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Category: parkour

Hey, Remember When Parkour Was a Thing?

Hey, Remember When Parkour Was a Thing?

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Why, it seems like only yesterday. The Intertunnel was awash with videos of scrawny, short-ish men who lost their shirt running around and bouncing off the walls out in the landscape. A more cynical man than myself might have equated parkour skills with simply running away from the cops, or ringing a doorbell and beating it. Hell, any circus in the sixties had ten of these guys getting out of a little car. But parkour was definitely seen as more than that by the Intertunnel. It was the Ferrari of clown cars, surely.

Well, it appears that parkour isn’t A THING anymore. I’m sure tens of tens of people are still falling unceremoniously off ledges, but the the concept has lost its pizzazz.

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We Can Rebuild Him — We Have The Technology

We Can Rebuild Him — We Have The Technology

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We have the capability to make the world’s first bionic man. Toby Segar will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster, but he’ll still be a ginger. I’m sorry, nothing can fix that. It’s genetics, there’s nothing we can do. Unless you want to dye your hair every five minutes, but that seems like way too much work. I think it would be much easier to follow through with the whole six-million-dollar man deal, and forget your debilitating gingerness. We can rebuild what’s broken, and make you better overall, but we can’t make you any less of a flaming ginger.

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GERONIMO, etc. etc.

GERONIMO, etc. etc.

[Warning: Vaguely salty language.]

Some say it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s your mom finding out that you ruined your brand new pair of sneakers. It sort of ties in with the whole “are you wearing clean underwear?” routine. If anything ever happened to me and I wasn’t wearing clean underwear, I was in for a beating. I could by lying half lifeless in the gutter and my mother would probably yell at me about my dirty undies.

When they finally find me all mangled on the side of the road, everyone should be glad that I’m wearing anything other than my dirty undies.

We Need A Ruling Here, Ref

We Need A Ruling Here, Ref


I don’t know whether these fellows are douche-bros or bro-douches. Perhaps they’re brah-dudes, or dude-brahs. Or maybe they’re homie-brosephs. Unfortunately, they aren’t wearing any popped collars in the video. Popped collars are like tree rings. You can cut down a tree, count the growth rings on the stump, and figure out how old a tree is — er, was. You can generally count the popped collars on a broseph to see what fraternity he might qualify for, or what kind of jorts he might purchase in the future. It’s like fingerprints.

So I’m not sure of any of that, but I am sure that jumping over a railing over and over is not parkour, and that hat is not a fedora. So the title “Fedora Tricks and Parkour” might need a little tweaking, dudes-guys. That hat is a trilby, which is right up there with popped collars on the dude-bro checklist of annoying affectations. Word to the (un)wise: Indiana Jones wears a fedora. Kevin Federline wears a trilby. Do the math.

(Sent along by Gerard at American Digest, who has the good sense to wear a porkpie hat, like a normal person would)