Now I would normally disagree with the title of this blog. Talking about my various charitable and philanthropic deeds. Pointing to the fact that I am fairly down to earth for someone who routinely talks to themselves, even to the point of having out-loud dialogues that go something like "What in the hell do I want to eat? Something fast, but not to fatty. Well it has to be walking distance. Hell, we can jog it up if we really need to, screw it, check your iPhone." -as if there are two separate entities speaking in entirely the same voice with a similar mindset- who knows how many multiple personalities my individual personalities have. That is not douchey. That is crazy.

Anyway, I was having about this EXACT same conversation with I and I during a hunger pang that was lasting entirely too long. I realize that someone who is accustomed to losing upwards of twenty pounds should not really bitch and moan that he is hungry, but if I said that I had a slight inkling for hambergesas, I would be bald-face lying. On a scale from one to ten, I was at "shove a homeless guy out of line at the mission" level. Now being a z level celebrity, I have moved out of the homeless area of Hollywood and into a more classy area. That being said I often feel like the animal that everyone has mistakenly dressed up in a TapOut t-shirt and fed peanuts to get him to be good and dance around on Thursdays, so I am normally on my best behavior. I charged the streets of Westwood, near the UCLA campus determined to fill my stomach with something palatable and not coated in saturated fat and high-fructose corn syrup. I almost sprinted out of view of my female companion, Cat, who was also hungry, but apparently lacks my simian-like drive to kill and eat anything in my path as soon as the neurotransmitters responsible for hunger start playing heavy metal in my head.

I looked up from my iPhone, which was guiding me along the clean sidewalks and row of Mercedes, BMW, Mercedes, BMW, Mercedes, SAAB (wtf?) and peered up the block at the hunting-ground that would provide me the sustenance for this Summer afternoon. "Mr. Noodle!" said Cat who was nearly a half block away by now. The only thing separating me from the sweet salvation of caloric intake was 100 feet lined by a Hookah cafe, and the inevitable confusion of being seated by Thai immigrants that work at this noodle shop. During this Olympic Style speed walk, something penetrated my periph, through my holocaust hunger. A group of young guys sitting at the table, puffing on the pipe, one young kid in particular who was situated to get a perfect view of me. This guy is undoubtedly in my "Target Demographic" and is exactly who I want to watch Bully Beatdown so that I can get money to put food in my mouth, and I appreciate that fully- but at this moment, my heart sinks because I know I will be entirely too agitated to give this guy a handshake, a smile, a head-nod, due to the halo of hunger circling my head and clouding my vision.

The moment of truth- the target demo kid looks up from his hookah smoke, directly into my face, right down to my eyes and deep into the iris of my eyes- absolutely no reaction. Not a "hey," not a blink, not a disturbance in his dopey expression. BULLET DODGED. Now don't get me wrong, I love every Mayhem Monkey, but I have no time or patience for a Bully Beatdown noob right now. Glad there was no awkward conversation, no creepy handshake that went on for too long, no "Can we do another one? I made a face."

After a quick confusion with the Thai lady about where we wanted to sit, she placed us on a table on the patio, looking out at the beautiful Fox Theater. An old-timey looking theater that is adorned with beautiful neon lights, and looks as if it dropped right out of the 1950's. Of course I didn't notice all of that on this day, because I was studying the menu as if I was about to take a test on it that determined the fate of my genitalia. As soon as the Thai lady came back I rudely rattled off what I wanted before Cat and then tried to make a little small talk with the waitress before realize that the other voice was saying to me "Stop talking, let her order, stop talking she can't get us food if you are talking to her." To which I conceded and shut up.

Ask anyone who eats with me normally and they will tell you, after I order, my obsessive tendencies come out if there is a lull in the conversation and I will ask "Where's the food?" There was no conversation at all at this lunch, so I caught myself repeating "Where's the food?" like a zombie. It was a score in when BAM, plate of chicken, right in my face. "Excited" would be like calling the Grand Canyon a pothole. I immediately tore into my food, and got one full mouthful in before- "HEY" spanked my eardrum, painfully close. Even more shockingly close was a pair skate shoes then pants then motocross shirt then dopey face of the Target-demo kid from the cafe next door. I halfway stopped chewing, as he repeated, "Hey."

I gave a quizzical look and determined that I do not have time for this, and I refuse to stop eating, but I'm not going to be a total dick to a fan, so without stopping my masticating, I deliver a half hearted "Whutup" and return to attacking the poultry with a fever. "Hmm... aren't you." says 12 to 24 male, his face contorting to get his brain to fire. "Don't you.. didn't you." Judging by his dress this guy obviously watches Nitro Circus, possibly fantasy Factory. "Man... you are..."

I'm still jamming my face full, and not about to take a break to breathe, let alone give him a rundown of my career, and at this point he's starting to agitate me by distracting me from the taste of my food with the constant screaming of my head voices.

"Didn't you used to fight MMA or something?" I could hear the urban voices of the playground kids of my childhood "Ooooooooh! Cold busted! Oh snap!" even though this wasn't his intention. "Actually, I still DO." I said, and looked at him in a way that was meant to say "piss off" in the nicest way and cut my eyes down at my food again. Undeterred, the extreme dude persisted. "But aren't you- don't you, aren't you," -all but BEGGING me to give him detailed files on my life so that we could have an awkward conversation about me. "I know you."

At this point I did something that I learned from my father, who would scare the shit out of me at the dinner table on a regular basis. I paused for a moment, clinked my fork on my plate, clinched my jaw, wrinkled my upper lip looked him dead in the eye and growled, "No, you DON'T!" Which got my point across finally, but now Youngin' was stuck in an goofy stance, stammering, "Uh, um, I'm not trying to be rude-" WELL, you are" I snarled back again, still summoning my dad voice to get to enjoy my chicken, and I watched him shuffle off apologetically. to which I thought 'rightfully so.'

Cat, who is a master of etiquette, looked up from her lunch and remarked that the kid was being rude, but that I could've been nicer because "Now he's going to go and tell everyone that you're a jerk," to which I responded, "No, he isn't, because HE HAS NO IDEA WHO I AM!" To which she guffawed and said "True."

So, ok, I have officially become a Hollywood douchebag, and all it took was me to move out of Hollywood. In my defense, minutes later some flotsam and jetsam girls came up to me and said "Mayhem Miller!" and I took pictures with both of them, but I have a feeling that had more to do with my full belly than the fact that she knew my name.

Availble First at Fight!

After my fight in Japan I decided that a trip to Las Vegas was in order. This would give me a chance to release some of this supposed steam, shake off some stress, and create some stories to laugh at later down the line. This story begins at end of a blatantly fantastic trip to Vegas that I cannot hardly remember, which unfortunately is pretty much how every trip to Las Vegas ends up for me due to a high pain tolerance and propensity to start drinking contests, in which no one really wins. After my alarm rang for 1.5 hours I shook myself into consciousness and through an alcoholic fog I realized that my plane is now boarding, as I inspected my bomb blasted hotel room- the shrapnel of  clothing, shoes and phone chargers scattered about. I quickly cleaned the salvageable debris and hustled out the door, stumbled into a cab, tipped the smelly cab driver as I watched what was sure to be my plane soar above the strip into the hot desert air.

 

Happily hungover I made it into the airport expecting the biggest hassle of my life but was surprisingly met by a smiling face and great customer service by the chubby cheeked lady behind the American Airlines counter, who despite my hat that exclaimed “Fuck Off,” booked me on the next flight on U.S. Airways, that left in about an hour. I cheerily thanked her, and shuffled on to the gates, in my sweet Osiris sneakers, one laced and the other that I never had the chance to strap up- leisurely strolling with my carry-on luggage toting behind me, stopping to get a large water and attempt to recount some off the wildness that I had just undergone, and try to rehydrate my brain.

 

The water barely put a dent in my hangover by the time I got to the gate, so I just chopped through the haze best I could and swam into the confines of the plane just as they were making the final call, and what do I have here? A glimmer of sunshine in this sea of despair- my entire row of seats, all to myself. A veritable luxury suite in the state of exhaustion that I was currently in. I jammed down the earphones that I had bought from the robot vending machine at LAX and cranked Hed Candy Winter Chill while I poured myself into my king size leather bed behind a random guy and a sweet old lady wear a green sweater. Now comfortable I recounted some of the hilarious moments from the weekend, including standing on a couch screaming, telling a blackjack dealer that "you will burn in hell for your sins against humanity" and pool party moments that included me in a blue speedo and a rubber chicken.


From my reclined position I drowned out the world and searched the web on God's little gift to the world, the iPhone. As I was waterboarding planet earth, a bulbous, angryfaced woman in the familiar gestapo uniform of a flight attendant,  skimmed by the aisle and paused by my comfortable palace that I dubbed "Row 21" and mumbled something lower than the sultry sounds of a woman singing over a synth-pop riff. She had the evil look of a cartoon villan that had let herself go, turned witness on the evil empire, went into the witness protection program and ballooned up as she worked a job she hates. I was Mayhem's complete lack of concern, and as she continued to stand there, I shrugged and buckled my saftey-belt.  This appeased the she-beast and she stomped back to the front of the plane, undoubtedly to her evil headquarters.

An hour from now I will be happily skipping off the plane, getting a delicious starbucks (grande iced americano, soy milk and two splendas- "The 'Hem") and leaving the devils codpiece of Las Vegas far behind me. It has already obtained far too much of my sweat, money and soul on this trip. Let me twitter that bit about "devil's codpiece," I think, giggling- suddenly mid-twitter a new set of eyes staring me daggers appears, this time from the rear of the plane. She is younger, but looks just as mean, only in a plasticky-robot way that women who wear too much makeup have. She says something, I continue to ignore, until she cranks her volume up to cut directly through my sweet techno-lullabys, I still can't make it out exactly but I hear a "tack tack tack" that only this model of bitch-bot could release. I yank my earplugs out and sit up with "Huh?"

Meanie 5000 launches into this full on monouloge that I attempt to understand, just catching "FAA regulations.... ...Electronic devices... ....did you not understand?" then she begins to speak to me in the tone and language you would speak to a five year old when explaining to them that if they are good they will get presents from Santa. "Ma'am, you don't have to speak me like that, I understand,"  "well, then turn off your electronic device!"  at this point I show the lit screen of the iphone and press the top button that deadens the screen. "Is it all the way off?" she says, her lack of iPhone knowledge didn't surprise me, she more than likely runs on windows. "Yeah" Apparently pleased, she locomotions back to the back of the plane. But once she left, I started to bubble in the fact that I had been talked to like I just figured out how to wear big boy pants and did very little to nothing to defend myself- no- to defend the honor of all mankind who is well aware that my 7-watt iphone isn't going to take down a jumbo jetliner, and anyone who believes that should not be allowed to ride an airplane. So I cranked up Goldfrapp and googled the FAA. The mighty manatee from the front of the plane anticipated this and as if she threw a smoke grenade- there she was again.

She appeared out of her fog and I realized why I had such disdain for her. She had the same body type and pixie/oger haircut that every grade school teacher that had ever sat me in the corner had. "Do you NOT UNDERSTAND?! ALL ELECTRONIC DEVICES ARE TOO BE OFF! I WILL TURN THIS PLANE AROUND!"  I heard the pilot rev the engines and I could see the tire marks of the runway approaching- we were already on our way to take off- this sea creature was bluffing. "Reeeeeally? You're gonna turn the plane around? Heh." I said calling her on her bluff. Before I could get the snarky "Heh" out of my mouth, she was on a full sprint to the captain's quarters. Then I got worried. No way. I felt the plane lurch a bit, then *BING* "This is your captain speaking, we seem to have a little problem, and will be returning to the gate, but will be on our way momentarily."

"Shit." I said aloud. She wasn't bluffing and I suddenly realized I would be exiled from my kingdom and back into the grime of the Las Vegas airport. Defeated, I resigned to the fact that I would be in LA much later than expected, so I called Cat, my cool headed ride from the airport to who I explained "They are doing a fucking U-turn right now, I'm not coming back til later- yes I'm serious- No, it's done, the lady fucking hates me," I could see staring her with a satisfied look of death from her devilish galley and could see the gates approaching. Cat begged me to apologize and beg for forgiveness, which I'm terrible at, but for the sake of my sanity, I took off my "Fuck Off" hat and pushed the call button and earpiece in my ear, was coached how to be nice. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood, I-" "YOU HAD YOUR CHANCES! WE'RE HEADED TO THE GATE!" I resisted my urge to scream obscenities and pleaded "Ma'am, please, you are being unreasonable, you're gonna make all these people late because I have an iPhone on?" looking around at the passengers for some compassion. Suddenly the old woman in the green sweater exploded, "'YOU' MADE US LATE! YOU!"

"SHUT THE FUA-" I popped off, before realizing I've lost my mind. Yelling at old ladies? I lose. I sat there alone, in disbelief, thinking about the millions of times I'd flown and never even turned off my phone, without consequence, and I am now paying the price. The plane came to a rest and I realized that I must look like a carefree skateboarder that just spent the weekend enjoying my life, while Sea-pig and Robo-bitch slaved away, tossing peanuts at overweight tourists and sitting next to a flying portopotty, reading US weekly and wishing there was more to life than this. I suddenly felt a bit of remorse for them. Not much though because I went to look for all my stuff in the seat-back pockets I emptied all of the inflight magazines onto the ground- childish, I know, but hey, they are throwing me off the plane because they don't like the way I look. Damn, is there a such thing as 'style discrimination?'

"That is not neccessary!" Robot piped up from behind me. Damn they are sneaky, I followed the nice filipino lady off the airplane and when I got to the Evil Lair of the Sea Creature I looked her right in the face and said, "You've won today, but you will always be miserable." Which, meant that her mean spirited attitude was going to always end up with her feeling terrible,  but instead sounded as if I was putting a voodoo curse on her.

Actually, I did put a voodoo curse on her, and that is for her to be a little more understanding, regardless of how offensive someone's immediate appearance may be, or how gruff they appear,  not to judge them on their last 48 hours in Vegas, and what they appear to be at the moment, and that being a stickler for the rules usually ends up in a delay for everyone. But unwittingly, I also sprang a curse on myself- to be more understanding of people that may not be happy in the careers they have chosen, and to possibly be more compassionate towards these types, without constantly ignoring the rules, no matter how ridiculous or petty. I'm glad I walked away from the experience learning something, and I'm glad I'm finished writing this, the drink cart is coming down the aisle and Delta Has the best peanuts.

Mayhem

-Sent From My iPhone

....I haven't really been blogging. Got to fix that now don't I? Well, not too much to write about at the moment, Bully Beatdown starts filming in July, so tell Bullycasting@yahoo.com about your bully, and stop asking me to beat down your baby-daddy. Also I finally got this Twitter badge, which I thought would help you psycho monkeys stalk me more efficiently.

http://www.mtv.co.uk/shows/mtv-movie-awards/video/...

.. - The MTV Movie Awards 2009 | Red Carpet Style | Jason "Mayhem" Miller..

Can't believe I made the "Style" thing. Strange.

Kingdom of Mayhem, pt. 3 from All Elbows on Vimeo.

Kingdom of Mayhem: Road to Dream MW Championship, part 2 from All Elbows on Vimeo.

Kingdom of Mayhem: Road to Dream MW Championship, pt.1 from All Elbows on Vimeo.

...or is it "written" a blog? I don't know. I'm into strange shenanigans as of late, and I think that the only thing keeping me sane these days is the fact that I'm trapped in a gym constantly, training for the biggest fight of my life.

"The biggest fight of my life." That is such a relative term, because I really feel like every fight is the biggest fight of my life, and this is just the next biggest fight of my life. The last fight was giant for me, especially going back to Hawaii and all that, but this one is my personal vengence fight.

It's one thing to lose a fight and have the feeling that you got outsmarted, outgamed, outmatched, it's a whole 'nother thing to leave the ring feeling that you outdumbed yourself, fought the wrong fight, and didn't leave everything in the arena. To have to carry out this bag of regrets, sorrows, woulda-shoulda-couldas and think about it every day, bringing it with you to training, carrying it like one of those koala backpacks filled with 45 pound plates.

The upside of carrying that burden is that you become stronger from it. Now is the time for me to cast off that sad sack and get down to business. Training hard is making me delirious- and not very funny.

Sorry, next blog will switch back to humorous.

Mayhem

Now I'm confirming...

Get ready because I'm having a rematch with "Jacare" who beat me in a sound decision last year- for the Dream Middleweight Title of the World! This time, it's going to be the Mayhem Monkeys that get the last laugh!



Mayhem