I don’t read the daily newspaper near as much as I used to. At some point I realized that the daily news could make me feel good or it could make me feel bad, but there was almost nothing I could do about it. So without ever making a conscious decision, I subconsciously decided that I could better spend my time taking care of my family, enjoying my friends, and battering myself with massive amounts of metal.
So, basically, I became one of those jaded, self-absorbed people I used to detest.
But every now and then, without any rhyme or reason, I’ll check out the daily paper here in Seattle — which I did yesterday. And I found so many ass-ripping stories that if I were a religious person, I’d think the gods were sending me a signal — that it’s time for another installment of “That’s Metal!”, where we write about shit that provokes that exclamation, even though it’s not music. Not quite the magnitude of the burning bush, but still, enough to get me pounding the keyboard.
Most of today’s installment isn’t about “metal” things that inspire admiration. It’s mainly about people who engage in brain-dead activities that remind us of stage-divers who end their acrobatics with a face-plant into the concrete. You wince, but you still gotta throw some horns in honor of the sheer insanity, while also hoping that those people don’t turn out to be breeders.
And to top it off, our daily news involved stories about scrotum damage. Admit it, there are few things better than scrotal humor, except possibly vaginal humor. And as a bonanza, we found some vaginal humor, too. (yeah, all the details are after the jump, of course . . . .)
Every year in Pamplona, Spain, bulls are set loose in the narrow, cobble-stoned streets and hundreds of thrill-seekers run from them. Of course, said thrill-seekers have spent the previous night getting completely blasted on sangria and other intoxicants. Every year, various fuckers are gored, trampled, and otherwise violated by demented bulls that outweigh them by orders of magnitude. This shit has been going on in Pamplona since the 16th century.
The bulls don’t know that at the end of their run, they will be executed in “bull-fights” by trained matadors. But they act like they know. Because they go for the scrotum. From a story in yesterday’s Seattle Times:
A man was gored in an arm and two others were injured in a fast-paced penultimate running of the bulls at Spain’s San Fermin festival Tuesday, officials said.
. . . Renowned bullfighter Julian Lopez Escobar, also known as “El Juli,” also was discharged from a hospital after having been gored in the scrotum during a bullfight.
Those still hospitalized were a 37-year-old Pamplona resident, well known locally for running the course every year and who was injured Sunday; a 20-year-old British man gored Friday; and an 18-year-old Australian who suffered 3 fractured vertebrae on July 7, the regional government said.
. . . A 22-year-old American, who had received a similar injury Wednesday when a horned juvenile cow tore his scrotum, has been released from hospital, authorities said.
Ricardo Brufau Giner, 21, of Barcelona, was gored in the buttock and taken for surgery. Fernando Garayoa Platero, 52, of Pamplona, was recovering from a skull injury after being caught and lofted in the air. And an unidentified 30-year-old Spaniard was recovering from abdominal bruising after getting trampled, the government said.
After reading this story, I had the following thoughts: First, this is the grand motherfucker of all mosh pits. Second, Cattle Decapitation should have provided the soundtrack for the run. Third, how can you have a bull rip your scrotum and then leave the hospital a few days later? Could it be because their sacks were empty to begin with?
Fourth, from a completely genetic perspective, we’re lucky some of these fuckers suffered scrotal injury because it’s less likely their brain-dead line will be propagated into the future. Fifth, if you’re a bull on your last day on earth, what better way to go out than by scrotum-goring a representative of the species that’s going to cut short your pleasant days of cow-fucking? And sixth, “shit, that’s metal!”
This story almost speaks for itself (again, from the always tongue-in-cheek Seattle Times):
POLSON, Mont. —A Lake County jury convicted a transient of stealing a house in foreclosure by removing “for sale” signs, changing the locks and filing strange paperwork with the county claiming he purchased the house from Yahweh.
Jurors deliberated for less than an hour Tuesday morning before convicting Brent Arthur Wilson of theft, deceptive practices and tampering with public records or information. He faces up to 30 years in prison when he is sentenced Aug. 19.
. . .Prosecutor Jessica Cole-Hodgkinson told the jury Monday that authorities found journals belonging to Wilson that detailed a plan to steal up to 100 homes in foreclosure.
. . . “The prospect of claiming and fulfilling my 100-title vision is growing stronger,” read one. “Took down one of two Realtor signs,” says another entry. “The other needs a tool to dig it up.” Many of the journal entries appear to be addressed to “the creator, Yahweh.”
“Wow. You surely have blessed me with some wonderful opportunities,” [a police witness] read from the journals, which referred to a property with a “million-dollar value” that “seems to be waiting for me to claim it. Wow on wow.”
Wilson refused attempts by District Judge Kim Christopher to appoint legal counsel for him. He didn’t participate in his trial and offered no defense. He read from an IRS document Monday and was reading the Bible during Tuesday’s court session.
If only God had provided better financing, this dude would still be a free man. Wow on wow.
Yeah, this one is from The Seattle Times, too:
TOLEDO, Ohio —An Ohio dog warden says a German shepherd named Sarge is one tough pup after surviving six gunshots to his head, neck and chest.
Witnesses tell police in Toledo that the dog’s owner and another man took turns shooting the dog with a pistol while he howled in his cage.
Lucas County dog warden Julie Lyle says the bullets remain lodged inside Sarge but that he needs only painkillers and antibiotics. She says the dog was up, around, eating and drinking Tuesday.
Sarge’s owner is due in court next week on charges of cruelty to animals and discharging a firearm. He told officers that the dog had bitten him and that he was dangerous.
Holy fuck! Six gunshots, with the bullets still lodged inside him, and good ol’ Sarge still has a healthy appetite. That’s fucking metal! I sure know what I’d feed him — the finely diced motherfuckers who filled him with lead while he howled in his cage.
Don’t be surprised, this one’s also from the Seattle Times. You may wonder, does the damned paper ever report any real news? To which I would answer: With stories like this, who gives a fuck?
BISHOP, Texas — The odds that Joan Ginther would hit four Texas Lottery jackpots for a combined $21 million are astronomical. Mathematicians say the chances are as slim as 1 in 18 septillion — that’s 18 and 24 zeros.
On a $50 scratch-off ticket bought in this rural farming community, Ginther won $10 million last month in her biggest windfall yet. But it was the fourth winning ticket in Texas for the 63-year-old former college professor since 1993, when Ginther split an $11 million jackpot and became the most famous native in Bishop history
. . . At the Times Market where Ginther bought her last two winning tickets, the highway gas station is fast becoming a pilgrimage for unlucky lottery losers. Lines stretch deep past a $5.98 bin of Mexican movie DVDs, and a woman from Rhode Island called last week asking to buy tickets from the charmed store through the mail.
She was told that was illegal. The woman called back to plead again anyway.
. . . Ginther has never spoken publicly about her lotto winnings and could not be found for comment. She now lives in Las Vegas after moving away from Bishop, and an answering-machine message for a telephone number listed at her address says not to leave a message.
I’m really not sure that being this lucky is “metal”. I think “metal” is probably more like selling your kids’ toys to buy more beer (and losing lottery tickets). But I’m including this blurb in today’s round-up in honor of Ms. Ginther’s decision to get the fuck out of Bishop, Texas, and go someplace where the house odds are better than 1 in 18 septillion.
This one’s a story from our own neck of the woods, sort of. It happened near Blaine, Washington — and it, too, was reported in yesterday’s Seattle Times:
BLAINE — The driver of a FedEx tractor-trailer rig lost control of his truck on Interstate 5 after choking on some spicy pork rinds, jackknifed and came to a stop in a muddy ditch, says a Washington State Patrol trooper.
Trooper Keith Leary says 42-year-old Edward Sutherland of Mount Vernon suffered minor injuries Monday. Leary says the man was driving his rig southbound from Blaine when he began choking and veered from the southbound lanes across the median into northbound lanes.
The trooper says the truck didn’t hit any vehicles. Leary says the driver will be cited for driving with wheels off the roadway.
I’ve always thought pork rinds were metal, but never more so than when I read this story. What if this dude had killed a few families on his detour across the lane of oncoming traffic? What would you put on their headstones? “Porked”?
And although I’m not an expert on Washington traffic laws, I have to admit I never knew that driving with wheels off the roadway was illegal. That’s really gonna put a crimp in my style. At least I can take comfort, as a driver, in the knowledge that stuffing my gob with pork rinds to the point of choking is completely lawful.
Okay, last story. And I swear on the graves of my sainted ancestors that this one, like all the others in this post, came from a single day’s edition of . . . THE SEATTLE TIMES! And amazingly, it also happened near Blaine, Washington, just like the last one.
Federal charges were filed Monday in U.S. District Court in Seattle against a Canadian man for allegedly running the border in a stolen van because he got in the wrong lane.
Trevor Doyle told U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents that he was just two weeks out of a Canadian jail on car theft charges when he stole a van and tried to drive it to White Rock, B.C., a town close to the U.S. Point of Entry at Blaine. Doyle got in the wrong lane, however, and wound up at the border crossing, with Border Patrol officers on either side of his car asking why he was traveling to the U.S.
Doyle, who said he didn’t have a driver’s license, reportedly swore at the officers when they asked him to turn off the car, and then tore through the checkpoint, according to charges filed Monday in U.S. District Court. An agent fired two shots at the car as it sped away, although Doyle wasn’t hit.
He was arrested a few hours later near the abandoned van in Blaine.
Doyle reportedly told agents that he didn’t blame the officer for shooting, because he was driving the van at him, according to the complaint. “Doyle said that he and the (Customs and Border Patrol) agent were now ‘even’ because, ‘he could have killed me, and I could have killed him,’ ” the complaint alleges.
I think this is definitely metal, in a grossly retarded kind of way. This dude is fresh out of jail on a car-theft rap, and what does he do? He steals a van. Fucking jail probably didn’t give him any cab fare. What was he supposed to do for a ride?
And then, as he makes his getaway, he drives straight into a border crossing filled with law enforcement looking for Canadian terrorists. But, at that point, does he realize that he’s just completely shit out of luck? Hell no! He floors it and barrels through the checkpoint.
And then, when he’s eventually apprehended, he becomes philosophical, using the same kind of sophisticated reasoning that caused him to rip off a van almost immediately after serving his time for car theft: “We’re even now.” “He could have killed me and I could have killed him.”
To quote from the immortal Blazing Saddles, that there is some authentic frontier gibberish. Same kind of logic that “El Juli” probably had in mind when he limped out of that Pamplona hospital with a gored scrotum.
If you’ve stuck with me this long today, it’s only fair that I give you a cookie. So here’s a pro-shot video of Faith No More from their July 8 concert in Portugal, opening the night with a cover of the theme song to Midnight Cowboy, followed by a ripping rendition of “From Out of Nowhere”. Kind of a random selection, but I’ve been hooked on Faith No More since longer than some of you have been alive, and July 8 was my birthday, so what the fuck.
P.S. You thought we forgot about our promise of vaginal humor. Nope.
Here you go: The Vaginal Couch: