The Northern Ireland golfer is rumoured to be about to sign to a deal to join Tiger Woods in the Nike team, in a deal worth $250 million (€191 million) over 10 years. It is thought that Nike are anxious to sign the 23-year-old clean cut professional as soon as possible, after cutting all ties with Lance Armstrong in the wake of his much-publicised doping scandal. But new photo evidence suggests Rory McIlroy is harbouring a dark secret; that he is in fact the former King of Pop Michael Jackson in disguise.
Photos obtained by The Codologist this morning – taken with a telescopic lens at the BMW Masters last week – seem to suggest McIlroy is in fact the allegedly deceased pop entertainer simply wearing a hat and achieving golfing results that pitch him at the peak of professional achievment as number 1 in the world. He can clearly also be seen sporting a diamond-encrusted ‘Pop Glove’ and has belied his disguise by moon-walking and speaking in a fay, church-mouse tone at interviews. We asked our readers to comment on the photos:
I think it’s him. He’s got all that money after all. And he hardly got it off playing GOLF! I mean, the ball just goes in, and you take it out again. Even if you could say, sell the winning ball, who would want it? You were hitting it all day with a club – it’s not going to be in great condition. It’s a ridiculous waste of time, golf. I’m a croquet man myself.
It’s definitely him. I had a sleep over at Michael’s Neverland ranch when I was 5 and he absolutely molested me on the golf course, in a game of golf. He’s no slouch with a sand-wedge and he does this awesome backflip followed by a point ‘n’ grab when he get’s a hole-in-one which is nearly always.
When I used to look at Rory McIlroy’s cold eyes on telly I thought “he can’t be a real human, I’ll just bet he’s someone else – possibly a tormented pop weirdo – who faked their own death and gone into hiding in plain sight”. Now that I see the photos I am pleased to have been 100% correct. I wish I had gambled on it instead of swapping my dog and the keys to the car I live in for a half bottle of Workin’ Dog which had some sick and a fag butt in it.
Formerly of the Ford Mondeo with no wheels on corner by the postoffice near the blue Supermacs, Athlone