Reader Dan V. is quickly becoming our go-to man for expertly crafted Photoshop work. Here, he shares three terrifying images.
Yes, but even Ralphie didn’t have such a dopey laugh.
I’m pretty sure the implication here is that Romeo Crennel is subpar. It’s not meant to be racist. But, if Dan was being racist, then Girls Gone Sports definitely approve.
Oh, that is fucking scary. I ain’t sleeping tonight.
Our man Dan V. comes through with another kickass photoshop– this one imagining what Pacman Jones’ wrestling debut on Thursday might look like. There have been rumblings that any wrestling on Pac’s part could violate his NFL contract. But Jones may figure that his bridges with the Titans are burned anyway, so he might as well cash a few checks before he moves into the crossbar hotel.
We can only wait and see if Pac actually makes it rain at his matches. However, in doing so, he would be edging dangerously close to infringing on the greatest wrestling gimmick of all time. One thing wrestlers don’t tolerate in their business is gimmick thieves. And who can blame them– drug addicts, spouse abusers, habitual criminals and serial killers are one thing, but gimmick thievery is a serious offense. [Update: reader Barry sends in this link to my favorite Million Dollar Man interview.]
The man in a wheelchair because of Jones’ alleged lawlessness is named Tommy Urbanski. Apparently, Urbanski was once “enhancement talent” (think perennial losers like Brooklyn Brawler or Special Delivery Jones) in the then-WWF. So now Jones is parlaying the notoriety obtained in Urbanski’s shooting into the career that Urbanski craved, but, presumably, couldn’t make it in. Wow. Urbanski must really hate Jones now. Here’s hoping that TNA money winds up in the pockets of Urbanski and the rest of the people Jones has crapped on in his life.
Recently, there’s been much some ado about Brady Quinn’s preposterous holdout, in which the draft’s #22 pick has yet to report to training camp because he and agent Tom Condon feel that Quinn deserves top-ten money.
And I think we can all say in unison: Fuck Brady Quinn. I feel like carrying a claw hammer around in my bag so I can brutally murder people on the subway. I feel like my taste and judgment should be respected to the point where I could euthanize freely without prosecution. But guess what? The world isn’t run by the way I feel about things, so the people who cut in line at clubs because they think they’re fucking special get to enjoy another day without their skulls turned inside out.
And you know who’s on board with me here? Our main man Peter King:
It isn’t just the front office that’s frustrated with Quinn. Players are usually business-will-be-business guys, but I got a sense a few of his teammates think Quinn is out of mind for not being in camp. And he shouldn’t expect a welcome mat whenever he arrives…
Compounding the problem is that Quinn did an autograph show in Cleveland earlier this summer and charged $75 per autographed photo. Talk about rubbing the locals the wrong way. That, combined with this ill-advised holdout, led one Browns insider to tell me the team wouldn’t be surprised when Quinn finally reported to training camp. There would probably be a segment of fans on hand that would boo him…
Bottom line: The Browns would love to serve up on a silver platter the quarterback job to this Ohio golden boy, but he’s probably within two or three days of getting so far behind, it would be hard for him to catch up and earn the starting job before midseason.
And you know what that means, NFL fans? It means several more weeks of THE CHARLIE FRYE EXPERIENCE.
In other words, bookies are already scrambling to find new numbers large enough to set the spread in Browns games. Can they cover eleventy? Doubt it.
But hey, outside of that autograph signing thing and missing his chance to become the starter right away, Brady’s at least a home-grown boy winning over the locals, right? Right?
Well, according to Cleveland native and longtime Browns fan Brian… no. Brian wrote us last weekend (July 27th, to be precise) to tell us of his encounter with Quinn (the veracity of which we of course cannot verify). But in the true spirit of Internet rumor-mongering, I include Brian’s lengthy email in near-entirety below, partially because it sounds plausible, but at least partly because I felt we should reward the first person to ever send us an email that was free from rampant grammatical errors, misspellings, and incoherent thought.
Having just turned 21 in February, this summer has been my first real exposure to the Cleveland bar scene. In a word: not that sweet. Regardless, last weekend I was at a popular place in the Warehouse District called the Blind Pig. My friend and I were checking out the skirt population (which was not that sweet either) when out of the corner of my eye I notice a pretty big dude with beautiful brown locks.
“Holy shit,” I tell my friend, “That’s Brady Quinn”
I walk towards him, politely stick out my hand and say “You’re Brady Quinn. Nice to meet you, man.”
Brady: “Uhhh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Me: “Dude…you’re Brady Quinn.”
Brady (laughing awkwardly): “Oh yeah well, uh, I get that all the time.”
Me: “Yeah, you get that all the time BECAUSE you’re Brady Quinn.”
Brady and his posse of Irish Catholic friends then walk away without saying another word. I don’t have even the slightest inkling of a doubt that it was Brady and that he’s a lying sack of 85 dollar per autograph signing piece of shit. My brother went to Notre Dame. My roommate is obsessed with the football team. I had been subject to more Brady Quinn stories/stats/info than I had ever desired, and that was BEFORE the Browns squandered a probable 2008 top-10 pick on him. The guy was about 6′4″ and visibly jacked under a loose fitting navy, gold and white Adidas tshirt (ND colors; Adidas also sponsors the football team). It was him.
I said this at the time of the draft, and this anecdote only reinforces that belief: Brady Quinn belongs in Cleveland as much as Michael Vick belongs in an animal hospital. The guy is a snobby pretty boy asshole with no concern for his fans or the town. Joe Thomas? The guy who gutted a fucking trout on ESPN during the draft? He’s a Cleveland Brown.
Also a Cleveland Brown? Charlie Frye. He exudes the quiet crappiness that the team and city have come to represent. Have fun this season, Cleveland.
(Thanks to reader Dan V. for the Photoshop.)
Reader Dan V. sends us this tender Michael Vick image. Kudos to you, Dan.
For your Friday cheerleader, here’s former Ravens cheerleader Stacy Kiebler, who is almost as cute as a litter of puppies, but not quite. Click here for more. Have a good weekend, kids.
