Time for your Deadspin Open Mailbag Tuesday. Email us here or submit your questions via Twitter. This week, we're covering lifetime stats, new class tail, shitting the rainbow, poop chicken, and more.
I prefer to spend my time breaking down my real life statistics like I'm fucking Bill James. Some personal favorites: basketball shooting percentage, beers consumed, amount of money spent on beer in comparison to Somalia's GDP, amount of money spent on weed, number of hours I've simultaneously watched TV and surfed the internet, lifetime calories, etc. The possibilities are endless and I'm fascinated by each and every one of them.
If you could know any career stat, which one would you choose?
Gallons of ejaculate produced. It's not even close. I've always wanted to know the size of the vessel my cumulative lifetime ejaculate would fill. Would it fill an oil drum? Would it fill a shipping container? Eh, I'm skeptical. Whenever I try and guess something like this, my guess is always likely to be a gross overestimation. It's like going to a Coinstar machine. I always go to a Coinstar machine with my bag of change thinking it'll net me $5,000. I'M RICH! Instead, I get three bucks and a dime.
I've been hitchhiking under the big top for 22 years now. Let's estimate that, on average, I've gone twice a day. That may be a low guess, given all the horrible things I did to myself during my teenage years. But I'll err on the side of modesty. Then you have to gauge how much ammo you fire each round. I'm not Peter North. I don't shoot a liter of milk every time I go. Plus, the more you do it during the course of a day, the less comes out. So I'll peg it at an average of just one fluid ounce per love explosion. Now, the math:
1 fluid ounce times
2 jerks a day times
365 days a year times
22 years equals
16,060 fluid ounces
There are 128 ounces in a gallon. That's 125 gallons of manbutter, enough to fill this aquarium. Those would be some lucky fish. I could also fill my gas tank ten times over with it. NICE!
If I live another 44 years and my prostate doesn't give way, I could end up producing 375 gallons of little Drews. And that would still leave me 25 gallons short of what a blue whale can do in a single money shot. Stupid whale. THINK YOU'RE SO VIRILE, DO YOU?!!!
I'd also like to know how much urine I produced, how much total money I spent on food or alcohol, the length of my longest pube, and thousands of other things. The important reason to find out these lifetime stats, of course, is to see where you ranked among the rest of humanity. Was my sperm output in the 80th or 90th percentile? Does that qualify me to be inducted into the Masturbator Hall of Fame? Who had the LARGEST seminal output? I bet the guy with the record put out a number that would fucking shock and disgust you. He must be a fucking animal. I bet it was President Taft.
One last stat total I'd like to know: How many women I've impregnated without knowing it. I assume and hope this number is zero. But you never know, do you? Ever have that daymare where you visualize an ex-girlfriend showing up on your doorstep with a seven-year-old and a very angry look? You assume you have no unknown children out there. But you can never know for certain. Chilling stuff.
Do you ever wonder what people who are born blind imagine when they are masturbating?
No, but now I do. I assume that blind people have a pretty good outline of the human form from touching their own bodies and feeling other people. They can make out fingers and toes and dicks and all that. Except, in their world, EVERYONE IS TEAL! Pandora style!
I just got back from 7-Eleven and I was behind a suspect character in line. Whenever this happens I always wonder what I would do if he pulled a gun on the clerk. My first thought is I would get him with a haymaker in the back of the head and knock him out, take the gun and stick him up until the cops come and proclaim me a hero. But in all reality, I know I would dive behind the Doritos counter and call my wife and family and tell them I love them incase the robber shoots me and drags me into an irrigation ditch and rapes my dead corpse. What would you do in this situation?
I always imagine going for the gun and then engaging in a life or death struggle for control of the gun. You always see that in movies, where one dude goes for the gun and then they wrestle for control of it. ZOMG! WHO'S GONNA WIN?! GO OVER THE TOP, DADDY! I always picture slowly overpowering the robber, turning the gun into him, and then BANG! YOU DEAD!
Now, the reality: I would freeze. I would. I would just stand there like an idiot. I'm the sort of person that needs at least sixty minutes to process what I'm seeing before I can take a sensible course of action. I've been in a handful of car accidents in my time. Every time it happens, I just get out of my car and stand there like a moron, with my mouth agape. I always think I'm gonna get in the other driver's face and get all macho. But I never do. Peter King says I define meek. If I had been on United 93, there wouldn't be a White House right now.
You always read about these kids and adults who can instantly react and be heroes when shit goes down. Not me. I'd stand there, then figure out the proper way to respond on the drive home. FUCK! I SHOULD HAVE TOPPLED HIM WITH THE STACK OF BEER CANS!
My girlfriend's brother is one of the leading swine veterinarians in the US and last summer he informed me that imitation calamari is made from pig rectum. So next time you order that yummy fried treat and it is only uniformed sized rings and no tentacles, that's maybe what you have received. Just thought you would like to know.
Eh, color me skeptical. A Google search turns up little. There's also the fact that I wouldn't particularly give a shit if something tasted good and someone told me it was a pig's ass. Frankly, whenever I eat sausage of something like that, I always assume there's rectum in it anyway. I'm sure I've had rectum before. LOTS OF RECTUM FOR ME!
I think I'd like to see if I could possibly shit the colors of the rainbow. I have green covered, but do you have any suggestions for things I could eat or drink that would help me satisfy this quest? If so, please let me know.
Play Doh. Any color of Play Doh you eat will invariably end up in your stool as the same color. Pink, blue, red. Doesn't matter. You could go through the entire ROYGBIV spectrum in relative short order if you shat out enough Play Doh.
Tim Was Tim:
Regarding pee-shyness. The solution is math. When you can't go, start doing math problems in your head. Ask yourself questions to which you don't immediately know the answer. Works almost every time. I've already taught my son this technique.
Jesus, that's brilliant. Except I have to have a good math problem ready in my head when this happens. WAIT! I have it! One fluid ounce of sperm times two and a half jerks per day…
When I was working at my old office job and any time I'm in a public stall and someone is sitting directly next to me (which I fucking hate) I play a game of "poop chicken" with the person(s) sitting next to me. I've won some of the longest battles (30-45+ mins) sitting there, waiting for the guy next to me to get up and leave. The biggest reason for this is the fact that I hate wiping with someone in the stall next to me (I'm a stand up wiper). However, I brought up "poop chicken" during a work meeting last week with some co-workers at my new job (sales job, so we don't use the same bathrooms) and they looked at me like I was crazy. Does anyone else play "poop chicken" or was it just people trying to waste as much time as possible so they wouldn't have to really work… or am I just weird as fuck?
I think waiting someone out half an hour is taking things to extremes, but I do understand the theory of poop chicken. Imagine walking into your office bathroom and it's empty. Clear. You have it all to yourself. That's just a fucking great feeling. You go down to enjoy a quiet shit all by yourself. THEN SOME ASSHOLE COMES AND BARGES IN. The gall!
Sometimes, you figure the guy will come in, piss, and then go, and you'll be back to heaven in short order. But no, sometimes the other guy will come in and just fucking camp out. And you have decide if you feel like waiting him out or cutting and running. This is a sensitive issue if you happen to be using the stall for things other than shitting, like changing pants, or fighting with your girlfriend on the phone, or tossing one out. Because you're always scared that this intruder is carefully monitoring what YOU are doing with yourself in that stall. And that freaks you the fuck out. And sometimes, the guy in the nearby stall sits down and literally makes NO sounds. No poop grunts. No preflushing. No clear sounds that announce his intentions. That is harrowing. If I'm shitting and another dude walks in and isn't making any discernible urination or defecation sounds, I always assume he's an assassin sent to kill me. I KNEW TOO MUCH.
The flipside: Ever hear an odd sound come from another stall? Like, you hear a grunt, only it's clearly not a poop grunt? And then you assume the guy in the next stall is jacking it? That's a terrible feeling.
I guess what I'm saying to Jason here is… SIT TO WIPE.
We have new toilets in bathroom at my office. But these aren't just any toilets. Per the sign emblazoned above the flush mechanism, based on the time spent in the stall, the toilet will automatically determine the strength of the flush that needs to be issued. This can be overridden by pressing the "Liquid" or "Solid" waste buttons. I have run a series of independent studies, and yes, the sign does not lie. The mere force of the "solid" flush is breathtaking—it is akin to visiting Niagara Falls for the first time. Based on my independent study (preparation occurred via a steak, chili, and potato dinner the previous evening) the cut-off for Liquid vs. Solid appears to be in the neighborhood of 5 minutes. Which caused me to think: what level of statistical analysis went into studying the time lengths of poos, and what does that person's resume look like?
I don't know, but I want to shit in that toilet SO BADLY.
As a college student, there is one reason only that I'm excited for the start of new classes. New girls. I know I'm not the only guy who scopes out the new prospects in these classes, and girls definitely do the same thing with guys, I've asked. But you never know which girls are interested in you as well. I wish we could just start every class with a mini-speed dating thing. Everyone says who they're interested in. Imagine how much easier everything would be.
But wouldn't that make everything even more hilariously awkward? Now little Stacy KNOWS you're spending the entirety of class daydreaming about bending her over the desk.
It's true, there's nothing more thrilling than the prospect of walking into a new class and finding that you got at least two hot chicks in it. And when those girls do you a favor and wear skirts on a daily basis… BLISS. If I had gone to a school like Georgia, I would have failed every fucking class they offered, even the retard ones. I also used to instantly rank every girl in the class the second I walked in. "Oh, well she's CLEARLY the hottest one here." The Onion knows of what I speak.
The flipside of this, of course, is when you get a dud class, with NO hot chicks. Those classes are horrible and God I loathed every second trapped in them. Usually, it was my foreign language class. I walked in and just this horrible parade of ugliness followed. Even the guys in the class sucked. That's terrible feeling, knowing you're stuck with a dud class all semester long. I'm sure everyone groaned the second they walked into class and saw my fat ass sitting in a chair with the desk flap sitting a little bit up because my fat thighs were pressing against it.
Are you one of those annoying fuckheads that is always using chapstick? I hate you people. It is borderline disgusting and completely effeminate. And if you use Carmex then I'd love to kick you and your smelly lip gloss in the gash.
That's tough but fair.
Have you ever felt a fart coming on, cup your hand, fart into your hand, then take said stinky business and toss it in front of the face of the dude sitting next to you while exclaiming, "Cup-a-SOOOUP!!"?
Anybody else do this??
No, but it's definitely on my to-do list now. Here it comes, wifey!
I was attending a minor league baseball game in Appleton, WI. They were called the Timber Rattlers, I think they are one of the Mariners' minor league teams. Regardless, they had a brat cannon! The brats were in foil and were shot with pressurized air into the crowd, they would shoot them at a steep angle and I bet they flew 50 feet into the air. All these fat asses would basically fall over each other trying to catch these things, classic.
Also, fuck the Vikings.
That's awesome. In fact, I think the t-shirt cannon should be permanently retired in favor of the brat and/or burrito cannon. You could also toss pretzels into the crowd (AND HERE COME THE PRETZELS!), candy bars, hot dogs, etc. Basically, I'd far rather have any foodstuff over a free t-shirt. If they had a cannon that shot out free plastic bottles of Miller Lite that could potentially injure people and/or get them drunk, you wouldn't even have to stage the game. People would just show up to the stadium anyway.
What is your method for eating in front of the TV? (I'm assuming you have some experience in this matter.) Let's assume for a minute that you're in a setting where you can't see the TV clearly from the dining room table (Super Bowl party, for example) and you have to rough it in the living room. As far as I can tell, you have three options:
-Food/drink on the floor (inconvenient, plus if there are kids/dogs around, forget it, because you KNOW that shit is getting kicked over),
-Food/drink on the coffee table (always gives me lower back pain to keep stooping to get it),
-Plate/tray on your lap (you have to hold your lower body perfectly still like you've been paralyzed).
That's why every home needs TV tray tables. We had them in my house when I was a kid: these fold-up mini tables that you could put in front of your easy chair for eating. My mom also put the tables by my bedside when I was sick, and put the tray of food there, instead of putting it on my lap. They were awesome, and my home is desperately lacking them.
I agree that going to a party and trying to sit and eat with so good playing surface blows, especially if you have paper plate. Sometimes, a thick armrest makes a solid landing spot for your plate. But the best solution is to always eat standing. Just stand there, blitz through your food, and then go back to sitting and getting drunk.
Yesterday, my girlfriend and I were having sex on the floor of our 2nd bedroom, which doubles as my office. At one point she looks up and sees the underside of my desk chair, which contains a LOT of boogers. More than even I expected to be there. I thought she was going to tell me how I gross I am, but instead she cracks up like it's the funniest thing she ever saw. Apparently, it never occurred to her to put boogers underneath whatever you're sitting on at the moment. Is there another booger depository that I don't know about, or do most guys go to the bottom of the chair after picking their nose?
I go bottom of the chair, or under the rug. The bottom of my rug must look like the Holocaust at this point. I'm terrified to excavate that area. At work, I used to wipe the boogers on a piece of paper, then crumble up the paper and toss it into the trashcan. This was fun because A) It's fun to waste paper, and B) Wastebasketball.
I go to the gym on occasion. Sometimes, when I'm on one of the machines, I'll sneeze, or I'll pick my nose, and out will come just this horrible nose goblin. That's a wretched feeling. I just jam it on the underside of the control and then go wipe it off later. I am a terrible person.
There's few things in life worse than going to a urinal while wearing shorts and flip flops / sandals in the summer because, over the course of the winter, I always forget about the rainfall of urine particles that bounces out of the urinal and seemingly covers my leg in piss gloss.
Can't we just all agree to piss in a giant hole in public restrooms from now on? Is there a solution that will gain some public acceptance because I'm tired of the urine misting of my shins and feet.
Wouldn't the splashback be even worse if the hole were on the ground? It would get all over your feet. That the problem of the public urinal. You can piss against the wall of the urinal to reduce splashback, but then you don't get the fun of pissing on the urinal cake. I just accept that there will be a nominal amount of urine on my legs and feet at all times during the summer, and then I move on from there. I'm still cleaner than most Turkish people.
At what point in the average modern male's life is he most vulnerable, be it to attack or embarrassment? My friends and I were discussing this, and the two most popular answers were: midst-playdough factory in an unfamiliar restroom, and the 7 seconds following orgasm. Either of those situations, I'm completely defenseless. Your thoughts?
Passed out drunk somewhere other than your own bed would be the worst. But mid-poop is tough to beat otherwise. Men are vulnerable during orgasm because they look so idiotic while having one. If someone ran in and snapped a candid photo of you in that moment, you know damn well the picture would be horrid. Same as mid-poop. I think the other times you'd be most vulnerable to attack or embarrassment would be…
-Naked in Russian bath house
-While eating Mexican food
-Asleep but sober (especially on an airplane or Greyhound bus)
-Zoning out in class or in the car
-While dancing or singing
Do my female coworkers, friends, basically any female that have ever met me know that I have masturbated to them? Even that dorky chick in the cube next to me?
They should. In fact, this should serve as a warning to all our female readers. If you are a woman, you should know that right now, as we speak, there is some man out there actively using you in his Spank Bank. OH, DON'T ACT SO GROSSED OUT. WE CAN'T HELP THAT SHIT.
My parents just remodeled both bathrooms in their house and the new toilets have an amazing feature. The seat and lid have some sort of shock absorber on them so that no matter how hard to flip them down, they slow down right before they close and don't make a sound. They have the same feature on the new drawers in the kitchen. When they get within an inch of being closed they just slowly glide the rest of the way. And it works both ways.
Pushed too hard? It slows it down. Didn't push hard enough? Don't worry. It pulls it the rest of the way for you. They claim they bought them for me because I slam everything shut all the time.
NICE! I've encountered garbage cans and minivan doors that do the same thing. It's so elegant. It really is impressive. I want a minivan just for the remote sliding door. I don't care how pathetic that makes me.
My wife is also always chastising me for slamming cupboard doors too hard, or letting screen doors slam. Dude, this is not a fucking library we live in. It's a home. STOMP STOMP STOMP!
On a completely different subject. Do you wear belts? As a fat man, is there any worse part of dressing up than the belt buckle digging in and destroying the underside of your stomach fat? It's been awhile since I've been able to see it, but I'm pretty sure I have a scar on the bottom of my overhang.
It's horrible feeling. The belt just sits there all day saying HEY LOOK AT YOU. YOU HAVE A FUCKING FUPA! WAY TO GO, CHARLIE WEIS! I've also had elastic waistbands destroy my love handles. I had an old pair of boxers that impressed OLD NAVY backwards on my side fat every time I wore them, like I was branded cattle. Horrible.
He knows I have cumin? SKETCHY!
Why is it that when someone wants to see if someone's in the bathroom, they knock and then IMMEDIATELY try the handle? Like, you're not giving the sorry SOB on the john any time to say anything after the knock. It's basically knocking to let you know they're going to try and open the door anyway. And on a related note, what do you say when someone knocks/tries to open the door? Sometimes I've been so busy that I blurt out a combination of yo and hey, but other times I'll be more polite and say "excuse me". I was never instructed on proper etiquette so I'm curious.
You always feel like a gash when someone knocks on the door while you're pooping and you squeak out, "Uh… I'm in here!" That's always a terrible exchange. I always want to say something that will just completely throw off the person knocking on the bathroom door, like, "YOU'RE NOT GETTING IN HERE WITHOUT A FUCKING SEARCH WARRANT, PIG!" Or, "YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO HUFF AND PUFF TO BLOW MY HOUSE DOWN, BITCH!" I never do.
I know people who do the knock-then-twist for any door they encounter. Not just bathroom doors. They do it on front doors, bedroom doors, everything. Dude, give me fucking time to respond.
If I could pick one reason why I married my wife, it's that she likes to celebrate great sex with a beer in the shower afterward. Shower beer is the best.
Agreed. Know what's even better? OUTDOOR SHOWER BEERS. I've been in a couple vacation houses that have outdoor showers, those things… My God. Makes you feel like you're in one of the vignettes in a Playboy Centerfold video. I could spend eight hours a day in an outdoor shower drinking beer. It's heaven.
Reeses Pieces versus M&Ms with peanut butter. Who wins?
Peanut butter M&M's. I fucking love those things. The addition of chocolate is clutch.
What is proper snooze button etiquette when you have roommates? We've discussed this as a house, and we've come to a compromise of 30 minutes if you're a heavy sleeper that lets the alarm ring forever (longer than 5 minutes) before turning it off. A quick turn off (within 5 seconds) and you're allowed an hour.
That sounds fair. Anyone who lets the alarm just fucking ring forever should be poisoned.
What the fuck is with bars of soap? Do you know people who still use them? I personally think they are disgusting. My girlfriend's parents only have bars of soap in the guest shower at their house and I fucking hate it. Have you ever smelled a bar of soap after you have washed your gooch and brown star? Smells like a dead baby.
You also get that gross underside to the bar if it's been sitting wet in the soap dish for a long time. Looks like it has pus on it. My folks have no liquid handsoap in their bathrooms. Just bar soap. AND they have hard water, so I have to sit there for eight hours trying to get a lather. I'm getting them a bottle of Kandoo for Mother's Day.
So back in the fall when H1N1 hysteria was sweeping the nation, the admin people at my office decided to put bottles of hand sanitizer on every bathroom sink. And, four months later, I just had a sickening revelation: There are people out there, whether they be lazy or just uninformed, that drop a deuce, tidy up the bunghole, then take a dollop of hand sanitizer and walk out of the bathroom. That stuff does not remove poop from your hands! It is not a replacement for soap and water! I understand that, if your hands are otherwise clean, it will kill any microscopic germs still present.
It doesn't take the poop off? Then what good is it?
Confession: I go to a gym where dudes will fucking CAMP OUT in front of the sink. They'll shave, brush their teeth, floss. They'll treat the fucking place like it's their home bathroom, which drives me nuts. So sometimes, I go to piss or shit, and all the sinks are occupied when I finish, and no one at the sink appears to be leaving any time soon. So I hit the Purell and go to work out. And I know damn well everyone in the bathroom just saw me do that and thinks I'm a pig. I don't care. QUIT HOGGING THE SINK IF YOU DON'T WANT POOP ON THE TREADMILL.
Ever walk right behind a really big guy in a crowded place (e.g., subway station, airport, mall) and imagine that he is an offensive lineman clearing a path for you? I do this and sometimes have the temptation to start pointing out people to block.
And if two fat people are in front of you, you can split them and pretend to break into the secondary.
I feel so naughty passing two people who are together by splitting between them. Feels like I violated them. It's thrilling.
If you owned a boat, what would you name it? One of the questions we roundtabled was what we would name a boat if we happened to own one. The best answer was "fuck ranger".
Here's a situation I find myself in all too many times. I go to the bathroom to wash my hands, and while iIm washing my hands, I realize I hafta piss, so I take piss, and then I debate if I want to wash my hands again. I usually end up doing the "stick my hands under running water just long enough for them to get wet" thing because THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY I'M WASHING MY HANDS WITH SOAP A SECOND TIME IN 30 SECONDS. What's the call here?
I'm worse. I'll go piss, then go to wash my hands, and then realize I STILL HAVE PISS LEFT TO GET OUT. Then I'll go back to empty and shake, and then NOT wash my hands. Wash your hands to often, and you get dry skin! IT'S TRUE!
The post about the messy bottle of Edge shave gel from last week's mailbag reminded me of the miracle bottle of Nivea I currently own. It is truly the anti-Edge. I shave 2-3 times a week, and have been using the same 7 oz. bottle for over a year.
That is not an exaggeration. Every time I have shaved in the last 8 months I have shaken the bottle and expected it to run out on me, but it slowly squirts out just enough for a decent shave every time. The thing never ends! I don't know if all Nivea bottles are like this, or if I just got some freak product that was exposed to radiation on the assembly line, but shaving has become like performing some ridiculous magic trick in my bathroom every couple days.
/goes to buy magic Nivea shaving cream dispenser
Ever leave your slippers (or socks, if that's how you roll) next to the heat vent at night? Next morning, it's like putting your feet in a toaster. Awesome.
Ever get one of those sinks that runs for about 5 seconds then shuts off? You have to keep putting your hands in the right spot. But of course, that spot is nowhere near the water so you have to do this 10 times to get one good wash.
Those sinks are terrible, especially the ones in the airplanes where you have to push down really hard to get the water to come out, and then the stream IMMEDIATELY begins to fade, and it's so weak you can't rinse the soap off. Total bullshit. Why do these people assume I'll just callously waste water if I can control the faucet output? I'm not gonna leave that shit on forever. Annoying.
Can you egghead writers band together to permanently rid the world of those annoying Roman numeral pages that don't apply toward the page count of the book? Half the reason for reading is straight-up CONQUERING numbered pages — it's why you get that smug sense of satisfaction turning past a round number like 100 or 200. It's just not the same with Roman numerals, especially ones that are wussified by italics. Plus, some authors have the nerve to strap you with a 30-page preface, then they start the first chapter on page fucking one. So after 30-45 minutes of laborious page-turning (time I could spend watching TV) I'm STILL only at the beginning. That's as twisted as marking the third mile of a marathon Mile 1 just to demoralize the runners.
If I had my druthers: Title page is Page 1, then a blank page, then text starts on Page 3. This way, even if I only make it through the first sentence I feel like I've accomplished something. "Holy shit, three pages!"
Agreed. Although usually, those passages marked with Roman numerals are part of a FOREWORD, written by some other fuckhead telling you how important the book you're about to read is. I'll just skip right over that shit. I agree that I don't like books that have a preface that ISN'T FUCKING OPTIONAL. Like, it's really the beginning of the book, only it's not the official beginning of the book. Dude, this isn't a Bond movie. You don't get to stage some critical action sequence prior to the opening credits. All prefaces should be optional, or else they should just be labeled Chapter 1.
I'm 24 and live on my own and felt somewhat bad continuing the practice of letting my parents pay for every meal I ate out with them. Recently I attempted to pay and got rebuffed, much to my delight since I didn't actually want to pay. At what age or point in your life do you start to put up a legitimate attempt at paying for a meal with your parents?
I always put up the most half-assed effort to pay you've ever seen. I don't even get my wallet out. I just sort of start reaching for it and giving my Dad a look and he'll shake me off. "Are you sure, Dad?" "Yeah, I got it." "Well, all right. Fine then." I'm 33, and my folks still pay for my meals. It's pathetic. I paid for lunch ONCE with them. I planned it out, like, a month in advance. I even gave the card to the host before we sat down, to prevent a war of insistence. They were touched by my generosity. Since then, FREE SUSHI FOR DREW!
Are you crazy? You think when I walk up to the pearly gates, God will be waiting there with a DVR of girls I could have banged? That shit bugs me to death now, you think I want to be tortured for eternity thinking I could have had ten times as much sex had I gotten off my lazy ass and just gone for it? Sounds like the 7th circle of hell to me... having to go back and watch my lame self talking to a girl for a few minutes before pathetically walking away, only to see her getting off to me later. WHY WOULD I WANT TO KNOW THAT?!?
Yes, but I always assume that when you get to Heaven, your state of mind is such that nothing bothers you. Everything is wonderful and all of your cares are lifted away. Basically, I assume that, in Heaven, you are drugged.
So I'm sitting at my shitty work-study job entering professor's addresses and phone numbers into a spreadsheet for God knows what reason. Anyway, while I'm doing this I've begun to realize that I tend to judge people based on how their address sounds. For example, one guy's address is 5280 Aztec Drive. That guy's house sounds fucking awesome.
Further down the list, another professor lives at 10 Benton Street. That guy's house sounds fucking lame. Just try saying them out loud, 10 Benton Street sounds like the location of a crack den, whereas 5280 Aztec Drive sounds like the location of a three-story chateau. I'm sure both of them have perfectly luxurious houses, but if I was invited to a cocktail party at both houses, I'm going to 5280 Aztec Drive.
That makes me feel good about my current address: 69 Battlecock Boulevard.
I'd love to live on Aztec Drive and tell the contractor to tear down my house and build a sun pyramid on my land. Imagine living in a sun pyramid and living on Aztec Drive. People would drive by and be like, "HOLY SHIT! THERE ARE REAL AZTECS ON THIS ROAD!"
I work in sales, so I'm constantly on the phones. A few times a year, I find myself waiting for someone to answer or a voicemail to pick up when I feel a monster sneeze coming on. You know, the kind that starts with a little tickle in your sinuses, and ends with you taking 3 full inhales of air before completely blowing that shit out in a violent force that would cause any nearby refugee to scream in fear. There's nothing worse than one of those building as I'm listening to some jackass's voicemail greeting, just hoping and praying that fucking "beep" will come so I can sneak in my contact info before hanging up and unleashing hell.
Even worse is doing it right after the other person picks up. "Hello, Empire Carpet? I was calling to… wait a second… HOOGAHHHHHHHH!!!!!! HOOGAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Anyway, I wanted to see if you had any remnants in your showroom."
One of the benefits of getting married was that I no longer had to deal with mail!!! I HATE FUCKING MAIL!!! For all the tree-huggers out there, we can solve the world's problems by limiting people to maybe 1 piece of mail per week and cutting down 1/8th of the trees. Does anyone under the age of 75 find more than maybe 5 pieces of useful mail each year?
Agreed. I also let my wife handle any and all mail duties. I'm such a dick. When the mail arrives, I sort through it for checks or my magazines, and then I leave poor Mrs. Drew to deal with the rest.
The other thing I look for: my college bulletin. Whenever I get my college bulletin, I immediately flip it open to my class' notes and scan for my name. Then, if my name isn't there, I scan for any other names I know. Then I throw the piece of shit out. Oh, look at that. David Kim got married! That's nice. TRASH.
/went to a dipshit liberal arts school that sends out a bulletin
Biz v. Nuge:
Am I the only one incapable of operating the water spouts on refrigerators without making a mess? The damn thing always sprays a little longer than I hold the glass there.
They're so VIOLENT, aren't they? They just attack the bottom of your glass. I put a Dixie cup under my folks' fridge water thing once, and the initial contact sounded like a fucking snare drum.
Am I also the only one that uses the edge of the cabinets to open them, rather than the handles? I have no idea why I do this.
Because the handles are often so tiny, they don't really accommodate your fingers.
Is it possible to wash measuring spoons without water spraying everywhere? And don't say to turn down the water pressure - I need that shit on full blast at all times.
Yup. I get the front of my shirt wet from washing spoons at least twice a week.
Is there anything more aggravating than when a DVD player ignores your pleas to 'skip' or 'return to menu'? It just displays that evil red x and laughs at you.
Agreed. Horrible. LET ME SKIP THE FUCKING WARNING, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. I KNOW WHAT'S ILLEGAL AND WHAT ISN'T NOW.
My DVD player is even more passive aggressive. It says THAT OPERATION IS NOT ALLOWED RIGHT NOW. Dude, I paid for you. I OWN YOU. FUCK YOU. LET ME SKIP THIS SHIT.
Also, some DVD menus take 90 fucking years to fully load. Like, I got one DVD the other day, and there was this long and elaborate introduction to the fucking DVD menu. And it wouldn't let me just skip ahead. Fucking DVD's. I'm going OnDemand sooner rather than later.
Fuck you and the Vikings, Drew.
Again, tough but fair.
Is the whole losing weight and getting in shape for the wedding/honeymoon worth it? Has anyone EVER kept in shape afterward? Are we kidding ourselves thinking we can?
For you, the groom, it's a waste of time. No one gives a shit about you or how you look. You barely have to wear pants. Everyone is too busy looking at the bride and judging her for her dress and figure. My wife looked terrific at our wedding. I looked like a beached seal.
Ever urinate in the shower before you actually step in? I get the urge shortly after the water is cut on, but before it has had ample time to warm up. Meanwhile, I'm standing right there in perfect position staring at an inviting drain target. This all goes down within an arms reach of the toilet, yet feels completely logical.
And hitting the drain is so satisfying, isn't it? If you get it right in one of the little drain holes, feels like you made a basket.
James in Mass:
I had a lesbian friend in college, and one night while talking to her partner she explained that sometimes you've gotta spice up the lesbian sex, since just going down all the time can get old, then showed us her new anniversary grooming job: She shaved everything except for the left labial area - in lesbian circles this is known as the "Tom Selleck."
That makes no sense. If you only left the top of your pubic area unshaved, THEN you would call it the Tom Selleck.
Imagine that. Imagine shaving all your pubes except a mustache at the top. That would scare the shit out of anyone who saw you naked.
In college, I spent one summer hiking around New York State. I started at Niagara Falls, spent the better part of two months wandering around the Catskills and Adirondacks, and finished off by following the Hudson into NYC, where I was catching a bus back to Boston.
That last day of the trip, I'm sitting on the can at the Port Authority, getting reacquainted with the magic of flush toilets, and some dude pounds on the stall door.
"I know you're in there! Gimme twenty dollars."
"Twenty dollars?!? I don't have fucking twenty dollars!"
"Fuck you, man! I know you've got twenty dollars. I have a knife."
Shit. I've been in the woods for two months, avoiding bears, bugs, and who knows what else, and now I'm gonna get stabbed by a bum because I just spent my last ten bucks on a bus ticket.
"I'm telling you man, I don't have twenty dollars."
He kicks the door in. I'd have shit myself at that point, but I was already on the throne.
He looks at me: dingy frame pack, scraggly 3-inch beard, dick between my legs, no sign of having showered since June.
"Shit, dude! You really don't have twenty dollars. Sorry about that."
And with that, he was gone.
Holy shit. I'm never going back to Port Authority.