The Worst Gambling Story Ever Gets A Little Worser

Time for your Deadspin Open Mailbag Tuesday. Email us here or submit your questions via Twitter. This week, we're covering gambling debts, the BS Report, human centipedes, Nutella, and dead grandmas.

Last week, reader Jon emailed to let us know that he decided to fall off the gambling wagon by betting $11,000 on the Pats to beat the spread against the Bills. That didn't quite work out for Jon, so he decided to dig himself out of his little hole by doing what any reasonable gambler does: DOUBLE OR NOTHIN', FUCKFACES!

Drew,

Thanks for the good-hearted attempt to cheer me up. I was down in the dumps most of the week until yesterday, when I had a long talk w/ a close friend and it dawned on me: I've already lost everything and I have nothing left to lose, so I shouldn't give a shit. I have nothing left to lose. I have nothing left to lose. Ever since that moment I have been carefree and relaxed.

Oh, well then. Consider that $11,000 well spent!

So screw the cautious, risk-averse, Jim Tressel society of vaginas we've all become. I've got nothing left to lose, so I'm slinging it up top. I got $12,000 from a balance transfer with Chase (Thank God I also saved this one on my desk, as it had been there three weeks)

Yes, thank God for THAT. Why would you feel like you have nothing left to lose when you still have $12,000 lying around to piss away? Clearly, you still have $12,000 to lose. And quickly.

…and transferred it to my gambling account. I then spent 2.5 hours on the phone w/ the offshore sportsbook, waiting for clearance for my bet and betting amount from an upper level manager (you've got to call them directly to do larger bets). The uptight bastard finally gave me a yes, and my $12,000 bet went through.

Phew! What a tightass Rohan in the Caymans was for taking precautions before you decided to erase your life savings in one fell swoop.

By the way, please note that this gentleman was so starved for sweet action that he stayed on the phone for two and a half hours. I can't hold a phone to my ear for five minutes without a pool of ear sweat forming, my shoulder seizing up, and me deciding to abandon ship. This guy stayed on for the average length of a Judd Apatow flick.

The bet: U. of Iowa over U. of Arizona by 3. The spread was at 4, but I bought a point so that a 24-21 score doesn't bite me in the ass. This way it would just be a tie and I'd get me money back. So it's $12,000 to win $9,600. The ball is hanging in the air right now and tomorrow afternoon I'm gonna find out if my receiver in the end zone catches it on 4th and 12. I can't fucking wait. Until then man.

Jon sent me this email prior to the Iowa/Arizona game (he included lots of other extensive football metaphors to illustrate his predicament, but I will spare you from them). You know you're a gambling addict when you're not only betting outrageous sums of money, but you're also doing so on shitty Big Ten/Pac-10 matchups no one else could possibly give a rat's ass about.

I begged Jon to make this the last bet he ever places, and to check into Gambler's Anonymous right after the game, win or lose. But then, the game started, I fired up the GameCenter, and I was fucking RIVETED. There was $12,000 on the line, which made it the game crazy exciting for ME, even though I had no money bet on the outcome. Iowa won by 10, covering the spread and bringing Jon back to even money. WHAT A RUSH.

So I implore Jon to keep on betting ludicrous sums of money on random games, so that I might find them mildly intriguing. Boring college games are a LOT more fun when you know some poor bastard will have his ankles sledgehammered depending upon the outcome. That was fun, Jon! Let's do it again!

/scans weekend lines

TCU giving three to Clemson? IT'S LIKE VEGAS IS BEGGING YOU TO TAKE THEIR MONEY, MY LITTLE HOMBRE! IT CAN'T MISS!

Ethan:

You look like a fat version of Dwight Schrute if Dwight Schrute didn't have glasses, and liked shitty music.

That's not fair. Everyone knows I look like Tackleberry, if Tackleberry were fatter, and not dead.

Alex:

Thank god Comcast now carries the red zone channel. I'm not sure which would have been worse- watching the entire rams/redskins game, or being the 3rd segment of a human centipede.

That's no ordinary link Alex sent in. It's a link to a writeup of the new horror movie Human Centipede. Here's the plot:

Internationally respected Siamese twin surgeon Dr. Josef Heiter has a demented vision for mankind's future existence. He wants to remove human beings' kneecaps so they have to exist on all fours and then surgically graft them mouth-to-anus to form a centipede chain.

Wait, what?

The Worst Gambling Story Ever Gets A Little WorserS

When two stranded female Americans arrive at his luxury home-cum-hospital looking for help, his long-gestating plan swiftly moves into chilling action with a shocking force. Kidnapping a third Japanese male tourist, he begins the tissue matches, teeth removal, and buttock moulding to create his triplet creature… The First Sequence in Six's intended trilogy features truly unforgettable imagery, clinically dazzling direction, and a so-far-round-the-bend mad doctor performance from German superstar Dieter Laser you'll scream. Behold the grotesque New Flesh. If you dare!"

Oh, I dare. Buttock moulding for all.

JP:

The Wildcat formation is named for this high school in suburban Syracuse.

West Genesee High? Like Genesee the beer, I assume it's strictly for poor, undereducated fat people.

Follow the steps. Paul Pasqualoni gets fired as head coach at Syracuse University and most of his assistants are booted with him. West Genesee, in need of a coach, hires Steve Bush from the unemployment line. Bush comes in, senses what everyone else knows (that Upstate New York football isn't a real sport, but just a way to kill time before we all have to start shoveling snow) and makes the gimmick formation part of his regular offensive playbook. Needless to say, the Wildcat stuns (STUNS) opposing defenses like that scene in Varsity Blues where they run the fucking Oop-dee-ooop.

So, Pasqualoni gets hired in Miami and gets them to bring Bush in as the offensive quality control coach. And this is how the world is introduced to the everyday abortion known as the Wildcat.

And, the worst part, football at West Genesee is like the retarded sibling sent to live in a group home. It's marching band first, then lacrosse. Football doesn't even rank. People go to the football games to watch the fucking marching band.

J.P.//Syracuse, NY

And that's…

The Worst Gambling Story Ever Gets A Little Worser

John N:

My friend says that Eric Mangini looks like a cream-filled Hershey's Kiss now that he has to wear brown. I say he looks like a freshly squeezed turd. Who, if either of us, is correct?

What about a turd-filled Hershey's Kiss?

With the tilted baseball cap, Olbermann said he looked like the Beaver.

Scumdog:

Just do me a favor and look at the tattoo on The Joker's right bicep

The Worst Gambling Story Ever Gets A Little WorserS

Madness, as you know, IS JUST LIKE FACKIN' GRAVITY.

Olaf:

I have a question for you:

Let's say, hypothetically, that once a week, you called me with the opening lines for the NFL games in hand. And you wanted me to guess what the point spreads had opened at and we were keeping a running tally of how many times I was closer to the actual spread than you were.

Oooh, can we also talk about how we get to watch the games AT OUR SUPERSTAR FRIEND'S HILLTOP STILTHOUSE? JON HAMM SHOWED UP! HE IS OUR FRIEND!

Now let's say the following scenario played out roughly 200 times over the course of 2+ seasons:

DREW: "OK. The next game is Team X @ Team Y."

ME: "Well, quarterback X is terrible and their defense looked shaky last week. I'm going to say it's Team Y by 3.5."

DREW: "Nope. It's actually Team X by 1.5."

ME: "Really? REALLY? You're really going to make Team X a road favorite? REALLY? I mean, I've done no research of any kind and watched 6 minutes of Team X's game last week, but COME ON! These lines are ridiculous. Team Y is going to win by 10 points!!!!"

Honestly, how many times would that have to happen before you screamed at me: "SHUT THE FUCK UP! Listen, retard. Vegas sets lines so as to get equal action on both teams. That way, they clear 10% of half the action no matter what. SETTING THE LINES BASED ON HOW THE GAME IS LIKELY TO PLAY OUT WOULD MAKE NO FUCKING SENSE BECAUSE SOME TEAMS HAVE HUGE FANBASES AND/OR ARE PERCEIVED BY THE BETTING PUBLIC TO BE AWESOME. Hence, teams such as the Patriots, Cowboys, Giants, etc. will be larger favorites and smaller underdogs than they should be. This has been going on for DECADES, YOU FUCK! If I ever hear you take that whiny indignant tone during one of these calls again, I will drive to your house and gouge out your eyeballs with an icepick."

I'm just wondering.

It's true. Any time Simmons gets a line wrong on that podcast, his first reaction is always, ALWAYS, "Well, that's a ridiculous line. I don't agree with it." In other words, all of the research and market analysis done by Vegas is immediately deemed incorrect because it's not precisely in line with what Simmons guessed. "Oh, this is one of those games where Vegas has no idea what it's doing. THEY SHOULD LISTEN TO ME BECAUSE EVERY LINE I GUESS IS FLAWLESS AND MY STOOL SMELLS OF FRESH CRANBERRY MUFFINS." Drives me up the goddamn wall. Lou Dobbs is more willing to own up to his own shortcomings. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go listen to his podcast again so I can get pissed off for no good reason.

Jeff:

How the fuck could you not like Brick? That movie was sensational. Was it because they avoided cussing? Or was the violence too stylized for you? Or was it because your ass was getting rammed by a dick the size of a brick and it just brings back uncomfortable memories?

Fucking clown shoes.

That's tough but fair. I just don't understand why you'd set a film noir in a high school if you're not gonna have the high school kids behave like fucking high school kids. HOLLYWOOD CLEARLY DOESN'T KNOW THEY ARE DOING AND I HAVE ALL THE FUCKING ANSWERS.

/goes back to being fucked by a brick

Alex:

Hello Drew,

Can you get rid of that fucking cartoon picture of Rolf the Nazi Shark? The new pic looks like a rejected still from Finding Nemo: The Gay Years. Change back to the bloodless assassin great white shark photo with the Nazi armband please!

Okay.

19jms:

Potentially a 2 part question: (1) have you ever had a nutella crepe? (2) if not, why not?

I have. Like anyone could resist Nutella. It's jarred chocolate. I don't know how it's not in every pantry in the United States right now. It's the spread Kobe uses for any and all choco-raping. Blame the hazelnut. I think rural Americans find hazelnut flavoring too Eurofaggy to be acceptable. And yet, if it were peanut flavoring in there, they'd ice their fucking Twinkies with it. You don't need to fear the hazelnut, America.

I used to work as a table runner in a restaurant that served Toblerone sundaes for dessert. They had a vat of melted Toblerone candy bars sitting out at all times to make the sundaes. Everyone – the cooks, waiters, busboys – stopped by at least a dozen times a night to dip a spoon in that vat. And they double dipped all the time. It almost certainly had any number of herpes simplexes floating around it. And it was WORTH THE RISK. That's how fucking awesome chocolate and hazelnut nougat are together.

Mamacita:

Here is the recipe for the most addicting cookies ever:

Nutella Cookies

2.5 cups flour
0.5 teaspoon baking powder
0.5 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup butter (softened)
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
approx. 26 oz Nutella (one large jar)
1 cup chopped hazelnuts
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

In one bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of a mixer, cream the butter and the two sugars until all is integrated and fluffy. Mix in the Nutella, followed by the chopped hazelnuts. Beat in the eggs one at a time, followed by the vanilla.

Add the flour mixture to the mixing bowl in three increments, integrating each one before adding the next. Chill dough while oven preheats to 350F. Scoop the dough into balls and bake for about 10 minutes.

Hey, look at that. My tongue just became erect. I didn't know that was biologically possible.

Dan Steinberg:

i suppose you could use this for your mailbag if you wanted, though it probably makes me a horrible person. it's 100 percent true.

last sunday morning my grandma died. she was my last remaining grandparent, and probably the one i was closest with. i knew she wasn't doing well, so it wasn't a total shock, but it still wasn't exactly good news. i found out about five minutes before the 1 pm kickoffs.

at some point over the next few minutes, i made a decision, whether conscious or unconscious, that this wasn't going to stop me from enjoying the first sunday of NFL games. i felt like a dickhead for a while, when i'd be checking the scores of six fantasy games and would remember, oh yeah, my sister just called me in tears and there's a funeral tomorrow and my entire family is in mourning, and look holy shit drew brees just threw another touchdown.

but then i realized that over the rest of my life, depending on how many cheese platters i consume, i will probably only get to enjoy 30 or 40 more opening nfl sundays, when all my fantasy teams are undefeated and it's still theoretically possible that matt schaub will work out. there's a pretty good chance that i will see more than 30 or 40 of my loved ones die, depending on how broadly you define "loved ones." so an opening NFL sunday is a rarer occurence than a loved one's death, and thus takes precedence, and my grieving was appropriately postponed for 24 hours. plus, me sobbing on the couch wasn't going to bring my grandma back, but clutching the remote real hard might have helped dwayne bowe have that solid second half against the ravens.

that was my theory anyhow, but i'm not totally sure. so, was i being a dickhead?

No. I think that's what you're grandma would have wanted. That's the nice thing about dead people. They aren't around to dispute whether or not you're grieving in the proper fashion. Keep in mind that Steinberg won our keeper league last year, so it would be a shame to waste that fantasy acumen on such trivial matters as death.

I remember in 7th grade, my dad's mom died, and I purposely used her death as an excuse to get a hug from this hot chick I really liked. I went up to her, a little choked up.

Her: What's wrong, Drew?

Me: My grandma died.

Her: Oh, I'm so sorry!

Then she hugged me, and I got chub. I'd consider myself a horrible person for doing that. But god dammit, her hair smelled incredible.

You might think I've changed my ways since that day. I have not. This spring, my wife's cousin fell off a cliff in Greece. He was working, and he stepped on a beehive, and he got stung multiple times, lost his balance, and plummeted 20 feet, landing on an outcropping of rocks below. And because he was in Greece, we had no clue if he survived the fall or not. All we knew was that he had been airlifted to a hospital. This was the same day of the NFL Draft, and I had planned a giant party in DC for it. People were flying in to come get drunk and everything. So when I heard about the fall, my first thought was, HOLY SHIT THAT'S AWFUL. And my second thought was, OH FUCK. CAN I STILL DRINK?

I still got drunk. He survived the fall, thank fucking God. They say we all have our own ways of dealing with grief. And that's good, because in my case and Steinz' case, dealing with grief involves just being the same jackass you always are.