mayhemmiller's ProElite.com Blog

explaination.. of a video

mayhemmiller — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 8:44:26 PDT

People keep asking, so here, basically Tiki, who owns the Huntington Beach Ultimate Training Center has recently been on a Throwdown hating streak, that has extended to ripping the shirt off of Cheik Kongo as he walked into the gym to train. It is no secret in the MMA industry that Throwdown has ripped off EVERYBODY- fighters, vendors, right down to the guys who printed the first shirts, and the former VP. Well these guys were in some club and forgot that Tiki is the godfather of huntington beach

Check checkit

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Ugly Style vs Pretty Style

mayhemmiller — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 7:33:24 PDT

We all have the image burned into our minds. It is a image burned into our collective consciousness, a muscular guy in a karate suit striking his toughest “pose named for an animal“, his luscious mullet flowing in the wind. If I could go back to the 80’s and tug that guy’s Daniel LaRusso headband off, I’d “sweep the leg, Johnny” and send him packing to New Jersey with his single-mother and adopted Asian grandfather who taught him that “waxing off” is an effective method of training for physical combat. A lot of us can’t shake this idea that martial arts aren’t anything magical. Frustrating as it is to someone as short tempered as I tend to be, there’s not a whole lot mysterious about why many people believe this to be true. Many people are idiots.

That being said, I was once one of those idiots. If someone were to punch at Steven Segal, he would trap their hand then give them the front flip action, then a swift kick to the neck-piece, and the camera pans up to his toughest kung-fu-face and a guitar squeals really hard. Meanwhile, in the neon-soaked streets of Hong Kong- Frank Dux was running from Forest Whitaker on the little Chinese boats, then fought in the Kumite to avenge his biker friend guy, and wins by defeating Bolo with a jump spinning crescent kick. It was SICK. I was on the trampoline doing super jump spinning crescent kicks until it was dark and I’d have to stop every so often to set the sensor light, before returning to my karate class in the sky. This was my reality. If you were a black belt, you had magic powers, you could glow, and if you knew the magic words (HA-DO-KEN!) you could throw a fireball. If I could just get my parents to buy me a karate suit, and maybe those ninja boots, and I’d be set. This was my reality and with the evidence that I had collected through A-Team reruns, Time Cop on VHS, and my friend’s friend’s karate instructor that had to check his hands in with the courthouse security staff, because they were being registered as deadly weapons I was sold on these ideas. So mystical, so magical, so “anime.”

When you wake up to those dreams, you realize the brutal, ugly, truth. Fighting is brutal and ugly, and the uglier the style, the more effective it seems to be. No one was making movies about Muay Thai, well, except that one where Jean Claude Van Damme, or “JC” as I call him went to Thai island to train for some quest, but comes out of training camp and still does kempo karate kicks, even though all he did was kick banana trees all day. The knees, elbows, and the” Not Camera Pleasing” kicks that entail the art of Muay Thai aren’t exactly the most breathtaking movements, but this ain’t a beauty contest. Muay Thai practitioners had to wait until 2005 to get a badass movie made for them, while we’ve been watching karate movies for decades. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not “Hating the Player” -good for karate. I’m proud of “him,” but he’s expired. Someone wondered what would happen when you put these flashy-kickin’-kata practin’-Mortal Kombat watching black belts to fight a skinny Brazilian guy but somehow the “unhandsome” Gracie style (complete with chest hair and pajamas) managed to teabag his opponents to death, even though he won while the other guy was obviously winning, I mean “He had to be winning- he was on the top!”

Well, if you think I’m calling my beloved sport “ugly” well you are wrong. I believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Is Bruce Lee’s jump spinning back-kick beautiful? Yes, absolutely. Is St. Pierre’s transition from the kimura to the arm-lock a thing to behold? Again, absolutely. Remember Ol’ Stevie-Ponytail’s wrist-lock front flip? It is lovely, I mean fricken beautiful but ridiculous to the point of banging your head on the floor with frustration. When you put two resisting, angry meatheads in the cage against each other, battling for cash and prizes, you start trimming the fat and getting rid of what doesn’t work- because you can’t afford to blow it by getting into a deep horse stance, and then getting punted into a coma by a giant shin-bone against your snot-box. When you are educated about actual combat, and the most effective forms of it, then you begin to see through the fog of mysticism that surround the TMA ’s. This clears your misconception formally perpetuated by mass media, that flashy kicks are required for someone to beat someone up. Thanks to You Tube, everyone knows what a real fight looks like, and 9 times out of ten- ( the one clip of the karate kid knocking out the cholo kid excluded) The beautiful methods normally falter to the more contemporary styles of ass-kickery.

Take me for example. I am far from a bronze Adonis, but I have spent enough time in the gym to look like Schwarzenegger, had I been pumping iron. Instead what I have done is spent my time sharpening my skills in the most effective forms of martial arts, which are generally regarded as Wrestling, Brazilian Ju Jitsu, Muay Thai, and Boxing. Just like me, they aren’t the most gorgeous things on earth but they work a hell of a lot more than overgrown muscles stacked on top of muscles. Ronnie Coleman’s physique is quite impressive, with his rippling striated deltoids, but I’ll take Matt Linland’s farmer body, or Fedor’s “stick of melted butter” build in a fight. Strong enough to perform the techniques necessary to win, without the pretty excesses that may get you laid at a pool party.

Back to Mullet-man, standing in a deep horse-stance, in his American-flag parachute pants, and

The beautiful stylist teaches himself, through hours of kata, to use shiny metal weapons bought at the flea market, to battle off attackers from multiple angles. It looks awesome. The problem with traditional martial arts is that they’re like a bikini model with down syndrome they look great at first, but once you get around either for too long, you feel guilty for even being involved. When I was doing my kata’s in the back yard of my family’s government housing, complete with meditation I really believed that my moves would translate to the ghetto kids in my neighborhood. The ugly truth was that the only person that my karate worked on was my little sister, including the time I snap-kicked her in the tooth making her cry and cutting my foot open, my mom walking into quite a scene. I had to graduate high school with a scab on my foot for god’s sake. I kid, of course, the techniques that worked in the constant fistfights that plagued my neighborhood in my elementary school years, were far from the flashy kicks I learned in tae kwon do. Real fighting turned into a wrestling match with punches, and kicks were reserved for when one guy got the other laid out on the playground. My dad taught me the “Miller right” an overhand punch thrown from the waistline, that can go right into a headlock throw. It was ugly as sin, but got me out of, and into a boatload of trouble for many, many years. Much better than the ineffective spin kicks that that man in the ugly para-pants showed me. I feel as if this months article is very effective at conveying a message, I just hope that it isn’t that ugly.

Even by the time I had awakened from my karate-fueled stupor that lasted approximately 16 years, I still fell victim to martial arts mysticism. Even in my first few fights as a professional fighter I still thought there was some type of magical moves I could use to win a fight complete with a musical score permeating the small armory in southern Georgia. Even though most of my fight training at the time consisted of Gracie Ju Jitsu’s floor fighting, I always started the fight with a head kick- an obvious remnant of my grade school Tae Kwon Do classes. Once I got over that particular obsession, I began to think that it would be a better idea to attempt flying triangles or flying arm bars, or jump into a flying guard of some sort. In this day and age of Ultimate Kickboxing, going to your guard is blasphemy, but at the time when JuJitsu still had it’s special cloud of magic dust floating all around it, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

What I did figure out was although there was no secret move choreographed by John Woo that could give me a free pass to stardom, there was just the ugly moves. The ugly hard work of mixed martial arts. Chokes, kicks and punches that are direct and to the point. No frills or ponytails or armless karate gi’s to rely on, just the tenacity of an athlete who devotes his life to honing his skills to perform at the highest level on one loud crazy night in a loud crazy arena to thousands of loud crazy fans. Oh crap. I just figured out the beauty of our ugly sport. The beauty is in the athletes ability to perform real moves under real pressure. The thousands of hours spent kicking a heavy bag, strangling friends, and punching one another, all for one time to shine on a Saturday night. Although there are no secret tournaments to fight for the chance to win a giant golden dragon, what we do have is the beauty of watching the competitor with the best game-plan and best skills becoming champion on high definition television. Now we just need mullets and flying triangles to come back in style, and the whole universe will have come full circle.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Lost my goddamn Camera.

mayhemmiller — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 7:07:01 PDT

That's really all I had to say. Actually it got stolen at the pool at the Hardrock, as I walked around in my turqouise underwear. Bastards.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Heros

mayhemmiller — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 7:59:00 PDT

Jason "Mayhem" Miller: Heroes

By: Jason "Mayhem" Miller

When you talk about Hero’s it’s hard to stop from getting cheezy. I mean full on cheeze-iriffic to the point that you catch images of Rocky (the 80’s one, not the HGH one) posing in front of the American flag with a black eye while a swelling of horns accompany him in a slow motion shadowboxing montage, climaxing into the next scene where “our hero” goes to do battle with whatever monster or Russian that the mass media was telling us was evil at the time. It’s particularly hard for me not to get cheezy, because when I hear the word “Hero” my cynacism gland ruptures and sends sarcastic goo all throughout my body, sending me into toxic shock syndrome, and I can only be revived with a strong shot of espresso, which normally allows me to put finger to keyboard and relieve some of the built up pressure. But, it seems the moment that I release that pressure, I get hit with a completely new pressure- the fact that I am hero to many a Mayhem Monkey™. If you think your life is stressful, try living with the fact that you have a cult of bi-polar 15 to 40 year old males relying on you to first, not kill yourself, then perform inside and outside of a steel cage for your living wage. Still not as bad as the stresses of dealing drugs, or being Kevin Federline, but stressful nonetheless.

But enough about me, and my Z-Level celebrity that has plagued me for all of 5minutes in my 15 grand minutes given to me by Andy Warhol and more recently, myspace.

When you compare the guys I looked up to as a kid to the people I idolize at the current stage in my life, the difference is staggering, and not just the choice of spandex between the two.

First off, the Hero’s I looked up to were normally on the big screen, normally emblazoned with a flowing mane of thunder cat hair, or wore a mask that shielded his identity from the common men, as well as the dastardly villians for whom he reviled. I put my faith in these oft-animated, normally spandexes giants of He Man epic proportions, every day right after school, dropping my TMNT lunchbox on the kitchen floor and clicking on the TV, eyes blazed wide open, so as not to miss a single sentence uttered by any of those green, half-shelled ninja fighters.

As I got older, I realized that Pro-wrestling was fake. A sham. It was all fixed. If you are reading these words for the first time now, then I hope you are sitting down for this portion of the article. I am very sorry for your loss, but those athletes are just play-acting the whole thing. Sure it is athletic and at certain times very stunning, there is no danger to either competitor’s ego, just his body. He knows whether or not he comes home with the championship belt, no real stress on that front.

So at this tender age of I can’t remember, I guess I was like 15 at the time, I was confronted by the painful reality that all the guys I looked up to were actors wearing stretchy-pants. This didn’t pain me as much as the angry infantry seargant that lived in the upstairs bedroom with the crazy nurse lady. My parents, whom I saw when they were hastily going to, or begrudgingly returning from work. I had once looked up to my dad, who would come home with a familiar army cigarette smoke- motor pool-type smell on him, when I was still lamping with my lunchbox on my dresser. My parents could never body-slam Andre the Giant in front of One hundred thousand in attendance and the millions watching at home, but I didn’t care about these things anymore. I had moved on I was 16 now and almost a man in my head.

The world of MMA eventually beckoned me to join it’s “cult” of sort that I quickly joined the ranks of every bad-boy-spandex wearing brazillian wannabe jujitsu kid on the block. My hero’s last names were usually Gracie and I sometimes said “my friend.” at the end of my sentences ugh, at least while I was on the mat. Anyway, I trained hard, left home to be the best “NHB” fighter of all time and tried to soak up all the knowledge I could from these connectors to my hero’s -the ju jitsu instructors who had trained with Rickson, and Rolls Gracie but some of those hero’s started to seem as if they were no longer living up to the standard that I had set up in my head for them and I began to set adrift on the hero front. I got good enough to maybe possibly beat up my hero’s and definitely beat up some of my ancient heros, like my tough old man, who didn’t know how to defend the triangle choke.

I continued along my hero-less journey, until I finally stumbled on to the internet as a full time hobby. I then heard miraculous tales of amazing battles and internal struggles overcome by these champions in the cage. The UFC was getting popular, at least in my eyes, despite what pay per view numbers said, and by golly, I was hell-bent on being as awesome as these superstars standing on the ramp while hard-rock music was playing and fireworks exploded all around them.

I packed a van full of junk, which happened to be all of my worldly possesions in a van, kissed goodbye my old life as a kickboxing instructor and left Atlanta to California, in search of a hero and hopefully become a hero. A strange thing happened once I got there and as I delved deep into the world of mixed martial arts often rubbing shoulders with my heroes and occasionally getting to punch, kick and choke them. It was just like a dream. Eventually, many of the shadows and smokescreens were lifted from my eyes. I began to see people in a light that I didn’t have any desire to see them in. With each bit of knowledge that I received would clarify my perception that much more, and what made a hero for me shifted more and more. The spandex clad heros that I had once longed to be were, well, a bunch of douche bags, for lack of a better term. Once I was made aware of this fact, and saw that all humans are just humans, I felt a lot differently and thought that what makes for a “Hero” should not be taken lightly. To each person it is unique, and your opinion must be shaped through personal experience, as well as skill we aren’t always adept at, using logic. I can just say a lot of fighters that I have met have proven to be as heroic as they look on TV, I can’t say who was douche bags and who made me feel bad about who I chose to idolize. All I can really say for sure is that I now idolize people who go above and beyond for others. When you aren’t just living for yourself, but for someone who may need the help more than you. Like the first nurse, Florence Nightingale, or like the nurse that worked nights so that I could have school clothes. Or like my boy fighting the war in Iraq, Rivera covering his boys on the ground from the chopper, or the smelly old Army seargent with the sandpaper beard who wrestled around with me in the living room while my sister screamed I am trying to watch Back to the Future!”

As far as the Cult of Mayhem Monkeys that I have amassed throughout my career as a professional ass kicker, it’s a bit unnerving to have a group that holds you responsible for yourself, and expects you to perform to the fullest every time you step into the public eye, which for me, is surrounded with a chain link fence with sponsors on the mat. At the same time I am more than happy to go out, put my ego up for grabs, and dance like a fuzzy monkey for all those that show me love. I hope I dance to your liking. Wow, That doesn’t sound so heroic, but I suppose we all choose our own heroes. I’ve got mine, do you have yours?

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

my next battle

mayhemmiller — Fri, 30 May 2008 9:08:00 PDT

If you have not already heard, I'm fighting "Jacare'" on June 15th in the Dream Organization in Tokyo, Japan. I'm pumped, and I'm training like a madman right now, which is stopping me from showing up to Kimbo's fight, which Proelite.com is covering this weekend, right here, on proelite.com mofo!

Mayhem
000

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

From Vegas...

mayhemmiller — Thu, 22 May 2008 23:01:46 PDT

Finally got Proelite to stop crashing my goddamn browser. Buying a mac because I won't have all the stupid drama I have with my pc... unless I have a whole new set of problems. Anyhow I 'm getting used to Safari, and watching Ryo Chonan get a haircut at supercuts, to replace his retard hair that he currently has, when he asked for "short sides, longer top" and they gave him a mohawk. Awesome.

I think I have a giant staph infection on my leg. Which pisses me off, because I'm a clean dude and safari underlines "staph" because it doesn't recognize the word, and I don't know how to spell staphacacaloushamalamadingdong, or however you spell it.

Vegas is suprisingly comfortable, and as usual, I'm rambling. Maybe it's the disease taking over my brain. Bastards.

SOUP AND SALAD!

Mayhem

Eff Beyonce in her A

mayhemmiller — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 19:26:00 PDT

Fuck Beyonce' and her happy wedding, and perfect image. There is something wrong with her, I know it. She has to have some problems. Maybe her father was abusive or her last boyfriend was an asshole or SOMETHING. Please tell me her life isn't all american express commercials, kissing Jay-Z's fat lips, unicorns, pandas balancing on red balls, flying toasters, sunshine kisses on her perfect skin tone while her other rich and famous friends pull up in their Lamborghini's. "Hey! Whatup Missy? Just sit that potato salad next to Eminem's bean dip, we almost have the jumper completely inflated."

I can't even spell Lambergeenee. Maybe I'm bitter that I am only smiling on the cover of elite fighter magazine, which is stocked at the back of the barnes and nobles bookshelf and she is smiling from every grocery store checkstand from Shanghai to Shittown (which is in Texas) and has her earthly desires met, and now she's getting married, which to women is like winning the superbowl or something. Maybe some day I will find my Jay-Z, and everything will be just fine, but I'm not counting on it.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Chonan Brog

mayhemmiller — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 7:55:08 PDT

Dude is it gay if the sunshine hits your face in socal and jack jonson is on KROQ when you start the car and you can't help smiling? That happened today while picking up some furniture with Triumph United teammate and 6 month US resident Ryo Chonan.

Chonan getting some traditional american cuisine.

When I returned to the confines of Ikea, Chonan was waiting quietly, japanese pokerface engaged, when triggered by the overhead sound system, I asked myself this question:

"What is the reason behind the popularity of the song "dude looks likes a lady" by Aerosmith?"

It doesn't make much sense to me. Liv tyler's dad is dancing around in tighty pants, and screeching out quite the catchy tune, but lets face it, it is a happy little diddy about trannies. That is america my friends. Also from todays trip to Ikea I learned that Telemundo is in HD. THAT IS AWESOME. I just enjoy saying "Tel e MOON do en Hache' De" with a spanish accent. Also learned today- Chonan currently owns tom cruise's motorcycle from the movie "Top Gun" (in his words) and in "high school time" he raced on the on seaside cliffs, as well as mountain roads that in my mind are the most pictuaresque rocky twisting things you could put in Hache' De, and Chonan describes wearing the knee pads and going 280 Kilometers and Hour, however fast that is. (Sounds effin fast)

Chonan also didn't know what Sublime was until I said "sometimes "bob marley style" sometimes "punk rock" to which he yelled "SUB RIMEY?!"

Chonan with mustard on his face.

When a homeless man was screaming at people on the patio of "Rucky Debils" (chonan's words) its sparked chonan to say "Japanese homeless, very quiet, just get cans, get 4 o'clock food at 4 o'clock and 1 minute." Prompting me to ask,
"In america people are homeless because of drugs, in japan, homeless from drugs?"

"No"

me: "They are crazy?"

"No, No money."

Dude is it gay if I call another man cute? Doesn't matter, I like women, and I'm confident in it, but yes its gay.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Ask Mayhem

mayhemmiller — Sat, 5 Apr 2008 8:08:19 PDT

Someone sent this question that I read in traffic in LA, and I answered, in traffic, in LA. I "less than three" techmology.

Dear Mayhem,

I have been dedicating much of my time recently to training in some of the facets of MMA. Being a path I would like to follow I am curious to know if you could answer a lingering question for me.
I have a heart murmur, a condition which prevented me from joining the armed forces, which I am concerned will prevent me from one day stepping into the cage. This is caused by extra muscle tissue in the heart that does not allow the valve to close completely, which in turn let’s blood flow back through the valve creating a buzz or murmur.
I ask you because you have fought in many MMA organizations and could perhaps at least point me in the right direction. Any response that you could give, any help you could lend, would be most appreciated.

Always a fan,
Aspiring fighter

**************************

Sure, I have fought in everything, but it doesn’t matter, I’m not a doctor dude. My advice to you is listen to the doc, then kick some ass, if the doc says you are healthy enough to kick ass, then smack some cheeks around a bit, however never take medical advice from a man with a bright red strip of doom in his hair, even if he is a loveable psychopath named Mayhem.

Love, Mayhem

*****EDITED****************

This just in---- pt 2

From Mayhem Monkey

Thanks for responding I appreciate that. I just figured I would reach out and ask a fighter who has been through many a prefight physical and ask if you heard any thing about stuff like that.
And by the way I usually have colored hair myself red and blue being my favorites. thanks again.

FROM MAYHEM:

kick ass dude, I know the doc checks us before we’re licensed, but again, I just turn my head and cough I dunno what he’s doing.

BTW, if you do fight make sure and rock your hair into a Strip of Doom. (tm) It will give you extra mental focus.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

"Stuck" in Hawaii

mayhemmiller — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 22:47:19 PDT

I'm in Hawaii for another few days, despite the fact that my flight was today. I figured that Hollywood isn't going anywhere, and I heart the Aina. My adventures are taking me everywhere, including a toy store with Jnaks, an autograph signing at a bookstore, and right now the grimy bathroom at Coffee Talk on walaie. KICK SOME ASS.
video and pics when I get settled into the hotel again.

Baka Yaro!

MayheM

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Jason doesn't live here anymore...

mayhemmiller — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 19:43:14 PDT

WATCH PROELITE.COM FOR THE ICON LIVE STREAM.

8pm PST / 11pm EST

Jason doesn’ live here anymore..

He's gone. He’s missing. I think he’s running in the wild. It’s excellent. He’s on a whole ’nother level right now.

He has managed to break the letter "m" off his laptop keyboard and is considering buying a new one. He is wondering why you haven’ t read his blogs and done homework for a number yet. Myself, "Mayhem" doesn’t give a fuck.

Here is my new DonRuss trading card. the same as the hockey cards I used to steal from the grocery store while my mom shopped. Changing the "M" key with the "B" now. Awesobe.

Bayheb Biller

000

See you at the mookstore sunday.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Jason doesn't live here anymore..

mayhemmiller — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 14:14:27 PDT

He's gone. He's missing. I think he's running in the wild. It's excellent. He's on a whole 'nother level right now.

He has managed to break the letter "m" off his laptop keyboard and is considering buying a new one. He is wondering why you haven' t read his blogs and done homework for a number yet. Myself, "Mayhem" doesn't give a fuck.

Here is my new DonRuss trading card. the same as the hockey cards I used to steal from the grocery store while my mom shopped. Changing the "M" key with the "B" now. Awesobe.

Bayheb Biller

000

Am I crazy?

mayhemmiller — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 19:08:06 PDT

On my recent excursion to New York city, a homeless man approadched me, and although homeless, he appeared sane. He then asked if I liked beatboxing, which of course I do, so he dropped a beat for me that was pretty good, but nothing spectacular. In fact I could probably beatbox as good as his opening act.

Sensing my dismay, he changed the game, like a true live performer and asked a key question, "How you like Super Mario brothers?"

"Freakin love em!" I replied.

What he did next was nothing short of amazing. If you were to close your eyes, you'd think you were playing Super Mario on the 8 bit Nintendo Entertainment System (Nes for those who had Nintendo Power Magazine). After level one and level two, I was flabbergasted.

"Better than a guy just asking for money, right?"
Said the human beatbox.

Still reeling from the excellence of level two, I busted out my wallet, and chucked a hundie in his direction. He choked on his tounge and said "God bless you!" which doesn't mean much to me, but I knew what he meant.

Am I crazy?

Maybe he spent it on crack, maybe on baby clothes for his daughter who loves Super Mario.

Mayhem Monkeys, please tell me if my hundred dollars was spent on good or evil.

Mayhem
000

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

FIGHT! Magazine Article

mayhemmiller — Fri, 7 Mar 2008 20:35:28 PST

Getting punched in the face for a living, and responding with similar blows isn’t something that the average Joe off the street gets to engage in without becoming the scourge of the criminal justice system. It goes without saying that one with this type of mindset has to be a special breed, and that same mindset requires that you really WANT to engage in such an antisocial behavior that even animals attempt to avoid at all costs. Most people, and animals will posture, pose, yell, bark, scream just to avoid actual physical confrontation. Us fighters, while not magical in the slightest, fit that mold all too well. In this article, we’ll do a case study on a single fighter, the one I know the best- Mayhem Miller. But there was a day long ago that I was simply Jason Miller, a slightly more awkward, unfocused version of the loveable psychopath MMA fans have grown to love.

First off, there is a story that I’ve told a million times to a million reporters, about how my smaller, nerdier friend Pierre Ortiz, (myspace him) challenged me to a sparring match in my backyard, after we watched his VHS tapes of UFC, and I, at the tender age of 16, knew I could beat on the Brazilian his in pajamas, due to my extensive street fighting background. We’ll get back to that story, because my fighting history stretches well beyond that summer day. I don’t really remember NOT fighting, honestly. To the point I remember my first “sparring partner” a fellow three-year-old named Georgie. I usually beat Georgie up, and I remember fumbling around on the grass, working my prepubescent ground and pound, until the ref “Big Mom” stepped in for the stoppage. Georgie would cry foul play, bite himself and then show his Mom. The commission would step in to fine me, but at my hearing, it was determined that my missing front tooth was inconsistent with the bruising pattern on the other fighters arm, and I was cleared to fight again. Then follow me on the government housing/Army base National Grand Prix where I accepted all challenges, big and small, sometimes triumphant, other times dragging my bloody nose home to my father who asks, “Did you win?” and shaking my head “no” shamefully.

Call it genetic predisposition, or for Evangelicals, “magic” my father seems hard wired in the same way. At Christmas my girlfriend is shocked by how loud me and my dad speak to each other, or how we walk near each other and posture all day, or if he had a couple of drinks in him, he’ll just grab me in an unexpected headlock, as he did after my decision loss to George Saint Pierre, trashing a VIP room at my after party. If it was just us two that are like that, that could be chalked up to coincidence, but my even my little sister, Megan Miller or “Miss Chete” is a badass roller derby chick, who every girl on skates is afraid of. All my cousins on the Miller side, while I don’t keep in close contact, due to parole restrictions, are aggressive rednecks. I remember being the youngest boy there visiting Grandma, and pretty much taking an ass-whipping from a crew of grimy kids wearing football jerseys on a daily basis. Despite trying my best to win, even using my patented one-two-headlock takedown maneuver. At the end of the trip, one of them gave me a jersey, because although not being able to win a single battle, I showed the redneck version of “samurai spirit.”

To call me confrontational, while correct, isn’t entirely accurate. The problem, and antisocial portion of my mentality is the inability to back down from a perceived challenge. Most animals in the wild kingdom will posture, pose, bark, hoot holler and growl to avoid actual physical confrontation. In most populations of animals, including Koalas, there is a certain percentage that don’t mind locking up in mortal combat. While not entirely smart to endanger yourself constantly, the gene is out there. I had to develop this voice in my head that says “He doesn’t want to fight, he just is acting tough.” The misperception that every goon wants to fight is dumb. Most goons just want to act tough, and that’s that. Fighting isn’t totally natural, and if you haven’t done it a lot, it’s probably very scary. When the 6’6” meathead at the pool party talks smack to me, and I don’t back down, he is flabbergasted. Not just because I’m a “tough fighter guy” just because my mentality is, and always has been, “I may get my ass kicked, but I’ll go.”

Back to my backyard now, louder, more obnoxious, sixteen year old Jason Miller, wearing my hockey chest protector, and armed with only some high school wrestling, the knowledge of constantly fighting the black kids in my neighborhood, and occasionally my Army Dad. Pierre on the other hand was quiet, reserved and did Tae Kwon Do, and went to some “Rice Garcia” or somebody seminars… after some dancing around, he landed a quick TKD kick to my solar-plexus, and I decided it was time for the patented 1-2 headlock throw, that had worked countless times, on much bigger opponents. Blam-o! It worked! Now victory is close.. But, wha? I’m having trouble hitting him, what the? He’s wiggling around.. Ah! My neck! He’s choking me.. Shit.. Everything is fuzzy, like I’m huffing free-on.. Punch him punch him! Calm. Quiet. Tree branches, clouds, wiener dog barking… my dad laughing his ass off from the kitchen window. “That’s the first time I got anyone in a triangle choke.” Says a giddy Pierre. Choked out in my own backyard.

I had spent the last Summer designing levels for video games, but now I had a new fun game, and I wasn’t about to go to some stupid computer school when I could be punching, kicking, and choking other grown men for cash and prizes. My dad was pissed. Being probably the first Miller to graduate high school, he had some big dreams for me, I on the other hand, had my own plan- so after a short stint of fighting with him daily after I spent all day at the gym and no part of the day at work (“I would look like Arnold Schwarzenegger if I spent that much time in the gym!”) My dad suddenly got really nice and drove me to this girl I was in puppy love with parents’ house. I don’t think he even got out of the car, he just smiled, waved g1oodbye, and spun out while I was still in the driveway, I was someone else’s problem now. I stay there and beat up on the local Karate guys who did Jujitsu and lifted weights, until things soured there, at which point I packed up my uninsured hatchback, and scooted to a bigger city where they had a real school, taught by a guy with a Brazilian accent. Soon I had purchased an open-ended ticket to California and bumped into Tito Ortiz, who I immediately challenged grapple, and subsequently asked me to move out . “We’ve got a place for you to live.” was all I heard, went back to the east coast, packed up my freshly bought cruddy van and headed west. “That van won’t make it outside of Georgia!” My friend laughed as I left Atlanta. He was wrong. I made it 20 minutes into Alabama and the water-pump exploded, leaving me on the side of the road. Too proud to call my friends to drive an hour to get me, I spent half of the 300 dollars I had saved to fix the van and get back on my quest to the west coast. When I showed up 4 days later, we went to a cabin in Big Bear, but after training camp, I would be out on my ass, and thought maybe I should consider going back to my job teaching kickboxing in Atlanta. I thought about it for 3 long hard minutes.

Once I lost the stigma that living in the car was taboo, it was as if the entire world was opened up to me. I trained every day, and once I became friends with the right people, I spent some nights sleeping on the mats. Although it sounds pretty crappy, I viewed it as a necessary part of my journey. Coach yells “Get a job!” “But then I’ll miss morning practice! I’ll just sell these rollerblades.” Everyone laughs. The trick of living in a vehicle is the same as real estate. Location, location, location. You have to park your van in a place so as not to tip off the authorities, and to sleep comfortably for as long as possible. Avoid well manicured parking lots- a leaf blower is a crappy alarm clock at 7 am. Southern California has a multitude of strip malls so as to park on the west side of the building, remaining in the buildings shadow until about 10 am. Try that in Phoenix, Arizona mid -August. Your eyes boil in their sockets at 830 am! Another good trick is to park behind a Ramada Inn., Two words: Continental Breakfast. Innkeepers just assume you are another guest when you shuffle in with bed head. Never tell chicks that you live in a van. For some reason this puts them on the defensive, and then they won’t let you stay at their house. Also don’t tell Rampage you live in a van either, he already told the chicks at the gym that you are on food stamps, “They think I’m jokin’ man!” Could I have gotten a job? Yes. Could I have settled for hours of menial tasks and eventually getting fired because I hated what I was forcing myself to do? Of course. But the thought of doing those monotonous jobs struck ten times the fear in me that the prospect of folding down the backseat of my van in Huntington Beach. Tiny price to pay for being able to wake up for kickboxing practice without being forced to mop floors.

Now that I’ve taken you on an incredible journey of a young man determined to make his living the hard way, complete with a how-to guide on vehicular habitation, one question remains- What the hell would posses a youth to leave the comfort of free food and rent at his parents house, and venture out into the great unknown, to find place to roll around on the floor with other knuckleheads, just to go back to his van to sleep, and be perfectly happy? The only way I can describe it would probably be what others call “love” and I probably perceive as addiction. Addiction to competition. Attempting to overcome adversity, despite the odds. The irony is, my father, who vehemently opposed my fighting career in it’s early stages taught me exactly the skills that I needed to excel in the path that I chose, the grit, the drive, the unwillingness to ever quit, which brings me right back to waking up, staring at the sky in my back yard. I could’ve taken this one of two ways. “I got beat up by a dork, my ego can’t take this sport, it’s stupid anyway, I’m going to computer school.“ or how lucky for you if you’ve read this far, the way I took it- “I can’t wait to start training!”

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

This place used to suck, it is now awesome

mayhemmiller — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 1:21:41 PST

I feel as if this place just got ultra. It is way better than it used to be, because now my friends are scoring off this website. I mean with punani. When that happens, we are all happy. Check my new pics and smack that ass.

Jason Mayhem Miller

#000

Mayhem on HDNET

mayhemmiller — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 9:06:25 PST

My Next Fight! Avenging a loss--Dec 15

Back in 2003 I lost by decision to Tim Kennedy and now December 15th I'm getting my chance to avenge that loss in the main event of HDNet Fights at the American Airlines Center Dallas, Texas. If you aren't in Texas and can't be there in person you can watch my blood, sweat and tears flying at you through your tv in HIGH DEF.

If you haven't heard of HDNet Fights yet, you will. I was driving down the freeway when I got a text saying, "Look out the window." As I looked out, flying along side my truck was a helicopter. Billionaire Mark Cuban hung from a rope holding a contract for an offer for a fight I could not refuse. I signed on the spot.

Also on the card:

Frank Trigg vs Edwin Dewees

Yves Edwards vs Alonzo Martinez

Pete Spratt vs Tristan Yunker

Freddie Espiricueta vs CB Dollaway

Krzyxztof Soszynski (TeamQuest) vs Robert Villegas

Chris Bowles vs Cory Mahon

Patrick Castillo vs Jay White

Jason House vs Liam McCarty

Lee King vs Marcus Lanier

http://www.hdnetfights.com/

1:52 AM - 36 Comments - 54 Kudos - Add Comment

I gotta get more people on this site...

mayhemmiller — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 3:14:57 PDT

Goddamn I gotta get more people on this site.. maybe a giant publicity stunt or something.. I'm tired of not getting enough eyeballs on this web page.. maybe I should take a shit on camera. I had a friend that did that, and I had the mistake of watching it. WTF. It's burned in my memory, I wish I never remembered that now. I should start drinking again for the possibility of getting the buttholle image out of my mind. bastard. or bass-turd.

Randy presser

mayhemmiller — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 2:05:00 PDT

here's the thing about the Randy press conference.. I want someone to ask some hard hitting questions, like why the hell is Randy's shirt so damn young? Don't get me wrong, I don't think that he sould be wearing a top hat and a cane with a monocle, I'm just saying that his shirt looks like something a 17 year old at a good charlotte concert would wear. I love Randy, and I know that he has to slang his gear to the kids, but boy is it strange.. I wish he'd wear some Triumph..

My Entrances....

mayhemmiller — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 4:42:23 PDT

My entrances…

If you’ve ever seen video clips or pictures of any of my fights, you’ve more than likely said, what the hell is wrong with that guy? He’s doing a dance before he gets in the ring? Throwing money? Is that guy out of his mind or what, doesn’t he realize he’s about to get in the cage with a guy who wants to tear his head off?! The answers are simple- Of course I am, and of course I do! But this wouldn’t appease the editors of the magazine, so at gunpoint, they have made me elaborate why I have infused this pro-wrestling showmanship into the prestigious sport of mixed martial arts. Luckily, the barrel of the gun is quite cool to the touch, and I work the best under pressure.

Pressure is my best friend. I don’t know why, but since I was a kid I always tend to do things the hard way. For example, I’m writing this article a few hours from when it goes to press (hence the gunpoint thing) and I think (hope) it will be exemplary, for that very reason. Now I could launch into armchair psychologist account of why I have developed from birth into a somewhat anti-social, and always rebellious youth, and maintained my strange habits beyond my childhood, often making the simplest of situations into a 3-ring circus, but I don’t have even an honorary or online certificate in psychology, so I’ll leave that to those who decide to psycho-analyze me, the point is, I perform better under stress, so sometimes I’ll create the stress for myself. I do it unfortunately in all areas in my life, sorry Time Warner Digital cable, I’ll pay when I’m done writing.

The second reason has something to do with graffiti. I know, graffiti, makes absolutely no sense in the world of fighting, but to me it does. I remember being pulled into the high school principal’s office as a teenager for fighting, then, before the geek vice principal launched into his diatribe about how I’ll never amount to anything he paused, spoke clearly into his walkie-talkie, “Could you please send a janitor to the 300 hallway to clean up some graffiti,” all I could think was Damn it, I just put that there 30 minutes ago.

Why the hell does a kid in downtown LA shimmy 30 feet up a street-sign protected with barbed-wire to draw a picture of a cartoon character smoking a cigarette? Easy, he wants to leave his mark. He wants to be heard, he wants to express his feelings, his emotions, be remembered. We all have this desire. Some of us just pop out a bunch of kids, some fight, some draw, or work on engines, but we aren’t far from the cave paintings our distant cousins. Every entrance has had it’s own meaning, for a fight that I was making next to nothing for, I threw out a bunch of money, as to say “Money doesn’t matter!” I’ve had choreographed dance routines by the notorious B-Boy “Flow-Master” to show to amp the crowd up, as well as pyrotechnics that I was afraid were going to burn me or the building down, but every time it was meant to express something going on in my life, or how I was feeling at that point. Sad, happy, whichever, whatever. Self expression, attempting to leave a legacy.

I’m shocked at the lack of showmanship in the world of Mixed Martial Arts. I don’t know about the readers, but I grew up being babysat by Optimus Prime, and then eating dinner with Hacksaw Jim Dugan, “The Million Dollar” Man Ted Dibiase, and “Hulk” Hogan, who I shook hands with at an event for 4^th Graders, who I thought hands felt like a bunch of bananas. These characters and larger than life personalities really left an impression on me to this day. The clearly defined roles of good guy/bad guy were so apparent to a pre-teen Jason Miller, but times have changed, and so has the game. Gone are the days of pre-determined outcomes, as well as the faces and heels of the pro wrestling world, unless of course, you still watch that kind of “fighting.” With the Zuffa blazing trails in American entertainment and bringing MMA to the forefront of pop-culture, I think it is the athletes’ responsibility to showcase their personality to the world. You’d much rather see me win or get my ass kicked if you remember or care about me. Not to say everyone needs to be as wild and outlandish as I tend to be, but if we don’t know who you are, we don’t care one way or the other. My “wrasslin” entrances are just my special way to get across who I am.

I see quite a few fighters get nerves before the fight. Sometimes the dressing room of an event can look like a the inside of one of those amphibious vehicles that stormed Normandy on D-day. I always laugh when I see some young bucks looking like caged lions pacing back and forth, amped like they swallowed 5 gallons of Starbucks. Although I can’t say I don’t get some kinds of nerves, I deal with it in a much different way than most people. When I think the plane might be going down, and every other passenger on the plane is gripping, white-knuckle to the armrests, I am usually giggling to myself. It may well be genetic, because my dad has a similar response to intense situations, which probably didn’t help him on any Kuaiti (Sp Inc) battlefield, but apparently does help a Miller handle the worst of situations.

I guess my laughing and display of sometimes silly proportions goes right along with my trademark “Strip of Doom™” haircut- just another way I deal with the world, however boring and under-stimulating it might be at times. Piling stress on top of an already stressful situation may seem like an insane thing to do, but in my humble opinion, a lot of the best things in life tend to be a little crazy. I encourage anyone who can read these words, as well as those who can’t to express themselves to the best of their abilities and leave your mark in whatever way you can. Lastly, I hope anyone watching my fights will be entertained from the time I walk into the building to the minute I walk out, if the crowd wanted to just see any fight, they could hang out at the local bar for a few nights with a water-pistol. Entertainment is why they paid 300 bucks to sit in the nosebleed section. If entertainment is what you want, then that’s what you get. Now that I’ve explained that, good luck figuring out the rest of me, and editors, please get the gun off my temple, thanks.

Mayhem

Sign up using the link below to view my blogs and interviews!

mayhemmiller — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 17:19:00 PDT

Click here to sign up and view my blogs and interviews.

BJ Penn Interview at OTM in Hawaii

mayhemmiller — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 8:50:00 PDT

Kendall Grove Interview at OTM in Hawaii

mayhemmiller — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 8:47:00 PDT

My career as a Dj

mayhemmiller — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 5:11:00 PDT

I did the talent show in 10^th grade. It was badass. Being the mid-nineties at this point, I was really into Djing, techno music and break dancing, as were my friends at the time. We auditioned and although got some confused looks from the orchestra teacher, we made the cut and got to go up on stage last. Our group didn’t even have a name until the day of the show, “Flipside” which I thought was uncreative and lame, but was outvoted in between 3^rd and 4^th period. Our crew consisted of John “Yanni” Pappas whose dad owned a bunch of sandwich shops in town, and therefore had money and equipment, on the drum machine, me on lighting effects and the turntable that I had saved my carwash earnings to buy brand new, and “Crazy Tito” the Puerto Rican playboy on the floor/hype man.

Since we went to almost all black school we had to sit through about 40 R and B acts and a few rappers, and some Korean Exchange student playing the piano and the violin, sadly not at the same time, which would be a TRUE talent. Finally it was time for us to drop our set, and we were stoked, we wheeled out “our” gear (Yanni’s) on to the stage. A giant speaker monstrosity that we plugged directly into the school auditorium’s power supply, forgoing their tiny speakers, and also 20K worth of lighting that was undoubtedly used at Yanni’s sister’s big fat Greek Wedding or whatever. Before the crowd got to restless, Yanni and I put on our headsets that had lights on them for working on cars, and Tito slipped on the jacket of his Adidas tracksuit and stretched his hambys. I flipped on some of the rotating colored lights and Yanni started up the beats. Thump thump thump thump, as the curtains opened I hear a notoriously gay black kid from one of the R&B groups yell “Ooooh, house music!” and sprint to the stage causing the whole crowd to push up against the stage. THUMP THUMP THUMP he cranks it up, hyping everyone up. Tito cracks open a glowstick and starts his footwork, now the crowd is going bananas, so I hit them with the spotlights, and BOOM! Sparks fly everywhere out of the power box and every light in the house goes out. A few hundred high schoolers and parents sitting in the dark, their minds blown, the only light coming from a set of mechanic glasses that Yanni and I are wearing. Since I have these night visions on, I sprint to the power box and reset it, immediately getting the lights back on and music from the turntable to restart, a huge cheer from the audience, as we tried to mix the music, BOOM KZZzzz lights out once again, and a huge groan from the crowd, and a phrase Tito is still famous for: “GAWDDAMMIT!” he yelled out, chucking his glowstick into the crowd. It was then when the talent show organizers pulled us off the stage, effectively ending my Djing career. Ah well, I would’ve never got into fighting if that had taken off anyway..

Stevie, wtf

mayhemmiller — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 5:09:00 PDT

So how the hell did Stevie Wonder write all these awesome songs, when he’s blind. I mean I’ve overcome a certain amount of adversity, but what’s the frequency? How the hell did he remember all the words, or did he just freestyle “You are the sunshine of my life” plus I bet it’s hard to score drugs if you are blind, and all musicians are high, especially in the 60’s and the like. I mean is he just a friggin genius, or what? And is it that impressive if he’s a genius? If you take a genius, blindfold him for life, he’s probably going to get so bored that he takes up the piano and masters it. Show me a blind man that has robbed a bank then I’ll be impressed and amazed. In fact I’ll be so shocked you’d have to make a new word for it, amaze-pressed or “imaze.” The kid from the Ultimate fighter show, Matt Hammil is a legit badass. The dude is deaf, his camp is deaf and they are like gang signing machines and the kid is a damn ass kicking machine. Being deaf won’t not get you fucked over by the judges, but welcome to the real world. A world that doesn’t really give a damn how you feel about win bonus, or that the guy getting the gift decision isn’t even grateful. Too bad you can’t hear the booing that his own countrymen are giving him in his own backyard.

Kanye West needs to get beat the fuck up

mayhemmiller — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 5:08:00 PDT

Kanye West needs to get beat the fuck up. I mean this in the best way possible., I just mean, he’s getting too big for his britches. There isn’t a bigger baby in all of the music industry besides maybe Fiddy Cent, or Akon, who acts like an angry 12 year old at his techno-voice-lullaby concerts. I love Kanye’s music. The only reason that I say he needs to get beat the fuck up, is so he reevaluates his place in society. If I could speak directly to him I would say “Kanye, listen, you are an awesome rapper, lyricist, dancer, producer, and without being gay, dresser. But dude, you are human, you aren’t a fuckin diety or pharaoh or even magic, so chill the fuck out.” If he were to respond with something like “Jason Miller hates black people.” I would do his famous “Golddigger” dance, and sock him right in the face with a overhand right. If he wasn’t knocked out for some reason like the metal plate in his face, I would then hit him with a double leg and ground and pound him a bit. Now the reason I would do this was so Kanye would just get a little more humbled out and quit thinking that he is Jesus and whatnot. Then I’d help him up off the ground and ask him to sign a t-shirt for my friends, and tell him that I’ve been to 3 of his concerts. Love ya Kanyeezy!

I wish I was that guy..

mayhemmiller — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 5:06:00 PDT

That guy with the giant earphones. I wish I could be him. I feel like a tool if I have a giant set of earphones on walking around in public. I think it is awesome when a guy is rocking them walking down the street or riding the “tubes” in London. I I wore those I’d have to have a full DJ set up complete with a strap that carries the turntables and mixer in the in front of me so I’d be spinning for the whole airport, only listening to one earpiece at a time, and every once in a while, and every so often spitting “YEAH!!” and “HAHA! KnowwhatI’msayin?!” into a microphone. Or maybe instead of carrying it with straps, I could use a walker-like contraption like my 70 year old grand pappy refuses to use, because it is for “Old people/” Ok gramps, when do you consider yourself “Old?” I guess for me it’s the time that I can’t wear giant Aiwa noise cancelling headphones.

Men and Women

mayhemmiller — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 5:03:00 PDT

Men and women are genetically set up very differently. That being said, it’s a damn good thing. If women were set up like men, social diseases would be spreading like wildfire on a daily basis, to the point that some horny slut would single handedly be responsible for the genocide of the human race. Consider it. An allegedly heterosexual senator from Idaho goes to random airport bathrooms to have random gay sex with a stranger in the adjacent stall, wow. Are you kidding me? What do you think would happen if there was a place that a straight guy could go and have sex with a random woman? He’d be there every spare moment he could. I mean, I would be much too classy for that, but I’m sure that most men would. Now you wonder why the homos are raiding every rest stop and airport restroom. I’m just glad that that story came out, it explains a lot of strange foot tapping that I’ve witnessed in bathrooms.

Slap someone..

mayhemmiller — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 3:31:00 PDT

Feel like slapping someone. Why? I have no idea, the idea just sounds refreshing. Maybe tonight at practice I shall take part in the age-old activity of slappin someone.

Henderson's Quest for the Belt Ep 1

mayhemmiller — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 5:59:00 PDT

My Party at LAX, the club, not the airport

mayhemmiller — Wed, 8 Aug 2007 23:35:00 PDT

So shennanigans are going down this week over my party with Skinnee Magazine, see you there this friday at LAX!

People I hate

mayhemmiller — Sun, 5 Aug 2007 3:46:00 PDT

People I hate.

I am not a racist. I am not a bigot. I am not totally a sexist, although women are CLEARLY inferior in certain ways, but there are certain groups that I must say, for lack of a better phrase, “I hate.” This isn’t uniform, of course, in any group of people, there will be a certain number of individuals that will give back a positive “energy” into the universe, making those around them happy, but we are now going to be dealing in generalities, and quite possibly making up new words, in an attempt to sound educated beyond my high school/self educated level. Also when reading this seemingly hate-laden dissertation on your monitor, you may fall into one of these categories, but don’t get all “butt hurt” I fall into some of the categories too. So without further adieu.. People I Hate.

TSA Employees.

Ok, Bin Laden’s cronies that flew jetliners into buildings fall considerably higher on this list, but this isn’t in any particular order, and the TSA employees, in general suck ass. The fact that a person with a tad more security training than me, who more than likely has been abused throughout their high school years, as well as their current sad life living in the back room of their mother’s trailer, gets to now boss around countless numbers of human cattle shuffling shoeless through the airport is just plain wrong. The illusion of safety dictates that I get a pimple faced 30 year old with an 8 hour degree to stop me, pat me down, and look through all my personal belongings, swiping my computer down with a stridex pad. The truth is, if I want to bring more than 3 ounces of liquids onto the plane, I will, and there is nothing that you, or any of your fat, x-ray watching friends can do about it. Which brings me to my next group…

Fat People

I was once a member of this group. Of course I didn’t quite understand that if you ate a bunch of cake, then sat on the couch and played Nintendo for hours you gained weight, which I finally put together at about 12 years old. Medical conditions not withstanding, the only REAL excuse you have to be morbidly obese is mental retardation. In that rare case, obesity is just fine, although I wish parents of retards would do like mine and encourage more healthy eating choices. Just because a kid begs for Baskin Robbins ice cream cake, doesn’t mean you have to give it to him. My friend who just had a baby said to me “I own a person.” Which, although creepy, is largely true. Until the age that they can fight you back (Somewhere within 14-18 normally) they pretty much have to do whatever you say. Which brings us to our next group…

Communists… uh, I mean sensationalists

I must admit, I don’t know nearly as much about communists as I will pretend to, I just know that I have to hate them, due to the mid-80’s brain washing rituals that I as a child underwent during the Regan cold-war era. It was right around the time of “just say no” that was pounded into our heads during my elementary years, which, honestly was a little over my head because at that time all I knew about drugs was that I was not supposed to do them. Never mind what they are kid, just don’t get involved, instead drink alcohol, it’s not a drug. Oh wait, communists, yeah I hate them because I was told to hate them by Rocky, the Olympic Hockey team, and Mr. T, the same reason Americans hate marijuana, Refer madness and sensationalism have taken over, and still own the public consciousness, regardless of whether or not the hard science dictates the opposite. It sells newspapers to blame the drugs instead of the fact that the guy was a woman beater that was more than likely going to murder her if she didn’t leave. Science I said? I guess that brings me to the next group…

Creationists

Holy crap, did pseudoscience get a boost out of this little diddy invented by Jesus knows who… I think all that Creationists have really done is rally people who support the real science against this ridiculousness. I’ll give them a bit of my hate just to keep myself from getting bored, because since a lot of America can’t wrap their minds around the concept of evolution and natural selection, people just accept that “God did it!” The reason I hate this is simple. It simplifies the whole beauty of the universe into one improvable entities hands. Everything is difficult to explain, and all of our small human minds try their best, but we won’t be able to explain everything, no matter how long humans, or some future ancestor of humankind exist. That is the beauty of the human experience- figuring out the little we can with the evidence we have- or maybe better said, letting the smart people figure it out and then explain it to us. Sometimes I wish that a magical creature or entity would just reveal itself to the masses, explaining itself, and apologizing for all the suffering and what not, but that would be entirely to easy. Life is hard, and that’s life. In a strange way brings me to the next group.

Gypsies

I am often accused of belonging to this group, and maybe at one time I was a gypsy, but there is a distinction between a nomad and a gypsy. A nomad is more of an observer of new lands, working his craft wherever he may roam, while a gypsy roams, when an area gets overworked, for example the locals are noticing that the wheels are missing from their vehicles, or the local Wal-mart is closing due to profit loss, and kids pissing in the toy section. Gypsies are like roving band of con-men and criminals, which I don’t have that big an issue with, but they grow up into this culture and pass it on to their kids, who don’t even have a choice in the matter. They start screwing kids out of their lunch money as soon as they get to school. Their parents train them in conning poor undeserving saps out of their hard earned cash as soon as they can walk, which negates the free choice I think that every kid should be entitled to, but I guess to build the perfect conman, you have to develop them from the age of 2, coaching them in the arts of lying, cloak and daggerism, and fly by night car-repair. Gypsies also span every race and religion, so often you don’t know that they are even gypsies until you happen upon a fat kid wearing the Jordans you left on your porch a month ago.

Flavor Vs. Rock

mayhemmiller — Thu, 2 Aug 2007 4:00:00 PDT

Rock of Love vs. Flavor of Love

I love mass media, as well as pop culture, so I thought I’d put a few blurbs out there contrasting one of my favorite shows of all time, with a show that has the potential to be the best show of the space time continuom. Flavor of Love Vs. Rock of Love.

First off, I must say the premise is exactly the same- Has-been music star assembles a boatload of CRAZY chicks who are willing to make jackasses of themselves on national television. This is a concept that I can get behind 100% . Any fan of people-watching will tell you, there aren’t many more fun to watch things, than cracked out stripper bitches. Although I have some experience with those types in my past, I try not to associate myself with them these days, opting for a slightly classier lady, but the desire to be entertained by their lack of logical though and overly sexual manner still remains near and dear to my heart.. Let’s break this down scientifically, for those that are religious, we’ll say “magically.”

1. Girls.

While Flavor of Love focused on the “Urban Sector” of the population, it seems Vh1 has gone to the Suburbs for the “talent” mainly strippers from your local white strip clubs. No government housing project girls from 54^th and Crenshaw, these chicks are straight off route 9, down a dirt road, and in a trailer park. Just to get all racial about it, only one black chick made it through the first show, a hot modely-looking one. That being said, this gives the show an amazing amount of potential. White girls tend to be, how should I put this, “more sexually liberated” than the average black chick, that is to say the probability for lesbian shenanigans goes right through the roof. Sure there are some snooty chicks thrown in there for some balance/drama, but it seems that the overwhelming majority are bananas after 2 drinks, which the producers are glad to hand right to the “Bad News Bears” of strippers. The funny thing is, the girl who seems the smartest probably has triple-E breasts. I mean mind-numbingly large breasts. I mean big in the way you think of gods as big.

2. The dudes

Flavor Flav was a loveable cartoon character dating way back into the 80’s when he was Chuck D’s hype man in Public Enemy, and more recently on Vh1 smashes “Surreal Life” and “Strange Love” but he knocked it out of the park with Flavor of Love, where you got to see his nice guy personality. I’ve met Flav a couple of times (name dropping, I know) and it’s no front, this guy is really a good hearted, weird dude, who loves the ladies. When I heard who the guy was on the show I thought it was a pro-wrestler, but I think that was Brett Michaels or Brett the Hit Man Hart, not Brent Michaels. I know now that he is from the 80’s hair band Poison, which I faintly remember in between GI Joes and Michael Jackson’s Thriller video which I was frightened of until last week, btw. Anyway although not as loveable as Flav, he doesn’t seem to be a total asshole, and he at least pretends, er, makes an attempt to pretend he doesn’t just want to bone every one of these wannabe -goupies and send them packing, and maybe keep triple-E tits around to polish the neck of his guitar every so often. Instead of “Big Rick” Michael’s has “Big D” I think his name is, as head of security. D looks like Will Ferrel’s big brother, who was a roadie for Styxx, but I think he was a roadie for Poison. I’ll be waiting the whole season to see if he pulls the classic roadie move and hump one of the groupies

3. The Set

Look’s like they took Flav’s house and tricked it out to look like a stage in a very Rock and Roll type getup, complete with a place to jam out back and a workout area. I wonder if the girls even realize that the house is built out to look like a stage and that would make them groupies clamoring backstage to get a piece of the rock-star, complete with Big D or G or whatever handing out backstage VIP passes. I like the setup, it’s a fun change of scenery from Flavor’s wacky outfits and pimp-clock-style, to Brent’s cowboy hat, and cow-pattern cloak at the eliminations.

In any case, judging from the previews, this season is going to be off the proverbial heezy, oh wait, now I have to kick rock lingo, so this season is gonna be totally righteous- TOTALLY DUDE! (Which on the song “party like a rockstar” I am offended by, but I digress) More catfights, more drama, more lezzin out=higher ratings, and more time on my tivo. Can’t say it will be better than Flav’s house, but for damn sure it will try, and I’ll be right there to laugh my ass off.

Mayhem

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Mayhem Miller Movie Review: Blades of Glory

mayhemmiller — Sat, 28 Jul 2007 17:15:00 PDT

I’ll just come out and say it. This movie kicks ass. John Heder of Napoleon Dynamite fame hardly gets overshadowed by ultra-funny-megastar Will Ferrel. What is so interesting to me is how different the characters that they play in this movie are different from other equally hilarious characters they have played in the past. Maybe it’s good screen-writing, but when I see Will in this film I don’t see anchorman, I see a sex addict (“It’s my cross to bear”)and when I see Heder I don’t see a “Gawsh” spouting middle school student, I see a geeky Jimmy McElroy, a teen idol figure skater with a heart of gold. Also there’s a few appearances by that dude who played “Terry” in the Reno 911 series, who plays Jimmy’s stalker Hector, delivers a few great one liners, “I wanna wear the gold medal. Naked. “ and as I understand, wrote some of this movie.

Some of the funniest gags are of course some of Ferrel’s obvious ad-libbing, like “Whoever invented rope is a real A-hole.” and the physical comedy of a slow speed chase on ice skates through a street and a tiled arena. I’ve watch the damn movie 4 times already, and I’m not sick of it quite yet. It might be safe to say, without exaggeration, that I love this movie, more than I could love a human baby.

Mayhem

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Mayhem Miller TV Review: Scot Baio

mayhemmiller — Tue, 24 Jul 2007 3:39:00 PDT

Mom said if you don't have anything nice to say, not to say anything at all- I don't subscribe to that particular set of rules, that why whe I came back from a trip and after a not so close review of the show "Scott Baio is 45 and Single" I can say "This Show is RETARDED." There's nothing worse than listening to a 45 year old brag about how many chicks he's boned under the pretense that he really wants to be married. Worse than that is watching a show about a 45 year old that wants everyone to believe that he's desperate to settle down and get married so that he can actually have a second 15 minutes and hump EVEN MORE young chicks. Then whole premise is contrived and seems twice as acted out as any sitcom. I tried to get my dad to re-say a funny thing he said while the cameras were off, he came off sounding like a friggin robot, and coincidentally, so does everyone on the Baio gets layoed show.. Ah well, I don't know why I'm hating, I guess I'll just watch REAL reality on "Rock of Love"

Mayhem

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Here's what I'm up on recently..

mayhemmiller — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 9:55:23 PDT

This is my ringtone on my sidekick, thought I'd share it with the proelite monkeys. whiskey tango foxtrot.

Mayhem

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Ultimate Podcast

mayhemmiller — Fri, 13 Jul 2007 21:13:35 PDT

Did it on my recent trip to Vegas. Me and Gary Alexander breaking down the most recent UFC as well as talking about jibberish. ENJOY<BR><BR><BR><A href="http://m.podshow.com/media/6589/episodes/70085/theultimate-70085-07-09-2007.mp3" target=_blank><IMG alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket" src="http://i154.photobucket.com/albums/s271/theultimatepodcast/upc56-mayhem.jpg" border=0></A>

So I did the webchat....

mayhemmiller — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 5:01:00 PDT

...at the Proelite website offices that is located in a top secret bunker in the mountain that has the hollywood sign at the top of it, and I have to say, damn that was fun. It was definitely strange, and has some kinks, but think of it this way, you that were there will be some of the cool kids that get to say "I remember when this website wasn't even half as cool as it is now" even though it is a pretty badass website. What makes this website so good, really when it comes down to it, is the people who are "formulating" it, if I can misuse a word. It's like the website that gets better with age, like a fine wine that tends to get the ladies' pants off... So if anyone has suggestions, holler at your monkey, and don't worry, we'll have "the monkey bar" soon.

Word=born

Mayhem

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Jeebus H. Christ. (UFC 73)

mayhemmiller — Sun, 8 Jul 2007 3:14:49 PDT

Ok, so I can't pick a fight worth a damn, shows how much I know about the fighters. I suppose I don't do my research quite enough. Oritz-Evans a draw? WTF? Props to Big John McCarthy for enforcing the rarely enforced "no grabbing the fence" rule, but damn! Tito did bring it, but Rashad turned up the heat at the end of that fight to make it a draw.

Silva vs. the hardest name to spell ever "Mardquadttut was a great fight, that I picked Mardquadttatat to upset Silva, but damn did Silva prove me wrong. Nathan had a good start, but Silva kept up the intesity and looked like he hurt Nate with a big shot from the standing position down into his guard and I for one, was shocked. I figured that Mardquadt would be able to take Silva down and control him, and bomb enough to submit him, but not even close.

Maybe I'll get better with age- like a fine wine.

Mayhem

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Back from San Jose/Vegas/Bananasnessness..

mayhemmiller — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 3:10:08 PDT

Ok, that was officially the longest weekend of my life, and I owe proelite fans an entire blog- which I will do tomorrow.. this is the teaser-blog... This blog will include large breasts, blackjack winnings and of course Krazy-Horse.

Mayhem

Wallpaper? WTF?

mayhemmiller — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 22:53:45 PDT

Okay, there are some minor problems with this site, THE MAIN ONE is no mayhem wallpaper on this biatch. WTF? That's some garbage. Ok, so I'm not as hot as Gina Carano, who is both photogenic and a lovely person, but let's put her scary face and my scary face up against one another and see who's is scarier. Ok, she wins again, but ONE DAY!!!!!

About Me

mayhemmiller — Fri, 30 Mar 2007 17:47:00 PDT

About Me

My mom is about the only one who calls me "Jason" anymore, I think even my pops lets "Mayhem" slip out from time to time. Yes, the "teef" are platinum. Yes, the say "Mayhem". Yes, I am well aware that I am white. No I do not have tattoos. It's isn't because I don't think they are cool, it's just I can't commit.

Training

A modern-day samauri. Mayhem trains hard for battle. He respects his opponent, and I try to learn as much as I can. For people who just think what I do is a bar room brawl, think again. Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) is one of the most difficult SPORTS ever. It also is the fastest growing sport in America, and in my opinion, it is THE best, and most pure form of sport. I've been told that I am strange my entire life- I can't help it, it's who I am. I used to fight it, but now I've come to the realization that I am really happy with who I am. Who cares if I'm not some cookie cutter personality. I sure as hell don't, and I don't mind if you don't get my jokes or think I'm too erratic. They don't call me Mayhem because of my typing skills. I think fast, I talk fast, and I might do something that would make your mama cry, but don't hold that against me. Most people have a great time around me, and that makes me happy.