Vitor Belfort turned in one of the best years in mixed martial arts history in 2013. Here’s what he did:

  • vs. #4 Michael Bisping, KO head kick (KotN)
  • vs. #8 Luke Rockhold, KO head kick (KotN)
  • vs. #5 Dan Henderson at LHW, KO head kick (KotN)

The man has a preference for decapitation. He re-invented himself as the mohawk warrior of Cheezus, a contender to dethrone the immortal Anderson Silva that guy from Jersey. In the pantheon of great performances, off the top of my head I can only think of Jon Jones’ 2011 that is comparable. We were seeing something that had never before been witnessed.

There was just one little, itty bitty, tiny wrinkle in all that awesomeness … he cheated. Read More →

I can’t cry in public. I’d like to, but I can’t. I just can’t. It’s not that I am bereft of human emotion, but rather I am terribly afraid that I’m an ugly crier.

(The undisputed champion of the ugly cry face. I THE present Claire Danes.)

Read More →

 (aka Thank You, Hackers)

Hello World. This is my very first post for my Word Press blog … again.

This is actually the second time I’ve generated a generally generic opening post for LuckyRob.com … and I have to give a special thanks to those [Chinese/Russian/Balkan] hackers out there for helping me achieve a level of personal freedom and existential bliss. If not for you, [Wang/Ivan/Dimitar], then I’d still be looking back through some of my 300 posts with horror at my poorly thought out, inane, and largely self-fixated posts that I’d been churning out on this very website since 2008.

There’s no harsher critic of writing than the actual writer himself. So [xie-xie/spasibo/hvala] to my new online anti-establishment friends that helped me shed so much of my self-loathing in the form of old posts and atrocious grammar that only made me want to close my head in a rusty car trunk Joe Pesci-style after each rereading. Most of it was all absolute shit anyways.

Well, except my man-crush break-up with Brad Pitt. Sorry, we’re still at different places in our lives right now, Bradley. It’s not you, it’s me.

Without any further ado, I present Lucky Part 2.

(rhyming not intentional, but girlishly appreciated afterwards by the author)