it took to get better, so that following Monday I dropped out of school and started training full time, maybe not the smartest idea but no one has ever accused me of being intelligent.

 

I took my next fight almost exactly one month later and my opponent and his camp also had a singular game plan, but the difference was they wanted to take me down. He shot for eight takedowns in that fight and I stuffed them all. I landed three punches. Just three and collected my first knockout victory. Seeing a man get switched off like that was my new drug. All I wanted to do after that was steal mens consciousness and I did that another seven times over my next twelve wins. I also gathered myself four losses over that time but I managed to capture both the SFO and EFC Bantamweight Championships. My record was an impressive 14-4 and it was clear I had outgrown my current manager and gym. I decided to shop around and see about replacements for both. I let the legendary Barnabas Sackett manage me for one fight, a rematch against Jokke Mela who beat me for my title at EFC 78, and the fight went well. I won and Sackett was great but we both felt something was missing between us to form a longterm partnership. I left the arena that night a free agent again but it wouldn't be for long as the man who guided my career right up to the end was in attendance that night and was about to reach out. I think you, dear reader, know that man as one of the most famous, handsome, sexually gifted, and successful fight managers in the history of the Tycooniverse. Chuck Grace reached out the very next day and so began the most successful period any fighter has arguably ever experienced.

 

Coming up next...

 

Chapter 2: I Have A Chuck Grace On The Line For You, He Sounds Like An Asshole