Sometimes, we see things. Things that can’t be unseen. Things that pique our curiosity. Things that speak more than their respective thousand words, that provoke the possibility of extrapolating further truths from an in-depth investigation. Which Jen and I will faithfully execute, because we’re basically obsessing over this image right now. Presenting our very first Runnin’ Scared PhotoProbe.
Jen Doll: I’m guessing the weather is in the mid-70s in this photo, which was culled from the Sports Illustrated vault.
Foster Kamer: I believe this is what they refer to as the “Magic Hour.” And honestly, when else does one mind-meld with a naked tribalist but the “magic hour,” exactly?
JD: Naked tribalist? I think that I know that dude. In fact, I may have dated him in the late 90s. Before he got chubby.
FEK: Well, he’s clearly “made it” since then, now that he’s mind-melding with Tiger Woods. He might actually be mind-melding sex tips with Tiger, too. How does this make you feel? Regretful? Violated? Famous?
JD: Foster, I always feel violated. But also famous, and like that Subway sandwich was not enough lunch. May I draw your attention to the beauteous symmetry to this photo? How Tiger’s arm resembles an erect penis, for example? Topped with fluffy dog hair? I see homoerotic influences! I also see bacne.
FEK: I see symbolism. Actually, I just see a bad one-liner about the potential continuity between the second of three arms. Word. Let’s do this ish.
1. The Reflective Stripe.
FEK: Not entirely sure why I’m pointing this out, because it’s not reflective nor is it necessarily fashionable. In fact, it’s pretty arbitrary. But I also see it as maybe a Hawthorne-esque precursor of sorts. Like he will wear that arbitrary gray stripe in his soul forever, and it’s lurking in the moment.
JD: He wishes his dick was that long. But, that shirt is so clean!
FEK: Sorry, I’m still getting used to someone with the last name “Doll” talking about big dicks. Though the clean shirt closer helped. And yeah, kinda like his life: big dick stripe on a clean shirt.
2. The Hearty Man Boob.
JD: The nipple is an eye to the soul, some say.
FEK: Oh yeah? And what’s this guy’s look like?
JD: Kinda hairy. With a whiff of B.O. to it.
FEK: Okay. You definitely dated homie. Don’t front. Who is he?
JD: I cannot tell a lie, his name is Tiger Woods. And he wears a B-cup.
FEK: Wait. So you did both of these guys? Or both of these guys are named Tiger Woods?
JD: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Number 3.
3. The Bling
FEK: This man is obviously some kind of mystic.
JD: Now, if one was a naked tribalist, you’d wonder about the money… But I think that trinket is made of pure ganja.
FEK: See, I knew I recognized him from somewhere. This guy delivers; I have him in my phone under “Dino the Dog Walker.” You call him up and tell him how many “dogs” you’d like “walked.” But again, why has Tiger sought him out? To cop an eighth?
4. The Lady Reveler
JD: She’s has brought them together to bring her dead Yorkie back to life through the power of the ancient tribal forehead-clap.
FEK: Ah, the Dead Teacup Yorkie pelt. Can you still pick these up at the Brooklyn Flea? Whatever tribal ritual these two are engaged in, she’s been waiting for it to happen for quite some time, she even came In Uniform, and she’s shining in the rapture of this moment as much as one possible could. I imagine this is, for her, A Big Thing.
JD: She IS radiant. As anyone would be who’d recently had chinchilla fur glued to her heaving boobages atop a delightful tribal-accented muumuu. I adore the matching lipstick, and chin thrust skyward.
FEK: Hear that noise? It’s the Talbots catalog casting agency calling.
JD: Her middle name is Twinset. But her last name is Gustavson.
5. The Sage
FEK: Who is this person? Like, really, seriously for a moment: What the fuck is happening?
JD: It’s Dino and he’s trying to remember where he put the pot. But all that thinking is graying him ’round the temples. Clairol alert!
FEK: How does Tiger Woods end up at the strangest backyard luau in the history of backyard luau’s? It has to be either that, or a B-Side Dharma Initiative promo shot, for that one time they spent all their money wrangling celebrities.
JD: I feel like it’s a Jimmy Buffett concert. The fat guy just got off the Wet Willy, see the droplets on his shoulders? A frightening experience all around, he consoles himself by crushing Tiger’s fleshy nostrils.
FEK: Either that, or they’re bro’ing out over the song they’ve been screaming for him to play all night.
JD: I love that song!
JD: (I mean, not for its lyrics, but for its masterful harmonies.)
JD: …is not aging well around the neck.
FEK: Is not aging well around the… hairline. See what I did there? You thought I was going to say dick.
JD: You’re so skillful! Is not aging well around the reflective stripe.
FEK: Is… still the greatest golfer in the world, and honestly, couldn’t have ever really felt too far from this at any point over the last five or so months.
JD: Even though it was taken in 2002, this photo captures a fundamental moment in the life of a young perv.
FEK: Enlighten me.
JD: I think we have a sexual harassment policy. Which has nothing to do with any of this!!!!! Wait, we’re gonna edit this thing, right?
FEK: That’s what Tiger said. About his dick. See what I did there?
JD: I thought he said, “Take my name off your phone”…
FEK: DID HE, JEN?
JD: I like that lady’s earrings in the background.