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 . . . .) Continue reading »