In Rampage's Words: "Just Sayin'"

In my mind I often put myself in another person's head, or so to speak, and imagine what they would say to me or their fans if I were lucky enough to be actually interviewing them.  (Yes, I am an old woman who lives in a fantasy world and has a vivid imagination--guilty as charged.)

While pondering what Rampage would say over a meal of fried chicken post fight weekend, I came up with thie following.

Yeah, people all been wondrin' how that lanky, long-limbed, son only a mama could love Griffin could whup me 'n be totin' round my belt!  I tell ya 'mam, it ain't no big secret.

Big cops like him been beatin' up on brothers long before Rodney King or me ever thought of puttin' ourselves in a fight with 'em!

My blessin' was that they didn't let him bring his tazer or net gun with him into the damn ring.  He gave me a taste of  his "po-leece brutality" at TUF 7 when I was just layin' round not doin' nuthin to 'em. That fool Forrest done netted me on national television!  Guess it was just a warnin' of what to expect from that  sneaky ol' prankin' "depity dawg."

'Least he didn't get all 'motional and blubbery in the ring.  Lawd, I am so thankful for that.  Ain't nothin' worse for a bruther to be in the vicinity of a former cop crying his eyes out; 'at's just not safe territory to be in, ya ask me.

Some says ol' Forrest was more of 'n athlete den me.  Well I was quite 'n athlete back in the day when I was young 'n just out tryin' ta dodge those mothers--I had to get real athletic or I'd be talkin to some cellie in the big house now 'n not eatin' this fine chicken with ya'all in P-town,

What people don't know 'n what they didn't show on TUF is that Forrest, bein' the lanky bushy headed fool he is, was always trippin' over his big-ass honkey feet.  That boy is clumsy plain 'n simple.  He didn't break down that door by hittin' it, he actually tripped over his big clumsy self and fell right into it!  It was his weight that busted  that door up more likely than his big ole fist!  That was just one of those editing tricks dat dey do, mind ya.

An during our fight, after Forrest done left his big ole footprints all o'er my left leg 'n he was on top of me 'n holdin' me down actin' like he was whalin' the sense out a me, I wasn't in no sort of trouble, I was jest healin' up my leg and goin' over a list of chores in my head.  "Gotta pick up my clean shirts at the laundry, get me some more p'nut butter for my kids, rinse the two eight year ol's piss off the deck before my Boo comes over to cook out . . ."  Ya know, just sh*t like that, nothin' real serious.  It was a welcomed rest for this brother.

An' hell, I coulda stopped that fight just by dumpin' ol' Forrest on his big meatball head, had I wanted.  Too bad I didn't realize the judges all had narcolepsy and was sleepin for three rounds of the fight--they need some younger people to be judges, them ol' folks just get all lost up inside a their heads, ya feel what I'm sayin' here now Do'thy?

Sorry girl, but you had a real blank look there in yer eyes; will ya pass the corn fritters 'n more o' that fine chicken this way?

Yeah, I came inta the fight a little worried about all the trouble that big clumsy fool could cause with his big old legs an' all bouncin' around the ring 'n such.  Turns out I had no way a knowin' what all was in that big ol' punkin head.  He sure cooked up a world a trouble for poor ole "Page" there didn't he?

Just as well I ain't wearin' that belt right now.  I'd sure hafta  be loosin' it all up some.  Hey Mel, pass on down more mashed taters 'n some of that there good chicken gravy!