Archive for Nightmare Fuel
And Matt Lauer just sat there and laughed and laughed and egged the old lady on. Because in case you did not know, everybody who works on Today cannot stand that woman. At least that’s how it plays out in my depraved mind. Anybody else? No? Huh.
But seriously, that lady frightens me. I have now peered into the eyes of madness and they were framed by a sombrero worn by Crazy Old Cowboys Superfan Lady.
An enlightening dissection of the condition afflicting Crazy Old Cowboys Superfan Lady can be found over at Joe Sports Fan. Well done, gents.
A “Super Fan” Arrives at Times Square [Joe Sports Fan]
Is it just me or are the walls melting?
I have never have had the pleasure to attend a live performance of any kind for a children’s program, be it The Wiggles or Yo Gabba Gabba!, so perhaps one of you Sportress readers can answer this question for me: is it common for these shows to feature as much psychedelic imagery as the standard Pink Floyd: The Wall laser light show? That is some freaky-deaky stuff going on there. Is it possible that these kind of performances are slowly transforming our nation’s youth into a bunch of spaced-out tweakers?
At the same time, as The700Level points out, at least the Phillie Phanatic might have found some kindred spirits in the Yo Gabba Gabba! crew who share similar interests as it does. You know, like unintentionally terrifying children and psychologically scarring them for life and whatnot.
[H/T The700Level]
Yeah, that doesn’t look comfortable at all. But I suppose he got what he deserved after participating in the uncivilized “sport” of bullfighting.
The Metro (via Out of Bounds) has a recap of the incident which is quite eloquent:
Pedro Muriel was tackled by the raging beast during a bullfight at the Malagueta bullring in Malaga.
Some might say the attack was karma, after the purple spandex-clad man had harpooned the bull with pointed sticks, known as banderillas.
Muriel was gored on the inside of his thigh but luckily escaped without serious injuries after the attack.
His role in the ring was to assist the bullfighter by weakening the bull’s massive neck and shoulder muscles by using the banderillas.
But in Pedro’s case it backfired and he ended up getting a harpooning himself.
No bueno, Pedro. No bueno.
Bull fighter gored where it hurts [The Metro]
Drill, baby, drill! Another excellent bull goring photo [Out of Bounds]
Sweet Mother Mary, that is…well, it’s just not right.
John Daly uploaded the above photo three days ago for worldwide dissemination after he unceremoniously withdrew from competition during the 2nd round of the PGA Championship, the 17th time he has pulled out of a tournament in the past five years. Daly cited a shoulder injury for quitting not even midway through the final major of the season and provided the following hilarious explanation via his Twitter account:
“thinkin it happened on bunker hole 1, played thru in miserable pain, saw Tour Doc after play & have tore rotator cup [sic] after tests were done.”
Ah yes. The dreaded rotator cup injury. Those can be quite debilitating.
Thankfully for JD, ol’ Doc Whitelaw was on hand to ice it down and do God knows what else and wouldn’t you know it? Miraculously, Daly is now healthy enough to compete in the Wyndham Championship this week, mere days after his rotator cup was like, totally torn up and stuff. Actually, Daly reported that thanks to Doc Whitelaw’s expertise and um, unique bedside manner, it was determined to be only a rotator cup strain. Nice.
But egad, that photo, which Daly captioned with “Me & Doc Whitelaw in my living room, icing my shoulder & watching some NFL.”
Let’s just go with the theory that was all they were doing. You know, with the Hippocratic Oath and whatnot. Sheesh.
Surprise! Daly’s Injured “Rotator Cup” Feeling Good Enough to Play Wyndham [Wei Under Par]
John Daly Gives PGA Championship the Cold Shoulder [Wei Under Par]
To be sure, the choice of the New York Jets, with the cast of characters on the roster, not to mention good-time-having head coach Rex Ryan, for the team to appear on HBO’s series Hard Knocks was an astute move by the cable network. Discussing the access that is to be granted to HBO and NFL Films, Ryan had this to say about where cameras will not – and for the love of all that is holy, should not – be granted access to (via The Huddle):
“My shower will be off limits,” Jets coach Rex Ryan told reporters during a conference call Wednesday when asked if there was anywhere the cameras wouldn’t be allowed.
GAH! Sorry to say it, but unfortunately for those die-hard Jets fans who would gladly take in the sight of Ryan stark-ass naked in the shower as some sort of twisted display of what lengths you would be willing to go to show your support for the team, sadly, it is not to be. Nope, there will be no recreating the infamously sexy shower scene involving Kate Beckinsale from Whiteout on Hard Knocks this season…sorry, Fireman Ed. It’s just the way it is. Go get your jollies somewhere else, you hard-hatted pervert.
When contemplating what kind of retina-searing sights that once seen could not be unseen, the image of Rex Ryan lathering up with his Axe Body Wash (you know he uses it – either that or a rag on a stick, I reckon) would certainly fall into that category. Why? Allow me to introduce Exhibits A and B (also, an Exhibit C involving a much more preferable subject for a shower scene):
Yeesh. We definitely need something quickly to cleanse the old mental palate after those disturbing images. How about that Kate Beckinsale sexy shower scene from Whiteout that I alluded to above?
I use this line a lot but never has it been so fitting and so perfectly articulating of what I am thinking right now about the film (from Canada, of course), Score: A Musical:
WHO ARE THE AD WIZARDS WHO CAME UP WITH THIS ONE????
Via Puck Daddy:
“Score: A Hockey Musical” has been on our radar since it was reported that Olivia Newton-John was going to be in the cast as a hockey mom; which naturally stirred nostalgic feelings of seeing her saunter into practice in a leather outfit and purring “tell me about it, stud” to the bewildered coach. It gives us chills. They’re multiplying.
The trailer for this potential camp masterpiece is out and the thing looks like equal parts “Glee,” “High School Musical” and the worst “Mighty Ducks” sequel never produced. (Oh, to have heard the dramatic torch song Goldie the Goalie could have belted in an empty concession stand.)
Hoo boy. Wysh has a bunch of other interesting nuggets regarding the afterbirth of celluloid, but try as he might, Wysh cannot explain why the people behind this project do not deserve to be drawn and quartered while simultaneously being forced to watch episodes of Cop Rock (here’s the intro to that abomination of a television show, which features Randy Newman and when featuring Randy Newman singing the theme song is the best thing going for a show, it’s in big, big trouble).
Jebus.
Video: Try not to cringe at the ‘Score: A Hockey Musical’ trailer [Puck Daddy]
Hey, Barney’s movie had heart, but “Bull’s Horn to the Groin” had a bull’s horn to the groin.
In the multitude of ways the words “scrotum,” “bullfighter” and “gored” can be combined to make a sentence, “Bullfighter gored in scrotum” might perhaps be the most squirm-inducing. Actually, any combination of the those three words would likely result in the reactionary crossing of the legs followed by the sweet relief that one did not suffer the same fate as renowned bullfighter Julian Lopez Escobar.
You see, Escobar endured the traumatic experience of having an enraged (rightfully so, I might add) bull violently plunge the pointed projection of its integumentary system straight smack dab into his man parts during Spain’s San Fermin festival, which also includes the multiple Darwin Award-winning exercise in idiocy, the “Running of the Bulls” in Pamplona. Via an AP report:
Renowned bullfighter Julian Lopez Escobar, known professionally as “El Juli,” was discharged from hospital Tuesday after being gored in the scrotum during a bullfight. He has recovered enough to headline the final and most important fight of this year’s festival, the government of Navarra said.
Yamma hamma. I can’t imagine that a “scrotum gore” ranks high up on the lists of injuries that a bullfighter would like to experience, although I cannot think of an injury that could be sustained as particularly pleasant when one is foolish enough to climb into an enclosure with a scared and unpredictable bull while wearing a fancy outfit with only a red cape as one’s sole means of defense. At the same time, Scrotum Gore would be a pretty cool name for a gay death metal band. Maybe.
Another bullfight goring photo to make you wince (or cheer, whatever) [Out of Bounds]
9 injured, 3 by goring, in running of the bulls [AP]
GAH! Good God, man! What sort of perverted science are they practicing in the Bristol laboratories? This image was burning itself into unsuspecting viewers of ESPN’s NFL page earlier today. Why? Tell me, why?
Matthew Berry Football Head is the kind of some genetically-altered creature one would think was spawned on the Island of Dr. Moreau, but possesses the annoying skill of being able to tell you a bunch of meaningless, inane crap about fantasy football. If Berry’s frequent cohort Merrill Hoge ever came upon this…thing, his repeatedly concussed brain would likely cause him to pick Berry’s football head up and spike it. Not saying that’s a bad thing, just making an observation.
What a frightening spheroid, huh? The Sports Hernia Blog thinks the creature looks like the mutated offspring from a coupling between Frosty the Snowman and a Conehead coupling. I have to agree.
Approach ESPN’s NFL page at your own risk [The Sports Hernia Blog]
“The horror… the horror…
“I’ve seen horrors… horrors that you’ve seen. But you have no right to call me an awful man for posting this photo. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that… but you have no right to judge me. It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror… Horror has a face… and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies! I remember when I first saw this photo of Diego Maradona wearing a G-string during his more svelte days…seems a thousand centuries ago. I went to Total Pro Sports. And I remember… I… I… I cried, I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my eyes out; I didn’t know what I wanted to do! And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it… I never want to forget. And then I realized… like I was shot… like I was shot with a diamond… a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought, my God… the genius of that! The genius! The will to upload this nightmare fuel! Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than me, because they could stand that these were not monsters, these were men… trained bloggers. These men who wrote with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love… but they had the strength… the strength… to do that. If I had ten bloggers like these men, the popularity of this site would increase very quickly. You have to have men who are moral… and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to blog without feeling… without passion… without judgment… without judgment! Because it’s judgment that defeats us.
- Colonel Kurtz, if he had been a blogger and not a deranged madman
You know, I suppose those two segments of the human population – blogger and deranged madman – are not as mutually exclusive as one would suspect. Huh. Because what other kind of person other than a complete nutjob would have this photo be the prevailing image on his blog over a long 4th of July weekend? You would have to be crazy to do something like that. But here I am. Doing that. And here you thought the mental image of Jared Allen in a speedo was terrifying. It goes to show there is always something worse – more disturbing, more…yeah…I got nothing.
And now, a little site news: I may or may not write on Monday, July 5th. I will wait and see how the mood strikes me. I am sure you all will get along just fine, but I didn’t want anyone worrying about old Weed.
Enjoy the soccer matches tomorrow, especially the epic matchup between Argentina and Germany. It should be a real humdinger, just as long as Diego doesn’t decide to don the g-string due to a madcap theory that it will bring his squad luck. No one needs to see that.
And a Happy 4th of July to each and every one of you. Be safe, but have fun.
[H/T for image to Total Pro Sports - Thanks. I think]
Now, there’s nightmare fuel and then there’s SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? SOME KIND OF HIGH OCTANE NIGHTMARE FUEL?!? I believe this little story fits quite nicely in the latter category.
Thankfully, for the sake of our rods and cones and overall mental health, no photos have surfaced confirming what Jared Allen told Dan Patrick as of yet, but on Patrick’s radio show earlier today, Allen discussed his choice of swimwear while he and wife honeymooned in Italy:
DP: Are you still married?
JA: Absolutely. Just got back from a beautiful honeymoon.
DP: Where’d you go?
JA: Amalfi Coast, over in Italy.
DP: Did you wear your jersey?
JA: Yeah, of course. I was wearing my jersey every day. I cut the sleeves off by the pool and cropped it up a little bit.
DP: Did you wear a Speedo?
JA: I dominated a Speedo over there. I figure, when in Rome, right? It kind of applies. When in Europe, when in Rome.
So…cold. So very, very cold. I cannot close my eyes for fear of what mind-warping, psychologically-scarring image might be waiting for me in the recesses of my subconscious. Yowsers.
DP Show Daily: Jared Allen on Favre, mullets and speedos [SI]
