Silly me, parkour doesn’t happen in forests. It’s the ultimate look at me sport, and showing off for squirrels isn’t nearly as much fun as running around a city. Cities have the correct infrastructure for grabbing on and climbing up. However, these gents trust railings installed forty years ago by the low bidder way more than I would.
I remember back when a college kid in comfortable shoes jumping over a couple of trash bins could merit a few million YouTube hits. Unfortunately, modern audiences are much more discerning. These days, to achieve equally ridiculous viewership the comfortable shoes must be abandoned for a skin tight, trademarked body suit.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. There is still something decidedly engaging about watching Peter Parkour hurl himself off of a building for the umpteenth time. But there will soon come a day when a spandex suit won’t cut it. Then it will be time for something much more extreme, or dare I say it, more xtreme. I predict the fall of Spiderman parkour, the rise of jetpack parkour, eventually making way for robot dinosaur parkour.
The future’s so bright my spider sense is tingling. Or maybe I just need some Gold Bond.
What a shame. Once they closed down Ringling Brothers, and Beatty-Cole, The Big Apple, and that sketchy carnival from the strip mall with the consumptive lion with dental problems, there was nothing for these stalwart lads to do except ride public transportation and annoy pedestrians retail, instead of boring them wholesale in a tent, as God and man intended. And with this much free time on their hands, and no place to show off their unique “running faster than persons who aren’t running” abilities, they’re all sure to find themselves at the absolute rock bottom of male humanity: sporting man-buns. I say bring back the circuses, and close the free-range-vegan-artisinal-candy-hookah-latte bar. The weirdo quotient is the same, but at least the circus leaves town once in a while.