I’m what is referred to as an “OG” on the mean gentrified streets of Boston. Now, since I can only conclude by their tone, the young bucks in the neighborhood, mean “Old Geezer”, due to my advanced age. Yet in my former life doing private security, and driving people around, in need of such high-end services, I have witnessed a thing or two during those years. Yet still I somehow falsely assumed that I had driven every type of self-entitled Bozo the planet has to offer. That was, up until Friday, when I saw this guy putting in the hard work, of not spontaneously laughing in your clients face. As he calmly Ubers Jake Paul’s lazy-ass to ringside. For his highly-anticipated fight against Mike Tyson. As if Paul was the lead float at this year’s forgettable “YouTube Stars Of Cameo” Thanksgiving Day Parade, HOSTED out in LA-LA Land.

It appears Jake Paul’s GAME-PLAN before and during the fight was to dance his million-dollar boxing trunks loose. In the slim hopes the 58-year-old Tyson would be too distracted, by his drunk-girl chic moves, to decapitate his adorable face with a lethal dosage of head blows. But despite Paul’s best attempt to appear busy choreographing the backup routine for Usher’s latest project. Which coincidentally is one of my go-to self-soothing techniques in my bag of tricks. However, this unorthodox tactic was, in fact, just part of Paul’s strategy all along. Who knew it could be used for good in the boxing world too? Oh yeah, how could I forget, that Floyd Mayweather had an illustrious career, of being arguably the most overrated boxer in history? While prancing his way around the ring to a lifetime record of 50-0? For which I am in no way unreasonably bitter about whatsoever.
This style seemingly worked out for Jake Paul in the end as he was ultimately crowned the winner when Tyson took a dive by way of a unanimous 8-round decision against Iron-Pills-Mike.
An outcome, SNL’s Weekend Update host Colin Jost, fittingly described as…
However, whatever your opinion may be of the pro-boxing equivalent to Frat-Boy-induced douche-chills, Jake Paul. Credit where Credit’s due, The kid is one hell of a promoter and millions of people willingly tune in to his content like it’s court-mandated.


