Cain Velasquez: Mexican, Champion, Father...Mexican.

They say if you mess with the bull you get the horns, fortunately enough for Mr. Cain Velasquez he happened to be a well trained matador (the only red Brock was seeing was a result of the blood flowing from the menstruating vagina Cain had stamped open on the side of his face). A lot has been made of Velasquez and his promoting of his Mexican culture, what with his reaching out for a connection with a heritage he feels pride in despite many attempting to make him feel inferior for it most likely his entire life (seriously folks, what a douche). Cain Velasquez may have "Brown Pride" tattooed across his chest, but after UFC 121 Brock Lesnar had a brown foot tattooed across his ass.

In the end Brock Lesnar's much hyped size-able size was no match for Cain Velasquez's under appreciated skillful skill. With this win Cain Velasquez not only stakes his claim as the current top heavyweight in the world (it's hard to argue Cain isn't standing over everyone else when he's sitting on top of Brock's big ass) but he made manufactured history by becoming the first (not really) Mexican Heavyweight Champion in all of sports (eat it Chris Arreola, oh wait you already did with a side of butter). Now Cain may look like the doughy Iglesias brother you don't hear much about, but the man is a true fighter. He fought to overcome his Father's hardships, he fought to hold in the urge to make fun of that mulatto Snuggie known as Josh Koscheck for having the exact same hairstyle as lambchop, and he fought hard in the UFC to be the champion he is today.

Cheick Kongo does a lot of things wrong, he once tried to arrest a cop in order to prevent getting a speeding ticket, but he is good at burying his giant black fist into a face when the chance is presented to him. Against Cain he got that chance, repeatedly, but what Cain didn't give him was a break from the nonstop pace of the action for Kongo to ever truly capitalize. What Cain gave him instead was a sensually savage beating that resulted in a dominant unanimous decision loss (back to the drawing board for the Green Mile looking Frenchman).

Ben Rothwell does a lot of things right, like looking like Keith Jardine's before picture in a weight loss add, but what he couldn't do is avoid the most unpleasant butt beatings since the last time Shane Carwin's wife gave up her back. Once again Velasquez dominated, and while the decision to stop the fight might have been more premature then a newborn's orgasm (really Lee? Eww) we all knew that fight was getting ready to end with Rothwell loosing all memories from grades K-8th.

Then came Big Nog, unfortunately for him this was the fight Cain's fists had finally decided to put a little stank on it. Pillow-fisted my ass, pillow-fisted if you sleep sleep with bricks in your pillow case like I do (seriously I live with black people, gotta be prepared at all times). This win is what launched him into the title shot with the supposedly indestructible force of the Brockback Mountain himself.

Brock Lesnar got his ass completely handed to him by Shane Carwin, literally Carwin handed him a tray with his ass on it surrounded by parsley and sticks of butter, before he ended up pulling out a victory over a guy that at the point could barely move out of exhaustion (strangely enough this was the fight that everyone decided to deem him as some iron chinned Titan, rather than the really really strong guy that doesn't like getting hit that he is).

In a sea of green, and red... and blue....(whatever the hell colors the Mexican flag has on it) Velasquez entered the cage in Anaheim to resounding support from his fellow Mexican American Mexicans. Brock Lesnar entered the cage looking like he had just spent the last fortnight supervising the day shift on a Viking rowboat. "Look how ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE he is, Cain doesn't stand a chance!" typed the most ardent of Lesnar supporters with their one free hand. "El análisis más serio de la actualidad deportiva y el enfoque desde su ángulo más divertido, con lo último y más actual de los deportes extremos" typed the front row passengers of the Cain Train (whatever the hell that translates to). Big Daddy Herb clapped his hands together and the show was on the road.

Knees, fists, elbows, testicles EVERYTHING FLYING ALL OVER THE PLACE (it was looking like an old Looney Tunes cartoon where all the sudden it's just a big cloud of smoke with randoms limbs flying out of it). But when the smoke had cleared it was one man left standing tall. Cain Velasquez had squashed the albino Hulk and t-bagged him for his efforts (like your buddy on Halo multiplayer before he gets the chance to respawn). It was clear at this point that Velasquez hadn't quite received the respect he deserved, but before all was said and done he had damned sure earned it.

So for now we stand in awe of our new personal Heavyweight Champion, Cain Velasquez-The Ultimate Mexican Ultimate Fighter.