Jonas Valanciunas sat eagerly on his couch, waiting for the match to begin. Snacks and beverages of unbelievable variety were spread on the table before him; he reached over and grabbed a box of Oreos before slamming them into his face five at a time. Arvydas, his cat, stretched up from his spot next to his owner and sniffed the cookies.
“No, Arvdyas, these are not kitty foods.” Jonas said playfully as he dangled a single Oreo in front of the animal. “You want it anyway? Have it your way, you won’t like it.” He laughed as he threw the cookie, with Arvydas in hot pursuit.
It was almost time to start. The opening festivities were starting, getting the crowd, both live and watching on demand, hyped for the fight: Holly Holm vs Ronda Rousey.
Jonas loved watching MMA. He was not much of a fighter himself; sure, he did some occasional MMA-styled workouts, but if it ever came down to him having to throw a punch or execute a pin, he would much rather just take out his pocketknife and get things done that way. But the sport itself was so compelling. The way the fighters’ bodies moved with such grace yet also such fury, well, it was almost too much for him.
As he waited for the fight to start, he let himself imagine himself in the ring in place of Holm. There was Ronda, calling him a pussy, daring him to fight, and now she was raining punches on his face, now he was in a submission hold, powerless to stop her awesome might… no, it was not time yet. He gazed at the unusual item among the table of snacks, a container of vaseline, and sighed. That would have to wait until after. Suddenly, the starting bell awoke him from his reverie.
“Yes! Take her down Ronda! Show her who the real bitch is, it is Holly, Holly Holm is the bitch!” he yelled excitedly. “Wait, what is happening? Get up Ronda, get up! She is bitch! Show her that she is worthless bitch! What are you doing? Why aren’t you getting up? She is stupid bitch! You cannot teach her a lesson if you are not even throwing punches!”
Jonas watched in astonishment as the official signaled that Ronda Rousey was knocked out. “That’s it? Match is over? I pay good money to see big amazon women fight to death and it’s over in less than a minute? I demand refund.”
But that was it. The snacks so carefully procured sat uneaten, the beers so meticulously curated, undrunk. Arvydas wandered over again, sniffing the bowl of tortilla chips with interest.
“No, Arvydas, this is daddy’s private time now. Despite disappoint of fight, daddy has enough material to make this work” Jonas picked up his cat, walked over to the bathroom, and deposited him inside. Arvydas meowed piteously as Jonas closed the door and walked back over to the couch. He grabbed the vaseline.