Mr Green v Mundine

Being a boxing expert takes more than sweat in the ring. It takes a 10 pack of Wild Turkeys, Big W’s full Tapout collection and the kind of neck tattoo that tells the world that he’s not going to stay after he sprays his DNA.

Dean’s preparation for the smash started early with a big serve of eggs methedict with extra cuntandaise sauce. His extremely dilated pupils have him the power to see into the future and predict the outcome of the foiiiiight:

“Anywon that nos shit bout boxin now that MUNDANE will go down in the 5th… lol onya choc dont stand for me national ANTHUM il nock ya to the ground meself, dog, ya fucking dog . Smash him GREEN MACHINE!!!!!!”

A few things came from Dean’s rambling status, firstly, somewhere, a copy of the Oxford Dictionary decided it’d had enough and hung itself. Secondly, Skitz, a guy Dean occasionally buys shards from arks up:

“Dumcunt…. Choc is the supereror fightr, wont even be close eh…. Come down to the Gate we’ll put a waiger on it ey”

Arguably Skitz is the superior fight commentator. Firstly, he did a 2 day Muay Thai training camp in actual Thailand and he wears the shorts rain, hail or shine. He also has a metal plate in his head from headbutting more UFC-arseholes than the back members of a human centipede. 

Dean was going to go to Carbon bar, but someone talked shit about martial arts, and when you live by the Tapout shirt, you die by the Tapout shirt. He dutifully attended the gate to assist anyone with urinary problems: in other words, he was there to make you piss. 

With each blow the gallery of misfitted leftovers screamed obscenities through their clenched jaws. The savage symphony of swearing sounded like a tourrettes gangbang and Dean was the conductor. 

At the end of the 10th round, Dean loudly called it, “I bet any weak prick here the score is 89 – 97 in Greens favour, yas just have to look at that left jab”. Skitz disrespectfully disagrees and like Mundine lands a cheeky blow while Dean isn’t looking. 

Luckily, Dean is so cracked up that he needed an O’Brien’s call out. Unluckily for Dean, he can’t actually fight, so he starts threatening Skitz like he was a Foxtel representative to a live-streaming legend. 

He pulls out the only skill in his fighting repertoire: ripping off his shirt like a insta-hoe on low likes. 

The fuckwits punch on like a pair of apes disputing whose turn it is on the swinging tyre. Swapping boxing analysis between sloppy swings and sweaty grappling. 

The whole affair is as graceful as Mundine’s defeat and finished as quickly as his career.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?