Citizen Number One

If I've learned anything in my life as a sports fan, it's that sports reporters are predisposed towards hyperbole. In an era of around the clock sports coverage, where the writers have become entertainers, these ink slingers frequently resort to making absurd exaggerations and expressing intentionally contrarian viewpoints to sell print and boost ratings (read: Woody Paige/Skip "Fego" Bayless). It's simple--an article that annoints Bryce Harper as "The Best Prospect Ever" is always going to get more attention than one that merely touts him as "A Really Good Prospect." Hell, even in writing for a blog with virtually no readership, I feel the urge to juice up my subject's statures to make them seem more relevant.

I realize that what I write next may come off as more of the same--another piece of Rick Reillyesque bombast to burnish the memory of some undeserving millionaire has-been. The difference in this case is that I mean everything I am about to say and the subject really deserves the praise. It's fitting that the most sincere piece I'll ever write for this site is a paean to the white knight of the NBA (and my childhood idol), the virtuous David Robinson.

Continue Feeg'n Out--->

Freaks: Insidious Sixth

There will be times in your life when you cross a rubicon--one of those points where you recognize that life will never be the same afterwards. For me, last night was one of those nights.

Allow me to set the scene a little bit. One of my first posts on Fegonomics detailed my experience with my company's Red Sox season tickets last year--an experience that pretty much bored to tears. Fast forward 365 days: we got a black man doing his thing in the White House, Big Papi has lost at least 25 pounds of muscle, It Was All a Dream exhibits significantly more alcoholic tendencies, and I still hate baseball...well kinda.

I got tickets for the Red Sox/White Sox clash thinking that the White Sox fans were going to look like this. At the very least, I was excited by the prospect of double fisting $8 bood lights and alienating all the old-timers sitting around me and Dream. After a few assaults on the beer stand, and some freebie soft serve, I was starting to really get into the game. Something about the way Tim Wakefield was pulling some okey-doke shit with his knuckleballs really resonated with me. Around the sixth inning, the the score knotted at 1's, I started proclaiming that Wally Ortiz was going to hit a walkoff.

Anyone (read: the one person) who reads this blog realizes that my beisbol knowledge is limited. Patricia Heaton limited. Limited to the point that I think Henry Rowengartner is still the Cubs' middle reliever. So while I recognized that chaman Ortiz had definitely dropped a lot of bulk after getting off the 'roids, I failed to take into account the deletorious effects getting weaned off the cream and the clear would have on his performance. I mean, the fact that I can bench his batting average is not a very good sign. But statistics? Where we're going, we don't need no stinking statistics.

Continue Feeg'n Out--->

Freaks v. 5

This guy's dropping late, so we'll just cut straight to your freaks...

Meta Freak
Usain Bolt

People like Usain Bolt make this column easy to write. Not only did he easily win the 100m and 200m World championships, but he utterly eviscerated world records that he himself had previously set. Bolt's destruction of the 100m world record was the largest improvement in the mark in history. To help you conceptualize how crazy a feat this was, here's a chart that I merced from some other website (with some value added of my own):

That line indicates biostatisticians' projection of the progression of the 100m world record time. Bolt's record hadn't been projected until the turn of the next century. Pre-Bolt, researchers calculated the "Ultimate Record" (i.e. the fastest humanly possible time) for the 100m as 9.44 seconds. Given the drastic revisions of the record books in the past 2 years, it is clear that Usain is forcing us to reevaluate what the limits of human speed are.

In a similar vein, Usain Bolt's success goes completely counter to all previous concepts of the prototypical sprinter. In the past, it was believed that shorter was better for sprinters. Generally, there is a inverse relationship between the muscle speed and size. Small guys like rodents and Nate Robinson have lots of fast twitch fibers that enable them to accelerate quickly at the expense of long distance top speed.

Bolt, on the other hand, blends the fast twitch capabilities of a mighty mouse with the biomechinical efficiencies that come with his 6'4" frame. This is the very definition of a freak--someone who can have his cake and eat it, too; defying commonly held conventions of biology to be purely built for speed.

Perhaps I'm a little jaded, or perhaps I've just learned how to be a more discerning customer, but I can't get all the way behind Bolt. In the past decade, we've come to realize that if something seems too good to be true, and records don't seem real...they're usually not. That being said, I hope beyond all hope that Bolt is clean. He is first team all-Kevin Garnett because he shows us that anything is possiibbllllleeeee(also because he rill rill dark)--a beacon of light in the increasingly dark and sinister world of sports. Not the hero we deserve, but the hero we need.

Foodie Freak

Casey Thompson

I realize that Dream and Earnest are perhaps the only ones who will appreciate this pick, but allow me to explain myself. Top Chef returned with a vengeance this week, ram jamming viewers with 3 straight hours of new content, between the Top Chef: Vegas premiere and the finale of Top Chef: Masters. As of this writing the finale hasn't aired, but I think the smart money is on Hubert Keller to take home the gold in Masters, though Rick (Brother of Meta Fego (NSFW, Basically Porn), Skip) Bayless could surprise with by cooking within his comfort zone.

Oh, you guys still don't give a shit? Aight, aight. All this Top Chef talk is really just a front to showcase cha girl Casey Thompson. Not only is Casey head and shoulders(that's a dude!) above the competition as the hottest woman ever on Top Chef, but she was a final episode meltdown away from being the first woman to win the competition. Admittedly, this is pure speculation, but she looks like she could inhale my lightswitch, as well.

With her obvious physical and culinary gifts, some Heather Brooke level skill with the skin flute might vault her up to the #1 ranked prospect in the land. Can you imagine an HB 8.5 like her taking all of your 1.5 inch tower of power while you're scarfing down duck sous vide? I'm getting wet just thinking about it. One more for the road....

Classic Freak
George Best

I'm sure LNW will approve.

Alright, so Best has been dead for 5 years, so there's not a ton of justification for this choice. If you really want to know, I was trying to watch one of my favorite youtube mixtapes, the George Best "Ordinary World" clip, when I realized that the audio had been replaced with "My Immortal" by Evanescence due to copyright concerns. Stuff like that pisses me off, so I stuck it to the man and employed my D- iMovie skills to remake the video with the original audio. What we have here is a fitting tribute (that I basically plagiarized) to the man for whom they used to say, "Maradona good; Pele better; George Best."

Freaks v. 4

Dearest Reader:
Fegonomics is going through a slight facelift, so please pardon our dust. Despite whatever hiccups you may encounter, just know that under the hood, the Fegos you've grown to know and love are still here. We're still going to reference the same shitty TV shows, we're still going to blatantly cop Bill Simmons' style, and we're sure as hell still going to circle jerk over this Adrian Peterson video (My Favorite Mix of All Time):



Stay big guys. Enjoy the freaks.

Herbert Freak
Lane Kiffin

You may be asking yourself, "What the fuck is a Herbert." The culturally elite among us know that Herbert is also more colloquially referred to as the dirty old man from Family Guy. What does this have to do with Lane Kiffin? Well, apparently Nathan Lane Kiffin decided to dangle the proverbial carrot in front of his team during the off-season, promising that those who kept in shape would get a special reward. No, it wasn't a one-on-one Tummy-Sticks session with the good old ball coach (Kinda NSFW), or a mass team circle jerk over the Candace Parker/Shelden Williams Sextape--no, no, it was something far more homoerotic. Their reward was this, the right to pose for a "Men of Tennessee Football" Poster:

Truth be told, I'm not exactly sure what we're looking at. I see All-Neptune Safety Eric Berry draping a chain around himself like some horrendous Princess Leia Cosplay star (Ok, sorry about that picture, here's a good one to soothe the pain, thought it's NSFW). The rest of the guys are staring blankly at the camera with their pants unbuttoned, pretty much oblivious to the fact that they look like Jeff Garthia's love children. And what does the license plate "DBLE T'S" supposed to mean anyway? Tirk Tiggler (Rill Rill NSFW)? It's fucking funny, but nothing about this video makes sense, really.

However, when put against Bruno Kiffin's larger body of work, the coach's sexual deviancy becomes clear. This is the same guy who decided to get recruits excited for UT by having them strip off their shirts while he watched in the wings, kneading his diack like it was Pizza Days dough on NQR night. This is the same guy who got a 13 year old to commit to his school (who conveniently happens to be Eric Berry's kid brother), and will presumably groom him as his resident cabana boy.

Listen, I know that cLANE Aiken has gone through a difficult stretch. It must be extremely humbling to get canned by Cryptkeeper Al Davis, a guy so senile he thinks Pudge Heffelfinger is still in the league. Moreover, ever since he's gotten hired at Tennessee, he's gotten ram jammed with NCAA violations left and right. Clearly, LANcE (Bass) is in over his head in any position of authority, but that is no excuse for him to project his sexual proclivities onto his unsuspecting players in the form of thinly-veiled incentives. A spyda does what a spyda do, but just keep the kids out of it, mayne.

Cognitive Freak
This Poindexter

Hot Clicks beat me to the punch a little bit on this one, but this kid's skills deserve a shout-out nonetheless. I only know a few idiot savants who can solve a rubix cube in under 5 minutes (mah man Huff Daddy), and a handful of dodes who can smash Guitar Hero on expert (Dream, Ernest, etc.). But both at the same time? That's some Kim Peek shit right there.



*Begin Non-Sequitur* Let me dwell on Kim Peek for a second. Not only does cha man have an encyclopaedic knowledge of pretty much anything, he also has perfect pitch, and perfect recall of any song he's ever heard. I mean jigga mean has a snake cock to boot. (Ok, I made that last part up, but would you really be that surprised if he did?). Kim Peek is the exact reason that I started writing about freaks in the first place. Truly an inspiration to us all. *End Non-Sequitur*

What really puts this task over the top is that both of these tasks are based primarily on colors. To be able to parse out the conflicting visual information that was coming into his brain is just incredible. I haven't seen multi-tasking on this level since I stopped rubbing myself while talking to you guys on Gchat. Oh you don't think it's happened to you?! Think again! You just got Smegma'ed!! Too bad he can't bench more than 15 pounds....Hit the weights, son!

Indie Dreamboat Freak
Zooey Deschanel

You know, I'm not the biggest fan of ganja weed. Generally, getting smoked up and doped up leads to me getting all paranoid, fearing that my life is spinning out of control to the guitar solo in Freebird. That being said, I have a really big soft spot in my heart for girls who sound like they're stoned. Don't ask me why, but something about a chick toking up (Kinda NSFW) and then hitting me up for a bag of Cheetos Flamin' Hots just gets me all hot and bothered. Which is why this Zooey Deschanel clip gave me Sienna Miller-level permaboner



Say what you will about Zooey being a generally goofy person, but girl looks like she's about to break out a Taco Town grab bag of munchies. I mean, just watch at the 40 second mark, you saying she doesn't have some of that Cali-weed in her system? Jigga, Please (NSFW).

On top of this, Ms. Deschanel is the star of the summer sleeper hit, and every beta's life-affirming moment, 500 Days of Summer. Truthfully, this is just a really clever, well done movie, and I'd encourage everyone, alpha and omega alike, to check it out if they have the chance. A big reason why this movie seems so believable is that Zooey is exactly the type of girl that guys go meta-beta over. She play the quirky, indie flower child role to a T.

And if that weren't enough, she's one half of indie upstarts She & Him. My plaudits just can't come fast enough for this girl.




I'll just come out and say it. I'm hereby challenging her fiance, Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie fame, to a cock-off for Zooey's hand in marriage. You may be thinking that a cock-off is a weird challenge to make for someone who's traditionally been considered on the lightswitch spectrum. But have you listened to Transatlanticism? There's no way he's sporting more than a tootsie roll. You just got JACKED-UP!

Freaks: THPS Addendum

Yeah, so I got so jazzed up about Vick and the kid who stuck the Dish Network Controller in his ass that I forgot to rep the x-games. I don't know much about skateboarding, but I do know that Bob Burnquist's run at the 2001 Summer X-Games was the defining moment of my adolescence. More formative than Jennifer Lopez's "Love Don't Cost a Thing" video and Muhammad Ali's Sportscentury combined (OK, not really on the Ali front).

You just kinda have to see it to understand the hubbub. As Mr. Chi City Mayne would say, jigga's got tricks on tricks, many of which were so unheard of they hadn't been named yet. They beauty of this run is that even a lay person can appreciate how out of this world it is. Increíble

Freaks: He's Baaaaaack Edition

This week we're going to train the spotlight on my favorite freak of all time, a veritable freak's freak. Yeah, I'm talking about cha man Mike Vick. So we all know by now that he's been conditionally reinstated by Roger "The Punisher" Goodell, opening up the possibility that he sees the field by week 6 of this season.

This is a big deal to me for several reasons. Obviously, I'm just excited that we have someone with Vick's skill set back in the league. Say what you will about his limited passing abilities, but I think we can all acknowledge that Vick was the World's Most Dangerous Man while on the football field. The man is a videogame--he could gouge a defense with his 4.36 40, call some freaks with 70 yard bomb or turn a broken play into a Merton Hanks moment. Fittingly, the Madden 2006 Vick was an absolute WEAPON. Though he only had a like 75 pass accuracy, he could run that shit furg at will, picking up third downs like Skipinos picks up chicks at a Cougar rally. The only way to properly deal with him was to smash it in his ashya with the hit stick, as he had a constant case of fumbilitis, putting the ball on the deck with 5-6 times greater frequency than anyone else in the game (except maybe Poopius Jones). So basically, the Madden guys had to program a cheat handicap to balance out the play of the game, otherwise fetus body cowards like the Quarternary [edit: Tertiary] Fego would just smash teams every game with Vick.

If imitation is the highest form of flattery, then Vick was getting over the pants hand jobs from all directions. Every media representation of the NFL had its own Vick clone, be it Voodoo in Friday Night Lights, the guy with dreads who schooled the Sharks in ESPN's Playmakers, or The Rock in "The Game Plan". Simply put, football is more exciting when there's someone on the field for whom truly believe anything is possible. And for this, I am overjoyed that we can have Michael back in our lives. I get wet just thinking about this:



Of course, the once prodigal son's return to the promise land has been sullied somewhat by Goodell's imposition of an additional 6 game ban for this season. Now let me preface what I'm about to say with this: I don't have a problem with strong, authoritative league commissioners. In fact, I love David Stern, and not just because he can do this.

Stern is a great commissioner because he understands that his role is not at the forefront of the game. He is savvy enough to make the tough decisions without making himself the center of attention, unlike Goodell's ham-handed attempts to burnish his image as a tough disciplinarian. I mean, Stern is downright sneaky. Do you know anyone else who would be able to rig an entire fucking draft without anyone blowing the whistle? Could Goodell be cunning enough to banish the face of the league to a phantom baseball retirement (#6) rather than simultaneously ruining the image of the league and its sole icon? I mean the guy is a member of the New World Order! (And I'm not talking Kevin Nash)

Ok, I'll admit that these all could be (read: are) crackpot conspiracy theories, but they still underscore my point that Stern operates subtly, behind the cloak of shadows. These rumors are a reflection of the fact that no one truly understands the scope of Stern's power. He is secure enough to realize that he doesn't have to partake in punitive cock-offs with the other commissioners. Can you imagine what Goodell would have done if he was the Commish of the NBA during the Malice at Auburn Hills? The closest approximation I can think of would be this (though Goodell certainly wouldn't be cool enough to wear jorts).

You know why that is? Because Roger Goodell is a take-no-nonsense vigilante who wants so much to be a white knight, but simply goes too far. That sounds pretty familiar....Wait, what the? Roger Goodell IS Two-Face!

"Why should I hide who I am"

I think that this comparison is fair. Think about it, in assessing the additional 6 game suspension to Vick, Goodell is trying to prove that NFL is beyond the scope of the laws that govern you and me. Animal rights zealots want you to believe otherwise, but Michael Vick has paid his debt to society. The man has lost everything. Vick spent two years in the federal pen, getting smashed from behind in the shower like Derek Vinyard. He lost his fans, he lost name, and he's dead broke. In many ways, Vick deserves this--a heinous crime deserves a strict penalty. But what I'm saying is that the penal system has already accepted the sufficiency of Vick's penance, why can't the NFL?

What is most bothersome about Goodell's tenure as Commish is that he's committed the classic mistake of addressing the effects, rather than the causes. Obviously, it is troublesome that so many players in the NFL act like they're above the law, but isn't that really because the wrong people are entering the league? Goodell's draconian punishments simply do not deter players from committing crimes. The biggest problem is at the college level, not only is it the most formitive time for the players, but as is, college football is just a holding pen for potential NFL'ers. Any disciplinary problem they have is met with a slap on the wrist because coaches care more about winning games then building up human beings . The league must simply help the NCAA to discipline and correct players. . If college players realized that, outside of the cush confines of their campuses, their legal transgressions would be met with harsh, appropriate punishment, then they'd be less inclined to hang around with the wrong crowds, and shoot themselves in the legs. (Thanks, Plax!)

Terrell Owens has been quoted as saying that Roger Goodell, not Vick, is the one that belongs in jail. Aside from his contention that if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck, it's a fucking duck, I don't agree with TO on much, but I think he's in the right here. It seems as though this anti-Goodell sentiment is rampant throughout the league, and at a potential tipping point. This reminds me of a quote from the noted Continental philosopher Harvey Dent, "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain". Unfortunately, for Goodell, that rubicon was crossed a long time ago.

In times like this I'm consoled by the age old Taoist mantra, "The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming". I mean I don't think that Goodell will give up his post anytime soon, but the possiblity is just a nazi sex scandal away. In the case that Goodell is liquidated, what's our best option? Oh yeah, it's cha girl Condoleezza. Not only has she previously stated that the NFL Commissioner's post would be her "Dream job," but she has the moxie to pull it off in a Sternian fashion. Think about the cloak of secrecy surrounding the Bush Administration--you don't think she'd be able to be the puppetmaster in the NFL without coming off as heavy handed as Goodell? Instead of gratiutous suspensions and fines as the norm, we'd see a new era of clandestine waterboarding and psychological warfare on NFL problem children. All I gotta say is: Shock and Awe, jiggggggaaaaaaaa.

Greatest Freak(out) Ever:

I'm about a month behind on this but basically this kid freaked out because his mom cancelled his World of Warcraft account, no further explanation needed. Hilarity ensues:



Stop the tape. There's something you guys may have missed amongst the spazzing out...so here it is in a 10 minute loop:



All I can say is: ANAL-yzed!

Freaks v. 2

We here at Fegonomics are all about full disclosure, so let me share two little nuggets of wisdom for you before we get started with the freaks of huck:

1. I thought that this "Freaks of the Week" business was going to be a lot easier than it has turned out to be. You know, I thought that I'd see a Jarron Gilbert here and a little Heather Brooke there, and the article would write itself. What I failed to recognize is that we're currently in a Pro-Sports no man's land, especially with baseball at its All-star break. If you've had the misfortune of flipping to ESPN recently, you've probably realized that all they're showing right now is the World Look at My Pubes competition, and the Fossilman picking his ass. I guess what I'm saying is, enjoy the dregs, the best is yet to come.

2. (Unrelated to point 1) I got felt up in a restaurant by a kid who was twitching around in a wheelchair. I think we all recognize that this is the most action I've gotten in pretty much a year. I think the whole "FML" thing has jumped the shark, so here's its heir apparent: waaaoooowwwwwww.

Onto the freaks:

90 Inches of Pain Freak
Anthony Randolph

Don't let his Earthworm like physique fool you--Randolph is a straight up baller. I realize that it's kinda like saying that he won a Planet Fitness Body Building competition, but Randolph has been tearing up the NBA Summer league (Though there's a 60% chance that one of his opponents was the original Makhtar N'Diaye). The guys at FreeDarko have been rubbing themselves over him for quite some time, and it looks like their preoccupation has not been in vain. Brotha man tied the Vegas summer league record for points with 42 against the Bulls. Sure, the former record holder was the immortal Von "Necco" Wafer (Speaking of Wafer, he's part of the funniest look-a-like galleries I've ever seen, esp. Battier), but Randolph's summer league line is nonetheless impressive: 26.8 pts, 8.5 'bounds, 3 Blocks and 60.5% FG pct per game.

At 6'10" with a 7'6" wingspan, Randolph certainly has the measurables you'd want in a hybrid 3/4 (Aside from being built like Prancer). And the man can certainly show people how his ass tastes:



But certainly the big guy's best marginal advantage is his ability to handle the ball. How many 7 foot salamanders can do this:


And let's just be thankful that he shoots better then this Asian Guy from Saw.

Mass Monster Freak
Brock Lesnar - UFC Heavyweight Champion

Surprise, surprise, Makhtar dips from the wrestling well again. I mean just look at that picture, Brock has literally no neck--his massive, massive traps have simply devoured the area his neck used to occupy. Brock's doesn't have the size or definition of our favorite, Ronnie Coleman, or even his long-time rival, Jay "Soy Sauce" Cutler, but his functional strength is off the charts. How do I know? Well...last weekend he ANAL-yzed MMA legend Frank Mir to unify the UFC heavyweight titles. If you haven't seen the footage, here it is. The neckless one served up 10 minutes of utter domination. Here's what Frank Mir Looked like after the fight:
I haven't seen a piece of meat so old and broken down since the end of this Kimbo Slice fight (Borderline NSFW, hideous ending).

At 6'3", 265 lbs, Lesnar represents the new prototype for the burgeoning MMA's heavyweight division. Not only does he often outweigh his opponents by 30 or 40 pounds (Mir weighs in at 240), but he's also generally faster and more technically proficient than his counterparts. Lesnar was a legit collegiate wrestler, as runner up to future NFL'er Stephen Neal in 1999, and winning the NCAA Heavyweight championship in 2000. The Lesnar/Neal matchup is fairly ironic, as both men both went on to ply their trade in the NFL, with varying success. The fact that Brock made it to the last cut of Minnesota Vikings camp, despite not having played since sophomore year of high school is impressive. Though, perhaps not as impressive as this(GOTCHA!).

Oh yeah, this is fucking funny, too:

Freak in the Sheets
Emmanuelle Chriqui

The new season of Entourage premiered last weekend, and frat boys across the nation collectively jizzed their pants. By this point, the show's gotten pretty played out, primarily because the characters are so damn predictable. Vince is aloof, E is a meta beta, Lloyd is gay, Drama is dramatic, and Turtle is a worthless piece of shit. Plain and simple, that shit don't change. But, as flaccid and worthless as the guys on Entourage are, the girls are equally as FOINE. One needs to look no further than Sloane as proof of this point. I'd rather not devote more space to a show that's leapt well over the shark, so here's more Sloane to end the post. Soldiers OUT.

Freaks of the Week v. 1

Leave it to Charles Haley's di-ack to resurrect the blog from Bolivian. Following his lead, I thought it appropriate that I trot out my newest creature feature. I shall call him....FREAKS OF THE WEEK.

By this point, I think that we've all written paeans about the perfection of the human form(yeah, really pretty much as NSFW as you can get), but I think that I am an especially frequent offender. Hell, my favorite sporting event of the year is the NFL combine. Other people will dismiss the combine as a meaningless event, pointing to combine warriors like Mike Mamula and Brian Bosworth who ended up getting ram jammed in the League, and they're probably right. However, I love the mere concept of the combine--everything from the subtley racist overtones of having rich, white team owners watching freakishly athletic black men run around in Under Armour spandex to the NFL network's coverage. Sure, it's a meat market, but that's exactly why I love it.

So what better way to honor something you love than institutionalizing it and writing about it in near pornographic detail? From here on out, I'll send weekly reports from the trenches about who's moving on up (Note: I reserve the right to use the term "Freak" liberally. Athletic freaks, freaks of cock, freaky deaky girls, freaks who piss me off--nothing's off limits. Ah, fuck, we all know I'll probably just end up writing about people who piss me every time). Let's see where this goes:

Specimen #1:

Jordan Crawford

Ok, Jordan Crawford may sound like fegolicious, teeny-bopping Aaron Carter wannabe. But who is he really? Well, he's the baaaaad man who eviscerated Lebron James at LBJ's own camp. Unfortunately, we'll never be able to rub ourselves to the Zapruder film of the slam, as Nike has destroyed all traces of the event, like some sort of Men in Black.

I'm a little surprised at Nike's short-sightedness on this. What, they didn't realize that by making a big deal out of the dunk, and confiscating all evidence, Crawford's feat would take on Digglerian proportions (really NSFW)? I realize that he's called King James, but this isn't actual fucking regicide. Would having some footage of the Chosen One getting dunked on really damage his legacy that badly? You know what hurts his cred even more? Building an entire ad campaign around cha man and the man of a thousand faces, only to have Bron Bron not even make the finals. We may never see the dunk in question, so I made the mixtape to watch in its stead, sure it's not a perfect replacement, but it's sure to go over better than the famous Fresh Prince Aunt Viv swap. (Edit: That first dunk is the definition of a Video Game Dunk. I can't even do that shit in NBA 2k9's dunk contest functionality).

New Prototype #2
Greg Jones - FB, Jacksonville Jaguars *Former RB at FSU

Full disclosure, Greg Jones hasn't really done anything special this week. I was just watching some of his videos in gathering material for this post, and I thought that he needed a shout-out. The big guy was patient zero for the term "Pumpkin Shoulders". He looks like a mix between Scott Steiner and the Black guy from Northeastern's Ultimate team. Unfortunately, he made the switch to FB in coming to the NFL, and nothing's really been heard of him since. Sure, he is one of the best FB's in the League, but that's like saying you're the hottest girl at Tufts. A true 6 becomes a 9 like that. I love power runners, after all I am the Tony Hunt of this blog, so enjoy the meast in his element:

Freaks and Geeks #3
The Fetus Bodies of Planet Fitness

Some trusted affiliates on the inside sent me this link. A little background for those too lazy to read a New York Times column: Planet Fitness is the real life equivalent of Average Joe's from Dodgeball, a gym built on the "We love you just the way you are" ethos. Deeming its confines a "Judgment Free Zone," Planet Fitness is designed for the people who love the concept of getting in shape more than the actual process.

Some of their rules, such as prohibiting lifters from dropping weights, are pretty standard. But others, such as the ban on grunting or weights over 60 pounds, are just downright ridiculous. Whats more, based on the article, it sounds as though Planet Fitness denizens are indoctrinated with the idea that it's bad to be big. To be too cut or too strong is a primal character flaw to these people. This flips the very idea of going to the gym on its head. So if the end result of legitimately lifting weights is mocked, then what is the end game these lightweight babys are looking for? This "gym" just doesn't make any sense.

And for those of you who think that the New York Times article is an isolated case built on hyperbole, my source on the inside says this is not the case. In his first few months at Planet Lightweight, not only has he been accosted for making too much noise while lifting a rather pedestrian weight (read: 40 pound bench.), but he's taken part in their Pizzeria Uno's giveaways. Yes, you read that right jortsfans, they give away pieces of Uno's in the gym. What's next, Milkshake water coolers? Fucking Cookie Dough Sport vending machines? Oh, I get it, you want to make this a reality.

Stay Small, Planet Fatness. (Edit: I was just kidding about the 40 pound bench. It was more like 60).