You can tell he’s from Finland, because his skin is somewhere between translucent and transparent.
This fellow should really take up dynamite juggling or tarantula wrangling or alcoholism or some other more wholesome activity.
Pretty soon we’ll be restricted to trying to run sleds into trees and driving fast on black ice to get our kicks. All the girls will be wearing clothes and sneezing on you. Summer’s over. We’ll be able to amuse ourselves for a while by fashioning snowmen in pornographic poses, and throwing snowballs at cars, but it’s much harder to light the fuses on your home-brew explosives when you’re drunk and wearing mittens, instead of just drunk like in the summer.
Well, look on the bright side: when the ice on the pond gets to be 1/8″ thick, we can go skating at night.
About ten minutes ago in dog years, this sort of tumble was strictly for movie stunt men. Now they’ve married a bouncy house on steroids and a crane, and everyone that’s got nerve enough to try it can fall with style. I humbly offer my marketing skills to help sell the thing to the masses: You’ve got to add a whoopee cushion sound to the big bag when they land on it. You’ll be richer than Disney in no time.
Now we go to parking lots to see Red Bull pester, well, us.
Ah well, no one’s forcing you to drink that elixir they’ve got that tastes like a suck on Beelzebub’s couch cushions. You can just stand there and watch the monkeys on the unicycles juggling the guy on the motorcycle getting nowhere fast.
He’s got mad skillz, it’s true, but he’s still no match for a blue-hair in a Crown Vic who throws their door open too quickly after parallel parking.