"knee !" i drive one in there, and follow it with an elbow. "oh heeeey." oron says, but i can tell he doesn't mean it. he drifts over and leans in the corner, arms resting on the ropes, wearing a look of concern.

"riree. why no boom-boom."

oron harassed me to fight from the first day i got here (and continued even after i agreed to it) and has been harassing me to fuck the girls for just as long.

"what ? fuck man, i dunno," i put my fists back up, hoping he will put up the pads in response. he does for a 1-2, then drops them again.

"you maybe... ladyboi ?" he asks, and smilingly points at my pink skirt-shorts. then the smile fades and he raises a serious eyebrow.

i sigh and drop my hands. "no oron, not a ladyboi," i assure him for... i have no idea at this point how many times i've assured him i'm not a ladyboi. the number is astronomical. "i'm ugly as a woman," i add helpfully.

he nods solemnly at this undeniable truth, taking this information in like a therapist looking for the heart of the problem.

"you like ladyboi." he concludes.

i feel like frustratedly dropping my hands in mock-surrender to his obtuseness, but they are already hanging lifeless from having done this just a second ago. i pick them up just so i can drop them again, a gesture that surely must have looked as silly and ineffectual as it felt.

"you like... boy ?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

"i ain't tryin to get after none of that," i tell him.

"WOT." he quips, and mugs for the camera. the live studio audience roars their approval and shouts of "ORON !" sound from various spots in the crowd. a regular bud bundy, this motherfucker.

"no." i clarify, and when his brow clears its worry i elaborate, "straight talk homie: all i want is bitches-- big booty bitches. and if i gotta choose a coast, i gotta choose the east."

"WOT." he demands again, and the crowd stomps and applauds in a frenzy of delight.

"girls ! good !"

he loses it. "THEN WHY NO BOOM-BOOM !" he slaps my shoulder hard with his thai pad and mean-mugs me. "YOU HANDSOME MAN ! YOU LOOK BRAD PITT ! WHY NO BOOM-BOOM !" i suggest to him that his comparisions might be something of a misrepresentation on the order of saying the moon and sun are the same temperature because they're both round.

all the while i'm wondering how i am supposed to explain to this guy who speaks maybe 200 words of english my concerns about the morality of coming to an extremely poor country and fucking women for moeny ? then i can't help but wonder if it's morally any less repugnant than beating up some poor part-time fighter who's fighting me for money to feed his family ? i'm not one to sit here and judge what anyone does for familial obligation/a living and i won't deny that my biases against prostitution are rooted almost entirely in cultural customs i almost entirely don't relate or subscribe to otherwise. i'm having a hard time, i don't want to say rationalizing (although that's probably the most honest word for it), but justifying to myself these differences and why one form of taking advantage of those economically depressed is morally sound while others are not (and i'm not trying to build a case to use later for seeing prostitutes)... not so easy to untangle i guess.

the whistle blew to end the round, the last on the pads. "too much talking you." oron says, and shakes his head while pointing at me. the audience laughs and someone yells "ORON !"