I went to NYC over labor day for my cousin's wedding. On Saturday, three of my cousins and I go to a random bar to watch the Clemson-UGA game (we all are UGA fans of varying degrees).
While there, we meet this UGA fan girl. She's smoking hot. After the game, I go with her and one of my non-groom cousins to another bar to drown our sorrows. This girl gets all flirty with my cousin, but then he went to the bathroom. As soon as he turns the corner, this girl grabs me, leans in, and starts making out with me.
He comes back, she stops. We all close our tabs and as we walk out she grabs each of our hands, leading us the few blocks to her apartment, and invites us both up. At this point, I'm worried this woman wants to keep it in the family, so to speak. I even made a rock/paper/scissors hand gesture to my cousin saying we should decide like men, but he was not having it. I don't know if he was down for the threesome or if he was confident he was getting her regardless. But I decided to get out of there and let my cousin have this crazy Yankee lady. The next day, our groom-cousin, upon hearing of this tale, ponders for a moment and asks, "Is that incest?"
What in the name of non-Alabamans everywhere should I have done in that situation? If I'm down for the threesome, is it still too much to do this with your cousin?
I don't think it's technically incest unless you and the cousin decide to penetrate each other in addition to your female companion. Then you've gone the Full Bama. Otherwise, you simply happen to be two naked men in the same room. It's not necessarily illegal for adult cousins to participate in sexual activities, or even marry. (FUN FACT: Marrying your niece in Rhode Island is apparently legal in some instances... AWESOME!)
So with the law out of the way, this is strictly a matter of your personal comfort with the idea of participating in a threesome with your cousin. Many a drunken, horny man has surely tolerated stranger circumstances while getting his rocks off. I admire you for stepping back and saying, "You know what? This is a little too weird for me." Some men will grit their teeth, plow right through the awkwardness, and make love to a woman with their cousin on the other side of the bed, their dog watching from the couch, and a thousand people watching via webcam. It's probably for the best that you establish firm boundaries on what you will NOT do to bust a nut. Because the cousin threesome is probably a gateway drug to some sort of blindfolded donkey orgy.
To give you a firm answer to this question, I'm gonna go ahead and visualize myself participating in threesome with my cousin. CHRIST MATT THAT'S MORE OF YOU THAN I NEEDED TO SEE. I don't approve. At all.
What are the top five and bottom five states in terms of swearing frequency? I grew up between the Midwest and New England, and it seems like people from Massachusetts DO drop a lot more f-bombs than Wisconsinites.
You would be wrong! According to this article, a study showed that Massachusetts ranked among the LEAST sweary states, and that the state with the worst pottymouth (I'm always tickled by grown adults who still use the term "pottymouth" in disapproval) is Ohio, because of course it's Ohio. Jersey, unsurprisingly, as also in the top five, along with Maryland (Hey, I live in fucking Maryland!), Louisiana, and Illinois.
I don't know that I necessarily agree with those findings. Perhaps the people conducting the study didn't count FACKING as a swear word, in which case they have horribly misjudged Massholes. They also studied phone conversations only, which is why you find Texas and Virginia in the bottom five. Texans and Virginians may not swear on the phone, but they more than make up for it while conducting police interrogations. The only reason people talk on the phone anymore is schedule a visit to the proctologist. It's not a typical occasion for swearing, unlike when you're in your car, or when you're at a tailgate party and a group of kids walk by, or when you're being arrested.
We are an increasingly more profane society, but there are still plenty of Swear Word Police out there who will bravely turn their nose up at any work of art that contains profanity, no matter how insane it is to give one star on Amazon to The Wire. "Why, it was just F this and F that! I'll stick to Duck Dynasty, if you don't mind!" I guarantee you that people who look down on any sort of profanity are 500% more likely to beat their kids with a barbed club.
How infuriating are kids' toys that take only 3 batteries? Unless you buy the Costco-size package of 300 batteries, you end up always having one extra battery or you're one battery short. The extra battery will just roll around in your battery drawer for the rest of your life, while being a battery short requires you to take batteries out of your remote just to satisfy your screaming kid.
FUN FACT: You will never have the correct amount of batteries needed for something that needs new batteries. If it needs two AA batteries, you will have one. If it needs a 9-volt battery, you will have zero, because 9-volts are horseshit. If it needs four AAA batteries, you will have three fresh Duracells and one dead generic AAA battery you had to steal from a talking stuffed pigeon. Then the toy will die again five days later and you will forget that the Duracells were relatively fresh and throw them out and go back to the store to buy another pack of eight batteries for $90.
By the way, button batteries must be made out of uranium, because they only come in packs of three and they cost a million dollars. Why do they sell them in packs of three? Every stupid toy that take button batteries only takes two. They WANT you to lose that third one. BIG BATTERY is diabolical.
I walked into a spider web as I went into work this morning. It's awful. It's nearly impossible to get all the sticky web stuff off and I know I will spend the day worrying I have spiders crawling through my clothes and burrowing into my skin. To make matters worse, a half hour later, a small spider fell out of my hair and onto my lap.
If the web gets on you, it's also impossible to get off. You think you've removed all of it only to see a five-foot silk trail dragging behind you 10 minutes later. Is there still spiderweb on me? Is that hair? Did the spider spin a NEW web inside me? OH GOD.
I was outside with my kid yesterday and she spotted a huge web with a spider the size of an Oreo lingering in the center of it. Normally, you'll come across a spiderweb and the spider is nowhere to be found. It's lurking, hiding, ready to kill. But no, this one was just hanging out there in the open like a bawse. So I grabbed a bigass shovel and tore the web down and then tried to bash the spider to death, only it skittered into a corner (COWARD) and I had to take a few extra whacks. I saw a curled-up ball on the ground and I think it was the spider's carcass. I smushed it with the back of the shovel just to make certain. But I didn't examine the body close up because I didn't want it to spring back to life and eat my face.
So I spent the rest of the day wondering if I had killed some other bug and mistook his body for the spider's, a la Mink Larouie. Then I wondered if the spider had crawled off the web and down the shovel and was currently nesting in my buttcrack. Last night, I had a dream that the spider came back to attack me, only it inflated like a balloon, getting bigger and bigger. And when I swung my shovel, I woke up in a cold sweat. Spider killing is a MENTAL GAME as much as a physical one.
I was reading through some discovery for a criminal client I have and just noticed this slightly racist Detroit Police Interrogation Record. I'm not sure how often the Detroit Police come across a potential defendant with a "Chinese mustache," but it must be pretty often. I also wonder what a "Chinese mustache" actually is.
It should just say "Ming the Merciless" to drive the visual home. You know damn well that's the kind of facial hair they're going for.
I just sharted. At work. I just made a mad dash for the parking lot after this happened, but am still afraid everyone at my office of over 500 saw me. There's probably video surveillance pinpointing the exact time I realized that I had sharted circulating the company email as I write this. Do I go back, wearing new clothes? Or do I just call in sick for the day? This is honestly the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
Just call in sick and start fresh tomorrow. Trust me: no one at work noticed. People at work are far too preoccupied with a) lunch, b) Sex, and c) Leaving work. They are too lost in their own thoughts to notice other people around them. If I saw you sprinting out of the office, I would just be glad there was one less asshole around to deal with during the course of my day. Go home, throw your pants away, and take it easy. You've earned it!
My girlfriend went ahead and planned a "Progressive Party" behind my back. For the uninitiated, a progressive party is when all of the attendants prepare a different course of the meal, but instead of bringing it all to one person's house, you move from house to house to eat each course. Is there any worse way to ruin a party? You can't plant yourself and drink, you can't grill because it takes too much time and people want to move on to the next house, and you have to WALK for your food. Why would anyone think this is a good idea?
I assume people do this because it divides both the cooking and clean-up duties, and it gives the womenfolk a chance to dazzle each other with the house tours. OMG I LOVE WHAT YOU DID WITH THE BATHROOM TILE, etc. Also, the progressive party means you don't have to return any salad bowls. FACT: Four million salad bowls are passive aggressively stolen by dinner party hosts every year.
I think people must also do this so that there is no leftover obligation to reciprocate. If the Munsters throw a dinner party and invite you, you gotta throw one of your own and invite them back, right? You can't fall behind in the count. I feel like I've fallen behind in the count on any number of barbecues and/or playdates. If there were a visual scoreboard of this for all to see, I would have more disgraceful numbers than Blaine Gabbert. I really owe the Bauers an extra five playdates here for all the times my kid has gone over there.
This progressive party idea could only possibly work if you're all neighbors. If you're talking about DRIVING to Linda's house for pie, that's dumb. Fuck that. Only a closet fascist sympathizer like Ina Garten would plan a party like this.
This past week was, I sneezed and my nose shot a load onto my shirt. No tissues at my desk, no napkins, what do I do? Used a Post-it, sticky end, and picked the boogers right off my shirt. Share this knowledge with the world!
How many or what percentage of presidents have used the N-word while in office? Or which presidents have not used it?
I'm sure a majority of them used it, since it became taboo for white people to say it only a relatively short time ago. Even the supposedly magnanimous FDR used it in office, as detailed by this book (which I highly recommend):
"I warned you not to call me again about any of Eleanor's niggers. Call me one more time and you are fired."
Christ. And here I felt sorry for him getting crippled and all. What a dick!
I think you can probably go from Washington to Jimmy Carter and reliably say that every President used that word (either casually or derisively; I assume we're not counting about saying the word in some more clinical, less personal context like recounting a news story), with Nixon probably saying it 500 times a day. That would leave Reagan, Clinton, the two Bushes, and Obama. Can I cross Obama off automatically without sounding like @PFTCommenter? Probably not, but he's almost certainly used it. We can also get rid of Clinton because he's from Arkansas and people from Arkansas use that word the way Smurfs use the word Smurf.
That leaves the Bushes and Reagan. I'm not sure Reagan ever met a black person in his life except for Richard Pryor:
Reagan probably said that word in a fit of dementia while trying to ask Nancy to pass the Wheaties. That leaves the two George Bushes. To be safe, you may as well cross them off the list as well. ALL THE PRESIDENTS ARE RAYCESS.
I work five blocks from where I live. The mailman who delivers my home mail also delivers at my work. I see him daily at work and we exchange pleasantries and such. Several times by chance we have been in the bathroom at the same time. He never washes his hands.
So I'm assuming all the mail I receive at home and at work has his pee residue all over it. The secretaries at work open all the mail and my wife opens it at home, so I'm good just keeping this information to myself right? I foresee a ton of issues if I tell the secretaries and my wife about the non-hand-washing-mailman.
You could also tell HIM to start washing his hands, but that involves you broaching the subject while you're both standing there peeing and no man alive wants to ever have that conversation. "Say, I was STARING AT YOU while we were pissing together and I noticed you never washed your hands. I'm not weird or anything!" The average man would rather keep his mouth shut or tell his wife and let her do the dirty work of filing a formal complaint and getting the poor bastard fired.
I had a shitty mailman for a while. Mail lady, actually. She drove way too fast. She delivered the mail as late at 9pm. She happily bent the shit out of my mail and let rain get on it. They may as well have let my mail be delivered by a bear. But I never bothered to complain about her to the post office because a) That takes effort, b) What if she found out and ran me over? and c) It's really, really hard to muster up the nerve to get someone fired. Most people don't do it unless forced to. Even when the person in question sucks at their job in every conceivable way, there's still a tremendous amount of guilt and shame knowing that you were directly responsible for them losing their job and for the subsequent personal anguish that entails. And now you know why Kirk Ferentz still has a job. He is your terrible mailman.
I don't get beer. I'm 33 and I've never once enjoyed it. In fact I think all beer tastes the same for the most part.
Does this opinion make me a terrible person? What if I wanted to try to like it, where would a guy start?
Some people just don't enjoy beer or wine or the taste of alcohol in general, for that matter. You have to WANT to like it. You have to be willing to endure the Acquisition of Taste phase to get to the part where you enjoy the taste of beer, or at least can tolerate it. You may not be able to reach that point. Shit, you probably don't even want to. You may be a smug bastard who enjoys your contrarian anti-beer stance in which case I say GO WORK FOR SLATE YOU FUCKING COMMIE.
Anyway, not liking beer doesn't make you a freak or a terrible person. It just makes you horrible to be around. If you'd like to reverse this stance, I suggest you begin like any good American teenager does with cheap, inoffensive crap like Bud or Coors Light, then progress to more nuanced cheap beers, like Frio and Big Flats. Now you're talking complex flavors.
Up until two months ago, I never drank coffee. I hated the smell and the taste and fucking hated coffee people in general (I blame Peter King for this bias). But I started drinking it because I was trying to quit diet soda and this seemed like a decent alternative. And even though I hated it the first time I drank it, I'm all right with coffee now. I also drink it black so that I feel like a hard-boiled police detective who stays up all night sorting through evidence. NO TIME FOR CREAM CHIEF I GOT A DEAD GIRL HERE WITH NO NAME ON HER.
I couldn't help but notice that Nate Silver has - brilliant mathematical mosquito that he is - successfully transmitted the intellectual "(statement), right?" affectation to nearly everyone in the sports media under the age of 40 (plus Bill Simmons). How did this happen? I am right about this, right? It's that extremely rhetorical, slyly confident "right" rather than the democratic, engaging "right". Maybe it's me and it's a focusing illusion, right?
I don't think it's a deliberate thing that people do. It's just a conversational tic that people deploy, particularly if they're a) trying to be inclusive or b) hoping the other person agrees with them. When you're talking with someone, you want to know that what you're saying is connecting with them, RIGHT? So you kind of lead the witness: "I mean, a threesome with your cousin is kind of hot in a forbidden way, RIGHT?" You want people to come with you, to join your train of thought. I think that's why you see people throw that out there. It's the same reason people throw in a "You know?" at the end of something. Sometimes, I just want to eat other people's old toenails, YOU KNOW?
It's something people do on the Internet as well because, again, they're inviting people of like minds to respond to them. There's nothing worse than saying something on a message board and having some tone-deaf asshole fail to agree...
"Gabbert sucks, right?"
"Actually I think he's working hard to get better who are u to judg him if uve never been on the field smdh. And why 'Sucks'? MUST YOU USE PROFANITY?"
Do you think they should retire Hernandez's jersey number? It has to be a curse, right? Can't you just imagine how awkward it will be for the next WR/TE who comes along and has to don that number? It must suck, right?
"Retire" is probably the wrong word. You don't retire his #81 so much as you do burn it, douse it in bleach, and remove all traces of it from the premises.
There is currently no #81 on the Patriots roster, which is almost certainly by design. But after time has passed and Hernandez possibly gets convicted, I'm sure the team will fold the #81 back into the rotation. Some player who wore it in college will want it and won't give a shit about the stigma attached to it, and then everyone will notice it as a kind of curiosity, and then that new player will inhabit the number fully with his own distinct personality and you'll stop noticing it. Unless the new guy ALSO turns out to be a murderer. That would be something!
Why do people have such a boner for New York City? I lived there for five years. Maybe if I were a trust fund kid, my experience would have been different, but I constantly felt like I was in the real-life Hunger Games. Want that 300 sq. ft. apartment? Fight the other 50 applicants to the death. Want to get in that subway car? Tussle with the nine other people trying to get on. Want to go to that free screening in the park? Be willing to shiv someone to get within 200 yards of the screen.
I can't argue with any of that. The reason people live in New York is to feel important. Is that worth asking your stepdad to be the guarantor of a $2,500 a month railroad apartment in Harlem with no sink and a coal-powered oven? Probably not.
Email of the week!
I went to a small Mountain college in North Carolina. The campus was located close to the Blueridge Parkway and Appalachian Trail which was perfect for camping and hiking trips. During the first few months of college, we would get a small group of our friends together to find new and exciting places to camp along the Appalachian trail. When we were out there, we would always do some drinking and, of course, we would occasionally bring some of the Devil's Lettuce. It was a very secluded spot and we found it odd that we never really encountered anyone else on these trips.
During my sophomore year, we decided that we would go back to our secret spot and had a few more friends join us. There were about 12 of us and we decided that going into the secluded woods would be the perfect place to try hallucinogenic mushrooms. I was a little hesitant doing mushrooms with a bunch of friends out in the woods, but what the hell. We get out the campsite with a couple hours of sunlight left and set up our tents and get a fire going. Out of nowhere a dog runs into the middle of out campsite and starts sticking his nose straight in the food pack. The dog had a bright orange collar with what looked like a shocking mechanism. We sat with the dog for a while and threw him the frisbee we brought until he ran back off into the woods.
We picked up a pizza before going out because my friend thought that putting shrooms on a pizza would make the cow shit taste avoidable. It didn't. Being my first time eating this horrible fungi, I managed to get the mushrooms down after several gagging sounds and a few "hot snacks" (when you burp and the last thing you ate comes back up into your mouth). About 30 minutes after eating the mushrooms, I felt nothing and was starting to think that I wasn't going to feel anything. At this point, I was still coherent and this guy in camo and blaze orange walks to our campsite and asks us if we have seen his dog. We let him know that we saw him about 15 minutes ago and pointed in the direction of where we saw him run off. He looks back at us and tells us with a chuckle that we shouldn't be camping here and that these are private black bear hunting grounds and his dog had been tracking a bear through our campsite. A fucking black bear. And I am about to be tripping my balls off. Thats when the shrooms then decided they wanted to kick in and I freaked.
As soon as the sun went down, I was filled with terror. I saw shadows bolting toward me and heard little kid voices screaming in the distance, not to mention that these mushrooms are making me sick to my stomach (on the brown side). I left the group and sat in my tent rocking back and forth holding a pocket knife until my mind convinced me that a bear was not going to eat me and I passed out. When I woke up, I had shit in my sleeping bag, stabbed my tent to pieces, and I think I ended up in a creek at one point because my clothes and boots were soaking wet and hanging from a tree 20 feet up. I left most of my soiled clothes and ripped gear in the woods and had to ride in the 3rd row of my friend's car with the windows down, alone, smelling like shit, and in nothing but my friends extra long-johns. I fucking hate mushrooms.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a . Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at email@example.com. You can also buy Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.
Image by Sam Woolley