That picture above comes an anonymous reader, who writes in:
Enclosed is a pic of my girlfriend's awesome boobage. Those are D's.
Yes, they certainly are. I suddenly have the urge to go bowling. Here comes the rest of the mail.
My wife says that I am lazy because I do not remove my belt from my jeans when I take them off at the end of the day. If I am just going to wear them again the next day (without washing, by the way), isn't it a waste of time to remove the belt and then deal with the belt loops the next day? And by the way, I miss a belt loop about 50% of the time. Usually I am too lazy too remove and start over, so I just walk around all day with a missed loop. Life is too short.
I never take my belt out of my pants at the end of the day. I have a chair in our bedroom, and that's where I toss the pants – complete with belt and all the shit in the pockets – so I can throw them back on the next day. Also on the chair are any other clothes up for re-use: t-shirts, sweatshirts, mesh shorts, etc. The pile gets pretty high, and then the Mrs. will say, "OY! Clean up this fucking chair!" And I'll be like, "But I USE all that shit!" But then I relent, fold it all back up, and then just dig it right back out of the closet again the next day. Except the jeans. The jeans stay on the chair. No chance I fold those back up.
All told, I am horrible at putting clothes away. When my wife or mom folds clothes and puts them away, they are arranged in very clean stacks, like something you'd see at a Banana Republic. When I stack folded shirts, I do it so badly that the stack looks like a Jenga tower built by a retarded person. It leans. Random sleeves are pooping out all over the place. Or I'll just stuff shit into the drawer unfolded, or folded in a really half-assed manner. This causes the shirts to press up against the ceiling of the drawer, making the drawer pretty much impossible to open. Then my wife tries to open it, lets out a sigh, and then refolds all the shit all over again. It's a fun process.
My wife also has to put new shirts on top of the stack, because I'll just wear whatever's on top. Thus, I wear one shirt all week, it gets washed, goes to the top of the pile, and I wear it again. If the Mrs. didn't shuffle the deck, I'd wear my Eagles of Death Metal t-shirt every day until age 80.
Is there a more bittersweet moment in life than the false-alarm dump? I'm talking when you feel you have a shit for the ages coming on, you get yourself situated on the throne, you go to let it fly, and.... you let loose a Canadian Moose mating call that produces no actual substance.
On one hand, the sound of a pent up fart echoing around the inside of an empty toilet bowl is nothing shy of symphonic. Also, the lack of need for cleanup is always appealing to a lazyass such as I (although a courtesy wipe is still usually called for).
On the other hand, you know that this is just a temporary fix and thus need to plan out the next hour of your day keeping yourself near a toilet for when the shit hits the fan. Just wanted to get your opinion on one of life's most disappointing occurrences.
Yeah, those always feel like wasted opportunities. You feel a shit coming on, you prepare yourself with reading materials and what not, you go to sit down, and then your ass turns into Capone's Vault. And you'll just sit there, assuming it'll come out eventually, only it doesn't. And you HATE the idea of surrendering, of giving up on a poop. It feels like you've failed miserably. I can't stand that.
My list of go-to locations to clip my fingernails has become:
1. Seated on the toilet into trashcan
2. Front step/back porch (warm months only)
3. Kitchen trashcan if no one is home to call me gross for clipping my nails in the kitchen
4. Standing above the toilet trying to aim the razor-sharp projectiles into the bowl
What is everyone else's go-to spot?
It's tough to find a perfect spot for this activity, because you'll invariably get that one nail you clip that flies wildly into foul territory. You didn't even SEE where the fuck it went. All you know is that it landed nowhere near the trash can, and that you'll probably discover it six months from now somewhere down the street. I've tried that thing where you stick your hand almost in the trash can to prevent stray nails from flying out, yet somehow one always finds a way.
Also, there is no way to clip toenails without contorting yourself into a makeshift yoga position you want nothing to do with. Either you put your foot on the toilet seat, which makes your wife go nuts (OH NOES! A FOOT ON THE TOILET! I DON'T WANT A FOOT GOING WHERE MY ASS GOES!), or you have to sit on the toilet and cross your legs to get to them. Or you have to stand in the shower and do it. Any way you do it, it's fucking agony if you aren't the bendy type (and chances are if you read this column, you are not).
I also have a problem where I bite my nails. And I'll do it somewhere, like in a business meeting, where I have no fucking idea what to do with the nail once you've bitten it off. I can't eat it, because my Dad once told me you can get a nail ball in your stomach if you do that. Like a jagged metal Krusty O. It's total bullshit, but the visual is still enough to keep me from doing it. And I don't want to get up to throw the nail away, because then everyone is like, "Why is he getting up? What's he throwing in the trash? Is that a nail? GOOD FUCKING GOD." So I have to, like, hold it. It's horrible. I'd rather smoke than bite my nails. I hate that I do it.
Do you ever flush mid-way through peeing to try and race to finish before it's done flushing? It adds some excitement when you're at work/school/etc.
I do! And sometimes, I do it without even thinking. I'll get to the urinal, flush it while I'm peeing, and then say to myself, "Wait, why did I flush early! OH FUCK! GO GO GO! GET TO THE CHOPPAH!" Then I hurry up for no reason. I think I do it out of arrogance. "You know what? I don't even have to WAIT to flush. I know exactly when this pee is finished." But that's never true.
Being that you're a father, I'm sure you've seen the "Sprout" channel for kids. It's owned by PBS. Anyway, they got this show, called the "Goodnight Show", and its host, Nina, and her sidekick, Star, who is a star. Anyway, Nina is smokin hot, and I let my daughter watch it just so I can check out Nina.
He's right! That plush blob in the wizard hat must have a spell over that lady. She's no Rosetta Stone girl, though.
I saw you endorse graham crackers as a snack in the Jamboroo, and was reminded of a friend who once told me that graham crackers were invented in the early 1800's to curb "unhealthy carnal urges", specifically masturbation. Could ANY food curb that urge? Surely this theory belongs in the dark ages, much like using leeches in medicine...
He's right! According to the Wiki page for graham crackers…
Graham crackers were originally marketed as "Dr. Graham's Honey Biskets" and were conceived of as a health food as part of the Graham Diet, a regimen to suppress what he considered unhealthy carnal urges, the source of many maladies according to Graham. Reverend Graham would often lecture about the adverse effects of masturbation, or "self-abuse" as he called it. One of his many theories was that one could curb one's sexual appetite by eating bland foods. Another man who held this belief was Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, the inventor of the corn flakes cereal.
And for premature ejaculation, try Pegram's Corn Meal! I don't think any one food could work to suppress masturbatory urges. At least, any food that YOU eat. If I saw Camryn Mannheim digging into a box of Oreo Cakesters, I bet my little chieftain would quit asking for attention.
At Christmas time, probably 15 years ago, my brother got NBA Jam for Super Nintendo. Family friends of ours were coming over later, and my brother wanted to show off his new game. So, he played the child of the family, and beat him handily. That child? None other than Gilbert Arenas. No guns were drawn at the conclusion of the game.
Not even a Duck Hunt gun? FACT: The majority of NES Duck Hunt guns were used to for fantasizing about killing family members, and not for the game itself. I killed my sister at least seven times with that gun.
Also, I could never stay on fire in NBA Jam for longer than three buckets. Annoying.
Do you ever chafe from all that whacking off? If so, what do you do?
I try and stay away. But sometimes… Ever jack it to the point of skin breaking, swear to leave it alone until it's healed, and then lose your willpower? YOU CANNOT RESIST YOU. That's terrible jerk. You're just gritting your teeth and whaling away. They need to invent a doggie neck funnel for your penis, so you can't touch it at such moments. Because really, I just can't help myself.
First, let me tell you my lighter is one of those all plastic ones that clicks as you push the trigger straight down. I got it about 4.5 years ago, and I remember because it "died" back in June of '05, shortly after I moved out of my parents house for the 1st time into an apartment.
Well, instead of throwing it away, I decided to keep it because it had a light on the bottom that was in the shape of the Cancer birth sign. It ended up on my balcony where it stayed for months. I was outside on the balcony one night and realized I forgot a lighter, saw the "dead" one and figured what did I have to lose? Sure enough, the thing lit for just long enough to light my cigarette. I kept trying to use it after that and it didn't work, so eventually I gave up on it. Until about 3 years ago and sure as shit the thing lit AGAIN. Ever since then I've got it down and figured out it will light about once every 2-3 months. Is there something behind these all plastic "click" lighters that gives them the ability to last forever?
I think it's like a dead battery. If you ever have a dead battery in a remote or something, it'll still let you get off, like, one channel change for every 8,000 times you push the button. So it's never really all the way dead. It's only MOSTLY dead. It's a tease, really. Sometimes, the battery is half dead, and the remote kinda works half the time, and thus I can't figure out if the batteries are dead, or if the remote itself is fucked. I hate that.
From your last mailbag:
"But yeah, if they found a way to sell mini Reese's unwrapped, we'll all die."
You're welcome, fatty.
It's true. Trader Joe's has unwrapped peanut butter cups. In fact, half the reason to go to Trader Joes' is to buy any number of plastic tubs of candies and cookies that they have laying out all over the goddamn place. They're impossible to resist, like your own mangled dong. They even put it at the counter, because they know you'll succumb there at some point. DARK CHOCOLATE PISTACHIO BARK? FUCK. I MUST HAVE IT.
And all of it is unwrapped. You can just reach a hand in and dig out fifty pieces and stuff them right in your hole. Trader Joe's is making us all fatasses, I tell you.
/has another Cocoa Almond
Drinking alone in WIS:
My wife works late hours, often on weekends (restaurant manager)...meanwhile, I work normal hours 8-5 Monday through Friday. This means I'm often left alone for hours at a time, with nothing to do, no kids to take care of, no real responsibility whatsoever. Now, I could go out to the bars spend a bunch of money, and come back reeking of smoke (no smoking ban in WI...stupid), OR I could sit at home and knock back a beer or 12. Which is great except I feel like I'm teetering on the fine line of alcoholism when I do it. Someone please give me the approval I so desperately need to get sloshed alone.
My wife isn't a big drinker either, so I have that maddening thing where you want to drink, only there's no one to drink with, so then you drink alone, and you don't even know why you're doing it, except that it's something to do. That's where TV and the Internet come in handy. If you're watching TV, or emailing someone, or texting them, are you REALLY alone? I say no. DRINK AWAY, FUCKER.
My girlfriend is a high school chemistry teacher (and is still somehow hotter than I deserve) and has kids in her class named Charion, Shampaigne (yes, spelled that way), and Shandrika. That shit should be fucking illegal.
I think a lot of badly spelled names out there are legitimate misspellings. Like Kwinsee Pittsnogle. I really do think the Pittsnogles were too fucking stupid to know that Quincy is spelled Q-U-I-N-C-Y, and not the retard phonetic way. I don't think they were aiming to give the child a unique spelling. I just don't think they can spell. But there's no polite way to tell someone, "Hey, your kid's name is misspelled, fuckhead." You come off like an asshole or a racist if you do that. And that's why Anfernee Hardaway is still Anfernee Hardaway.
That's why you should have to enter your new baby's name digitally into the hospital computer. On the surface, this would simply be for record keeping. But that way, the COMPUTER can suggest the correct spelling. "Did you mean… Champagne?" The computer is the asshole telling you that you fucked the spelling, not some nurse you're liable to get huffy with.
Bobby Big Wheel:
How old is too old to pick vegetables off your food? When I was a kid I thought I'd like veggies by now, but whenever I get a sandwich or burrito with unwanted vegetables, I pick them out.
You pick them out of a burrito? Wouldn't that ruin the burrito? You'd have to open it up. Opening up a burrito is always death. You can never get the tight seal back. If the degree of difficulty of vegetable removal is high, I'm too lazy to pick that shit out. But tomato slices on my sandwich? Yeah, those fuckers go right out the door.
I do think you reach a certain age where picking stuff out of your food is disgusting. Like, if you were on a date with a chick, and she got a pasta dish with peas, and she picked out all the peas, you'd think that was both weird and gross, right? At some point, you learn to either suck it up, or eat around what you don't like without picking. Age 18, maybe?
I just came back from a three-week vacation back to visit my relatives in Poland. It really sucked, but it was worth it catching glimpses at the chicks over there. Damn, are they hot! It's a travesty that this is not talked about often.
Well, people would talk about Polish women more often if they weren't busying searching for their camouflage golf balls and using their helicopter ejection seats. That's why the Anita Blondes of the world are Czech in origin.
Have you ever had to apply Desitin to your kid's nether regions? I'd rather get shit on my hands than this stuff. It smells awful, and it never comes off of your finger.
Just wipe it on the kid's clean diaper, or use a baby wipe, like your wife does. Desitin is hardly the worst substance on earth to get off your fingers. Ever use Zinka back in the day? That shit was like fucking oil paint.
And gas. Somehow, I can't pump gas without the pump dribbling upon takeout and getting gas on my fingers. Then my fingers fucking REEK of gas for hours. Wipes do nothing. Hand washing does nothing. I like huffing gas as much as the next person, but goddamn. Gas is some stubborn shit.
I know there is a lot of bagging on announcers. Most (Joe Buck, Skip Caray, Berman) deserve it, but this weekend showed again that there aren't enough good young announcers and instead too many aging derelicts.
Case in point No. 1 was Dick Enberg during Sunday's Chiefs-Broncos game. Let's ignore for a second that misidentified Peyton Hillis (white) with Correll Buckhalter (black).
Let's focus on his early statement concerning Broncos center and former Chief Casey Wiegman. In announcing that Wiegman was approaching his 9,000th career snap, we were informed that he could snap once a minute for a whole week.
Enberg promptly responded, "That's a lot of head between your legs action!" (Exclamation added to show his excitement level). It's just getting really bad.
But isn't that the fun of having Enberg around? I'm the opposite. I'd much prefer an old fart like Enberg to do the telecast, even if they can barely see. Pat Summerall announced the Cotton Bowl on Saturday, and it was a delight. I'm not sure he was even awake, but still, his voice was AWESOME. Isn't that better than hearing Joe Buck react nonchalantly to everything that passes by him? "Oh look. Aliens landed. First contact. Cool. JOIN US AFTER THE GAME FOR THE OT PRESENTED BY LOWE'S."
So I've had a long-running argument with my old roommate that he wouldn't want to live with a girlfriend/fiancee before getting married because he'd want to feel like something actually changed when they got hitched, while I told him that he was out of his fucking gourd for thinking it wasn't important to discover if he could successfully live with a woman before committing to her for life. Which do you recommend?
When I wrote this post, a handful of commenters chimed in to say that, statistically, there is NO proof that living with someone prior to marriage gives you better odds of remaining married. That may be so, but I bet those stats is skewed by all the Mormons and Catholics and rural Evangelicals out there who would never get divorced under any circumstances. If you're someone who won't live with another person before getting married, you're also someone who probably isn't going to divorce someone just because you're unhappy, or because they beat you. You probably love God too much to do that, or something. Pushover. I say: If you want to know if you really enjoy the girl's daily company, and you are a normal person, fucking live with her first.
I stayed at a fancy hotel a few weeks ago that had one of those toilets with an integrated bidet. I was scared of it at first. But I tried it. Oh. My. God. It was awesome.
First, a warm jet of water showered the dirtied area. Then there was a pause, I guess so I could hit the water button and get a second anal shower. That was followed by warm - but not too warm - jet of air to dry the nether regions. I was hooked like Reilly to tongue baths.
So why haven't we Americans embraced this marvelous invention?
Because it has a French name. Just as you wouldn't you a toilet if it were called a toilette. You'd clearly use a cereal box. If you want Americans to use bidets, you have to rename them. I'd go with Assdoucher. Much more appealing.
Small buns on burgers or sandwiches piss me the fuck off to no end. I was at Five Guys yesterday enjoying a burger the way I like it, with ketchup and mustard. Those two combined with the greasy ass patties forced both patties out of the sandwich during my first bite. I can then only assume that the jerkoffs sitting to either side of me were laughing hysterically while I picked them both up and shoved them back in between the fucking buns. Eating the rest of it was done with the delicacy of fucking surgery. It was miserable.
I find this happens at restaurants as well with chicken sandwiches where the chicken is at least twice the size of the bun and you have to kind of eat around the outside and then finish with the middle. Travel Channel had some burger bullshit show the other night with some retardedly large burger in between what looked like a fucking Martin's potato roll. If that came out to me at a restaurant I'd throw it right back in the waiter's god damned face.
Oh, there's nothing worse than having your sandwich fillings squirt out of the bun at an inopportune moment. This always happens if you happen to stack a sandwich too high. If there's too much shit between the bread, some of it is bound to get blasted out on that first bite. This sucks, because the whole point of a sandwich is to make it as large as humanly possible. Then you have to scramble to build it all back up again, only now you have to be alert at all times as you eat, because you can totally detect the slippage if you bite down too hard.
I think this is why club sandwiches and Big Macs are all double decker sandwiches. By adding extra bread to the middle, you prevent any one layer from being stacked too high, thus resulting in slippage. That's load-bearing bread in the center there. Don't fuck with it.
In high school and college I worked as a bank teller in the summers (great summer job BTW, nights, weekends and holidays off). Anyone who has ever watched a heist movie would be amazed at how real banks work, and that they are not ripped off every single day. If someone on the outside was working with a teller, you could be in and out at most banks in 5 minutes with approx 25k-30k in cash. So next time are dreaming of being Clive Owen, factor in your accomplice (the teller) and that you could do it on foot and without a gun. This may kill the fantasy but adding the teller (especially if she looks like an 80s video babe) could be spice your day dreams up.
Pretty smart. I'm ready. Let's go. Right here, right now. Remember, same as before, you're crowd control, I handle the employees. I love you, Pumpkin. AND I LOVE YOU, HUNNYBUNNY!
You ever start to sit down on the toilet, realize the seat is not down, and then have to do a Barry Sanders like spin move to avoid falling in? I always feel like a badass after that, but I realize the girls are probably awesome at that move.
Same thing if you go to a restaurant and realize the seat is wet before you sit down.
It kinda bums me out, because the invention of cell phones, that no one under the age of 21 or so has ever had the experience of pushing someone into a pool fully clothed at a party. Or at least the experience of pushing someone in without the laughter getting cut off after a few seconds because someone is crying about their ruined iPhone.
I never thought about that. That does suck. Pushing someone into a pool is fun, because you never really know how someone will take it. Either they'll go with the flow and laugh it off, or they'll be really fucking pissed. It's a great personality test, actually. You should do it to your girlfriend before you marry her.
As I vacationed this holiday week I received a massage that my parents had purchased ahead of time for me at the hotel spa. As the week went by, the anticipation of said massage grew and grew. When I finally got there and the massage began, I realized that my confusion over whether there would be a grand finale HJ was preventing me from relaxing and enjoying the massage. Am I alone on this? Or is it a widely accepted and known phenomena? Is it even possible to enjoy a massage without thinking about the HJ? Was I wrong to assume that swedish deep tissue didn't include the rub and tug?
Um, yes? You watch wayyy too much Entourage, Lucas. Hard to believe, but there are actual licensed massage therapists out there who do NOT give handjobs at the end of every session. Shocking, I know. Not even those Chinese guys in Central Park. And did you think the handjob would be complimentary? Do you think it's all-inclusive like that? At a place your parents patronize? A legitimate hotel and NOT the back of a Korean restaurant? Really? If you want a rub and tug, you have to fucking PAY for it. Check the back of the Village Voice, fella.
All that said, it is NOT possible to receive a massage and not think about receiving a hanj from the person who gave it to you. Even if it's a man. OH, LOU!
When I was in college one of my roommates introduced our group of friends to the "dry skeet." He claimed that before reaching climax all one has to do is apply slight pressure to their taint/gooch...and low and behold, no clean up necessary.
And, then five years later, you fucking explode. That sounds like a terrible idea.
I worked at a camp recently and all the black kids called 500, "Moss", after Randy. This seemed to be a widespread phenomenon and not a just some local slang. Maybe others have heard it.
But then, what are the point values? Is it still 500? If you call the game Moss, do the kids even bother to catch the ball?
You take the banana bread and make french toast with it. Banana bread + fried egg goo + butter + syrup = kick ass in your mouth hole.
And THEN you put peanut butter on it. See how these methods all compliment one another?
Somewhere along the way I learned that the trick to a pain-free dry jerk is to hold your dick like a wine glass. Eliminate the palm altogether. I like to keep 3 fingers on the outer side. The fingertips allow for better control. They should be high enough that the next finger would be on the knob. The thumb will be on the squiggly vein and essentially serves to aid in blood flow, allowing for a quicker trigger in a pinch. It also covers for any lapses in the spank bank. I hate when that happens.
Dry jerking with a full hand is fucking insanity.
Oh, I'm a veteran of the three-finger technique, believe you me. It's just like throwing a slider. But when you get older, like me, you crave the whole hand. Much more luxurious to deploy the handpussy. Full hand and lotion all the way, gang!
Just got back from Avatar in 3D. Most amazing thing I've ever seen. Blown away and if you haven't seen it, you're a foreign communist. But that's not the main point.
I've been reading about how Panasonic, Sony, and others have new 3D HDTV's coming out soon. In fact I just read about it before Avatar.
Then, at some point Michelle Rodriguez starts running around in a tank top with her incredible C-cups somehow right in my face. They were literally jumping off the screen at me! I immediately got thinking to the possibility of 3D porn.
No one would leave the house again! Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Please. HD has already hurt porn by showing you details you never wanted to see. Now you want those razor burns in 3D? Sometimes, in porn, distance is preferable. I don't even like close-ups in porn. I like the establishing shot when it comes to money shots. Just put the camera ten feet away and show both people in full, doing their thing. No need to get much closer than that. Any closer, and it starts to look like surgery. How do I even know whose balls those are if you're that close?
And what if you skeet on your glasses?
On Mexican cokes, they taste weird? They taste correct. Instead of pumping in that cheap High fructose corn syrup, they use beet sugar or pure cane. It's like a Dublin Doctor Pepper only with the king of sodas, Coke. They also come in awesome half liter and liter glass bottles. The bottles are thick enough to make a satisfying clink and break when you toss one in the recycling bin. They sell these suckers at the supermarket on the sketchy side of town and I find myself making the trek JUST FOR THE COKES.
I got dozens of emails like this, and I was wrong to slag Mexican Coke. I had it when I was younger and didn't know better. My palette was not refined. I apologize. But I still stand firm on British milk.
The high five story in the latest mailbag made me want to pass this on, since it doesn't seem to be common knowledge and definitely should be. When you go to high five someone, especially when shit-faced, do not watch the other person's hand that you are trying to hit...watch their elbow. You will never miss. You're welcome.
Another tip: when you are doing a one-legged quad stretch, choose a spot on the ground and focus on it. This will keep you balanced and prevent teetering. It's true!
I find it interesting that you think wearing cargo shorts makes you an asshole, but carrying Chap Stick does not. That is what girlfriends and their purses are for.
It's gay to carry Chap Stick around? BUT MY LIPS NEED MOISTURE!
Fun fact: Any time I leave the house without Chap Stick in the winter, I will get fifth degree wind burns on my lips.
I'm gonna go a bit further on this and say the 'Die Hard' scenario also rings true when you're a kid sleeping your bed at home. I can't count how many times I imagined hearing someone break into my house before any one else, getting up with cat-like reflexes and unleashing God-knows-what mixed martial art using every day household items like brooms and such in order to defend my unsuspecting family. I probably had this hero scenario play out in my head bi-weekly from the time I was 13 - 17. Never mind the fact I'd never even been in a single fight to that point.
Agreed. When you're that age and you're up late, you always picture robbers coming in and then foiling them. That's why Home Alone made a jillion dollars. It's like a 10-year-old's wet dream.
Also, if you're up late at night as a kid, you will always imagine a hot girl coming to your door, ready to bang you. Just like the blond chick in Real Genius who walks into Mitch's room without warning to bang his brains out. "I'm Sherry Nugil. And I've been waiting three years for this." And Mitch pussies out! What a fucking dipshit. No wonder he hosts The Rachel Maddow Show now.
Last childhood daydream: aliens. I always, ALWAYS, imagined looking out one window one morning and seeing a fucking giant spaceship hovering up in the air, Close Encounters style. I still think about it to this day. Today might be the day the aliens come. That would be fucking sweet. Can't wait.
/looks out window, ready to gaze in awe
When I was in college, our school switched catering companies from Marriott to Aramark. Aramark took a guy who had graduated from our college and who was now working for them, and sent him back to our college, to help Aramark adjust. He claimed that each machine has a way to manually adjust the ratio of syrup to water that comes out of the spout (I picture a knob of some sort). He further claimed that he had adjusted the calibration on that particular machine to distribute more Coke syrup. He was in the cafeteria all day, one of the few perks of his job was that he got free Coke, and he wanted to take advantage. You really could tell a difference, so I think he might have been telling the truth.
Coke tastes different coming out of the fountain because the fountain formula relies on the melting ice in the cup for the extra water. It's like concentrated Coke, if you drink it before the ice melts, or no ice at all if you swing that way, it's extra sweet.
My buddy's wife works at McDonald's HQ in greater Chicago. The reason fountain Coke at McD's tastes better than other forms is they refrigerate the concentrate from the time it's made until it's used. This preserves the flavor. It holds the flavor better and it stays until it's mixed with the "soda water" in the machine. Other forms of Coke are mixed months earlier and go relatively "stale" from the time of bottling to consumption.
But what about fountain Cokes… IN MEXICO?! I must know.
What's worse: Wiping ass and accidentally busting through the paper and giving yourself an accidental poopy finger bang or jumping in the shower only to realize seconds after your whole body is soaked that you have to dump?
I can't decide.
The latter. I've paused mid-shower to dump. Even if you dry off, you're still kinda wet on the seat. It's a miserable experience.
Fun bag this week, gang. Are you ready for Deadspin XY? If it's anything like "Kyle XY," I think we're all in for a big treat.