Hey, hey, hey, it's muthafuckin' Friday! All across America, people are fleeing the workplace as the five o'clock whistle blows. In Miami, they're probably heading out the beachfront for drinks and dinner. In LA, they're trying to kill eachother in rush hour traffic. In Duluth, some lonely farmhand is picking out his ewe for the night. Hey, everyone celebrates in their own little way. Me personally? Went to Blockbuster (Oh yeah baby, we still rent DVD's the old fashioned way around here) and rented "The Aristocrats", "Transporter 2", and "Dark Water". A nice bit of mindless entertainment that will mix well with the American lager, the bottle of zinfandel, or the pinot grigio we got at the store. Mmm-Mmm. See, no matter how bad your week was, you're almost always glad when Friday comes around.

Unless, maybe - you're this poor little bastard...

If you look closely, I swear I think he's trying to hit his own damn self. He probably just wants out of the goddamn ring and away from the dude with the year-round sweater who's palming his skull and pounding away at his face with fists the size of cinder blocks. Yee-ouch! And yeah, that's a real photo, the big guy's name is Nikolay Valuev, and he's seven feet tall. The little dude is some poor bastard who doesn't have a title belt anymore. Or the ability to chew his own food, by the looks of that monster right coming his way.