When Ron Artest was a rookie with the Chicago Bulls, he applied for a job at Circuit City to get the employee discount. If you know anything about economics and professional basketball salaries, this is a lot like dismembering only dwarf prostitutes for the plastic bag savings. It's like one of those dwarf prostitutes escaping without swallowing to save money on sperm bank fees. If Ron Artest was an economist, he would immediately quit to lower his business card expenses.
After he joined the Indiana Pacers, Ron started a side job promoting a girl group whose only hit was a Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam cover. He nagged his coach for a month off to pursue this and got suspended for two games. Economically speaking, this the same as taking $200,000 out of the bank to raise money-eating beetles. And then investing $800,000 in a money-eating beetle race pay-per-view spectacular featuring just Cult Jam.
Ron is known for coming to practice in a bathrobe, picking a fight with Pat Riley and breaking a TV camera at Madison Square Garden. But he became a maniac legend during the incredible Pacers-Pistons brawl of 2004. In the final seconds of the game, Detroit's Ben Wallace went up for a shot. Ron Artest, with a 15 point lead, punched him in the back of the head. It was such a pointless gesture of violence that elsewhere, Hitler's corpse shot its arm up for a high five. Ben Wallace understandably turned around and shoved him. Then, in a womanly display of dislogic, Ron Artest ran away to seductively recline on the scorer's table. I guess he was trying to end the argument by skipping straight to the make-up sex.
While chaos erupted, Ron stole a broadcast headset, presumably to warn fans that generic lithium doesn't work as well as name-brand lithium. A fan throws a Diet Coke on him, wordlessly offering him a low calorie way to fuck himself. Ron bursts into action. He might flee when a 240-pound basketball center shoves him, but he will fuck up a normal-sized Diet Coke drinker! Or at least he would have if he didn't charge into the stands and attack the wrong guy.
The stadium united together to pull Ron Artest back to the court while random fluids showered on and around him. One brave idiot in a Pistons jersey strutted up to Ron and got punched out before he could even decide on a threatening pose. To that guy's credit, there's no way he could have known that Ron Artest would do something so predictable after doing so much crazy.
Rae Carruth was never known for his intellect. He thinks condoms are for making Hennessy popsicles in the freezer. The only reason Rae Carruth graduated third grade is because his ex wife was teaching the class. He started sleeping with Asian women because none of the kids he had could show him how to use chop sticks. So when Cherica Adams told Rae she was pregnant with his baby, he dealt with it in the smartest way he knew how: an easily solvable murder.
In 1999, Rae invited Cherica to a movie and they left in separate cars. Three men pulled up next to her and opened fire. Carruth blocked her escape with his own car, and after Cherica survived the attack, she wrote it all down. Rae and the three men were arrested, and Rae defended himself by saying it was all a botched drug deal, not a murder to avoid paying child support. In response, the judge said exactly what I would have said, only sarcastically. "OK, then you're free to go, Rae, but you have to come back if she dies." It was the classic Hope-The-Judge-Is-Retarded legal gambit.
Cherica did tragically die, so Rae dealt with it the smartest way he knew how: fleeing. But when you only have one good leg and a brain that thinks holding your breath is birth control, you're not going to get far. He was probably apprehended when he stopped to read a speed limit sign. Even if he made it to ground, you can Mapquest Rae Carruth and it will print out a trail of single mothers.
Rae was given 18 to 24 years in prison, or as many of his 5-year-olds explained to him: 157,784 to 210,379 Sesame Streets. These days, Rae Carruth is so busy with family visitations that he's barely had time to get the men on his cell block pregnant.
Dennis Rodman is such an inhuman creature that he has to sit next to Carrot Top to convince adventurers that he's not a hobgoblin. He has so many piercings that metal detectors think he's kidding when he tries to take his dick through them. His colorful hairstyles have inspired thousands of gay children to become landscapers. All that being said, he was really good at basketball. Dennis Rodman could pull a rebound through a garden hose with his mouth.
One day, someone handed Dennis Rodman a script for a movie called
... and said, "Yes." Simon Sez is the first thing many writers, producers, actors and crew members will think of when Satan asks them if they know why they're here. Please enjoy this battle scene featuring Dennis Rodman as a fucking idiot and Dane Cook as a ... sigh ... velociraptor.
Mike Danton, born Mike Jefferson, played hockey for the St. Louis Blues until 2004, when he tried to hire a police dispatcher to kill his agent. He probably couldn't have masterminded his own capture any better if he broke into a police station to film himself having sex with a rape kit. After his arrest, it became clear that everything in Mike Danton's life was insane.
The agent he tried to have killed, David Frost, seemed to be running some kind of nude boy hockey cult. He was charged with multiple counts of bizarre sex crimes and allegedly made Mike's younger brother dance naked on a table for hours, which is the kind of activity that really displays the inadequacy of the word "allegedly." It gets weirder. Here's a skin-crawling transcript from a conversation Mike had with his agent while he was in prison:
Danton: Listen, I gotta go now.
Frost: Do you love me?
Danton (whispering): Yeah.
Frost: Say it.
Danton: I love you.
Frost: Do you?
Ugh. Those two have phone sex like captive pandas. Come on, Mike. You were passionate enough about your boyfriend that you hired a hitman to kill him and now he has to nag you for sweet talk? You dead fish, I bet you hold so still during sex that David Frost's ass has pressure ulcers.
As more details emerged, we learned that David Frost convinced Mike to change his last name and cut off contact with his parents. It's a decision every Canadian boy has to go through: stay at home or run off with the hockey agent who made your brother dance naked on a table. Later, Mike confessed that he never wanted his molesty agent dead -- he was actually trying to assassinate his own father. Watching Mike and David make up stories is like watching a cat try to bury its shit on a wood floor. No one except Mike and David will ever know the whole story. All we know is that there was a lot of deceit, intrigue and naked children. Even if one of them were to tell his story to a priest, that priest would just demand to know how they found his secret unpublished novel.
Over the years, the term "bad boy" has lost a lot of meaning. Any ill-tempered person with a fruity job like food criticism or cake decorating is called The Bad Boy of That Fanciful Activity. Tonya Harding, on the other hand, was a no-bullshit bad boy of figure skating. She was always late to competitions, couldn't keep a coach for more than three emotional breakdowns, and then there was that one time she involved herself in a lunatic plot to
After that, she released a sex tape of her wedding night that made the inventor of the camcorder say, "Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds." This was actually the greatest accomplishment of Harding's career. Hospitals still use the Tonya Harding sex tape when they need to pump several stomachs at once. Animal control officers use it to get unwanted pets to euthanize themselves. Morticians use it to soften dead bodies, but quickly change the subject if you ask them why.
Tonya once got drunk and threw a hubcap at her boyfriend. She escaped a probably made up abduction by driving her truck into a tree. She beat up Paula Jones in a celebrity boxing match. Her autobiography was originally written in Gorilla. She has made up so many insane stories to the police that when she calls 911, the dispatcher pretends to be a Chinese restaurant. Tonya Harding's back hair keeps nine Clark County wig factories in business.
Tonya is now a professional boxer, but judging by her size, she could easily go pro in gravy drinking or shipping ballast. This maniac looks like an "after" picture in a medical study about peanut allergy deaths.
Viacheslav Datsik is a Russian MMA fighter who goes into the cage to kick ass and give a fuck -- and he is all out of fuck. He leads with his face like he knows something about faces that we don't. He throws flying two-legged kicks that gravity barely knows what to do with. He thinks the somersault is the end result of thousands of years of martial science. He throws attacks so unrelated to his opponent's location that you'd swear he stepped on a bee hive. He fights like an octopus falling down electrified stairs.
Early in his career, Datsik's tantrum-fu won him four fights including an epileptic knockout over future UFC Heavyweight Champion Andrei Arlovsky. Most of the time, though, he flailed hilariously while the sanity was pounded out of his head. Then, after six straight losses from 2001 to 2003, he vanished. By itself, this wasn't a big deal. In the Russian language, the word for "vanish" is the same word they use for "ordinary" and "boring." People disappear so often in Russia that its topsoil is 40 percent human teeth. The most common high school mascot in Russia is the Armed Kidnapper.
Datsik stayed vanished for four years while he hatched some kind of plot too awesome for us sane people to understand. He reappeared in 2007 to execute a daring heist of one mobile phone from a store in St. Petersburg. His incredible strength also allowed him to steal a pile of cash worth nearly 250 American dollars. After police completed the difficult job of arresting him, the prison psychiatrist completed the easy job of declaring Datsik insane. He was locked away in a high security mental hospital. Three years later, they moved this superhumanly violent lunatic to a minimum security clinic. See if you can spot where they made a mistake.
Datsik tore through a goddamn barbed wire fence with his bare hands, stole a cell phone and escaped to Norway. While there, he dressed like a Nazi and arranged a meeting with reporters to announce that he was racist and not much else. This was to set up the next part of his plan: handing a loaded gun to immigration officials and requesting political asylum. Viacheslav Datsik is the answer to the question, "What's the worst thing that could happen?"
So now, after multiple concussions, a four year disappearance, a diagnosis of schizophrenia, three years in a hospital for the criminally insane, a screaming jog through a barbed wire fence, a Nazi costume and the world's most ridiculous request for political asylum, he gets extradited back to Russia and the psychiatrists now declare him, get this,
Dan Quinn staged his own personal war against drugs and lost. In his hundreds of batshit crazy YouTube rants, he brags about a tackle he made at Notre Dame: the greatest stop in college football history. I don't want to say he's overselling it, but when he finally shows the tape, he's one of 11 people jumping on the fullback. If they made a movie about it, Dan's character would be named "Football Player in Pile." Dan Quinn's Hall of Fame moment sounds like the caterer for
After single-handedly conquering collegiate football, Dan went on to an unsuccessful career as a mixed martial artist. The head wounds from that, plus the methamphetamines, have left him with only one thing: stevia. Stevia is a type of sweetener that Dan Quinn uses to maintain his ordinary but very shirtless physique. It turns water into soapy water through a process Dan calls "cold fission." None of it makes any sense. The only thing I'm sure of is that Dan used the last of his money to invest in some bizarre artificial sweetener pyramid scheme. Also, Dan Quinn's artificial sweetener
For me, the special moments in his videos is when he stops to address only
In more than one video, Dan claims that this generous technique brought Chris and Karen to orgasm once a minute for over two hours. He never explains who Chris and Karen are, but they've got to be real. Otherwise, why would they have common first names? Dan probably just thinks we know them. "Oh,
Most women are looking for a man who's such a giving lover that he's literally offering it to anyone on the Internet. Luckily, Dan always ends his monologues about vaginas with an invitation to wrap yours around his probing fingers. Strangely, he never says what he's looking for in a woman. If I had to guess, I'd say he's on the kind of dry spell that has him asking petting zoo employees what kind of security they have at night.
Being a household name doesn't exactly make someone a role model.
Forget 'morale-boosters,' we'd rather have the money.
Trends among women trigger a level of contempt that's way beyond what is deserved.