An ongoing chronicle of the very ugliest people and things the NBA has to offer.

That there is Pero Antic. Pero is a huge man who joined the NBA after being excavated, in 2013, from a mysterious rune-filled cave in the mystical lost kingdom of Macedonia. He's developed into a valuable two-way contributor for the Atlanta Hawks, leveraging his ample, fleshy, sickly pale rump in the defensive paint and spacing the floor with a serviceable three-point set shot. His Hawks were eliminated Saturday night. Pero Antic is back on the streets.

Here is a picture of Pero eating a lightbulb:

No one knows exactly why Pero Antic eats lightbulbs. He speaks only in the language of Cthulhu, and only rarely at that. He responds to direct questions with an echoing, booming laugh and a cold stare. What is certain, however, is that his soul is as vile and dark as the bottommost pit of hell.


When Antic isn't handling the pill with the deft touch of a crafty guard, he spends much of his time wandering ominously through various Juggalo events, emitting the sweet rancid scent of death and passing off various toxic household chemicals as mild psychedelics, for unknowable personal fulfillment.

Here is a picture of Pero Antic squeezing a man to death for no reason whatsoever.


Note the malevolence in Pero's expression as his victim's soul is transferred via the chanting of his many acolytes into the swirling apocalyptic void at Antic's very center.

Pero's translucent complexion is maintained via a habit of never venturing out of doors during the day because he is either undead or wanted by Interpol or (most probably) both. You will notice that he is covered by tattoos, but it would be wise to avoid observing them too closely: they are written in the black language of Mordor and also tell an intricate story of his criminal history in Siberia, where he was known as Oh God No Put Down That Razor Blade NOOOOOOOO!!!! Knowing in any detail the specifics of his obscene body art would both shatter your mind and sentence you to a cruel, gruesome death at Pero's massive, gnarled, many-knuckled hands.

Here is a picture of Pero surging out of the floor like the T1000 to drag Marc Gasol into the inferno. Also there is a basketball there.


If you see Pero Antic on the streets, first of all, you're probably as good as dead. Run. Start running. He may look like just another drug-crazed vagrant, or even an escaped circus freak show, and he is those things, but he's also, like, seven feet tall. Imagine a man that size chasing you with murder in his eyes. Then imagine him crab-walking upside-down with blood pouring out of his mouth, wailing like a banshee and skittering after you like an oversized version of that head-spider from The Thing. Then snap out of your imagination to see Antic doing exactly that, and submit to the shrieking terror. I TOLD YOU TO RUN WHY AREN'T YOU RUNNING?!

Here is the last thing you will ever see: