Old Timey Boxer: Hello gents, I wish to partake in your fighting association.

OTB: I am five foot and four inches, but don't let that dissuade you. I've bested old Willie Baker, and he's a tree of a man standing a staggering five foot and eight inches without shoes.

UO: And how much do you weigh?

OTB: I am a stout one hundred and twenty six pounds, the most well-fed man at my factory.

UO: You seem a bit small for this league most of our members are pushing 200 pounds.

OTB: The depression has thinned us all out a bit, but hunger sharpens our fighting skills.

UO: Speaking of that, our fighters employ a variety of mixed martial arts techniques. What sort of experience do you have?

OTB: Well, I don't know what these "Martialed Arts" are as I've never been one for high society culture, but I can tell you I've always been quite the scrapper.

UO: Do you have any formal training?

OTB: Nothing sharpens a man's senses like a scuffle for the front spot of a bread line. In addition, I've enjoyed a lengthy career fighting booze hounds for nickels.

UO: What sort of exercise do you do?

OTB: I do a lot of heavy lifting at the sausage factory at which I work. I am in charge of loading meat into the grinder and disposing of rat carcasses. I also make certain to spend at least thirty seven minutes per day on the vibrating belt.

UO: Ok, well I don't think you'd last five minutes in the octagon, but if you're really determined, I can have you spar against one of our fighters for a few minutes just to see how it goes.

OTB: That's the ticket! Send him in and I'll give him what for.

*Chuck Liddell enters*

OTB: Aww raspberries...