The Deadspin Mailbag: Now Twice A Week

Time for your Tuesday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Email me here or submit your questions via Twitter. Today, we're covering cops, grocery stores, garbage, microwaves, and more. But first, an announcement.

A bit of news before we get to the letters today. First off, I'm rechristening the Deadspin mailbag the Deadspin Funbag. It makes sense for what we do here. Secondly, you don't want funbags unless they come in pairs. That goes without saying. So I'm expanding the mailbag to twice a week. Not splitting. Doubling. First funbag runs on Tuesday. Second one runs in the old 2:20 Jamboroo slot on Thursdays. Believe me, we've got more than enough material to cover it. So make room for those funbags, children. Now, the letters:

John:

Do you ever throw something in the garbage and then strategically move other trash to prevent anyone else from seeing whatever embarrassing thing you just threw away? Candy bar wrappers are one of my most popular items that require this move because I'm positive my wife would be pissed if she knew I had a candy bar. Then again, she'd probably be more pissed if she found out that I was pathetic enough to move an old envelope and orange peel in order to obstruct the view of my Twix wrapper.

Yes, absolutely I do that. I do it with candy bar wrappers because, as John said, the wife will give me a dirty look. That's a look you never want to see. It makes you feel like a fucking kindergartener. "Oh, Drew. Drew. You had ANOTHER 100 Grand bar? Oh, you big fat husband of mine." I can't take that scrutiny. I want to enjoy my candy bar free from judgment. I'M ONLY HUMAN. MAYBE YOU CAN RESIST CRISPED RICE FOR THAT LONG BUT I CAN'T! AREN'T YOU JUST POLLY FUCKING PERFECT?!

I also make it a point to occasionally bury beer cans under other garbage so that it looks like I had less beer than I consumed in actuality. Look! Only three cans are visible! I couldn't have had that whole six-pack! The other three cans were clearly stolen by some sort of invisible elephant.

This is also a strategy I deploy when working in any office. Let's say there's a candy dish sitting out. Now, I am a fat person, so I'm magnetized to any and all chocolate goods. So I'll happily devour three hundred pieces of candy from that dish. But then I look at the trash, see all the wrappers, and realize what a horrendous fat fuck I am. I don't want anyone else to know this. I don't even want to know it myself. I want to hide it from my eyes so I don't remind myself. Hence, I'll top those wrappers with papers and shit. COVERUP: COMPLETE.

There are any number of things that a man will bury in other garbage to prevent its discovery by others: wrappers, cans, porn, booger tissues (the real Jackson Pollock ones), nut rags (if you're too lazy to toss it in the toilet), embarrassing internet printouts, skidmarked boxers, fingernail trimmings, and God knows what else. You ever see those shots of paparazzi digging through the garbage of stars? That terrifies me. If anyone ever went through my garbage, they'd be horrified. There should be a fucking biohazard symbol on the lid.

Pete:

Whenever you're leaving the grocery store, pushing a cart full of newly purchased goodies, don't you just want to start fucking running and hop on the back of that cart like you were 8 years old again? Every time I walk out of the store I get the urge to ride the cart back to my car like a bastard.

Shit, I get the urge IN the store. And sometimes, I do it. The key, at my weight, is to make sure the cart has enough shit in it to counterbalance my considerable girth. So I load that fucker up with 2-liter seltzer bottles until I can finally hop on the bar and fucking cruise.

Best place to do this is the frozen food aisle. If you're familiar with grocery stores, you know that the produce section of any grocery store is always fucking anarchy. It's like being trapped in a riot. There are bodies everywhere, grabbing at things. Some people just sit there, staring at shit for minutes at a time without moving. Old ladies are struggling to tear the plastic bags off the rolls. I do everything in my power to get the fuck out of the produce section as soon as humanly possible.

Everyone else crowds the cereal aisle and dairy aisle, and I always hit the store when the guys are busy stocking the shelves, so there are fucking huge carts of shit blocking everything in all the aisles. Drives me insane. But the frozen food aisle is relatively deserted. And they're wide as shit. They make for a perfect drag strip. So I'll get up a head of steam and ride that cart for a solid half a second until some old hag turns the corner and sees me. Then I get off and try to act like nothing happened. Bitch.

Also, even though I try to weigh down the cart, I usually end up tipping the thing. That's always fun. WHOA SHITTTTTTTTTT!

Jeremy:

After killing a spider with the "crushing his guts through a rolled up kleenex" technique, I like to toss the fucker into the toilet and piss on his lifeless, 8-legged body while laughing maniacally. It's not for my enjoyment. It's a warning to any other spiders that may be watching from the crevices of my bathroom. Cross my path and I'll fucking kill you AND PISS ON YOUR CORPSE!!!!

I too take great pleasure in such mercenary bug killing activities. I like to gently wrap the bug in Kleenex while making sure the bug is still alive. BRING HIM TO ME ALIVE. And THEN I crush him with my hand. Immensely satisfying. You hear the crunch and everything. I AM THE ANGEL OF DEATH.

Pissing on a bug's corpse is the icing on the cake. You also get to push the wad of paper around with your stream, and that never ceases to excite me. Sometimes, once in a blue moon, I open up the toilet and there's a live bug sitting right on the surface of the water. Now, on the one hand, this terrifies me. I have recurring daymares that one day I will sit on a toilet and a giant spider/alligator/snake/cockroach will rise up out of the toilet hole and bite my asshole off. It scares me to death.

On the other hand, LIVE GUNFIRE. I piss on that live bug for all it's worth. The ultimate punishment for invading my private toilet space. It must be done.

Steve:

Yesterday, I was scratching the bottom of a hummus container. Much like I do with a fresh pint of ice cream, I stay to one side of the container as I progress through the contents. In my mind, keeping half the container untouched for the next person is just common courtesy. The missus thinks I am absolutely crazy and actually finds this more disgusting than me spreading countless microbes over the entirety of the remaining food. Thoughts?

I understand the idea of doing that, but I never do it. I spread my DNA all over that container. Seeing half of a hummus container literally untouched, like it's Harvey Dent, would drive me insane for reasons I don't yet understand. I think that's something you should feel compelled to do only if A) You have a roommate, B) You and the roommate both paid for the hummus or ice cream and therefore are entitled to half each, and C) Your roommate is kind of a cock.

There's one other problem with eating just half of one container of, say, ice cream. I am the sort of person who will, as I'm digging through the ice cream container, actively look for the highest concentration of cookie dough chunks/chocolate chips/swirly caramel shit. If I see a high concentration of dough in one area of the tub, I FUCKING DIG WITH ALL MY MIGHT. Let some other sucker have the chunk-free shit. So If I were to leave half the container just sitting there, I could be leaving huge deposits of chips for someone else to take. No. Fucking. Chance.

Steve (again):

Also, from this week's mailbag, I hear you are supposed to lie down if you're ever in a falling elevator. By dispersing the impact you are less likely to break your legs. Either Beakman or Bill Nye taught me that one.

That makes perfect sense. But what if the elevator is crowded? I would throw someone down and lay on top of them, especially a fat person. I'm that selfish. You only get one life, you know.

Josh:

When I was a kid, I used to get horrific sinus infections, the sort where my mom could tell I had one because of how much I smelled like death. One time, even after deploying the cluster bomb of antibiotics that my doctor hit me with (I didn't even have a regular GP as a kid, we just went straight to the ear-nose-throat specialist), he decided it was time to "irrigate my sinuses". This involved hammering a syringe into my face, sucking all the mucus out of it and then flushing it out with some kind of saline solution. I remember laying down and closing my eyes and then making the mistake of looking. Hilariously, he was using a tuning fork to hammer it in. I guess using his shoe would have been unprofessional. Anyway, it pretty much worked, but was all around horrifying. My mom was in the room watching the whole thing, which must have been disgusting, but it was handy since it allowed me to verify that the whole thing wasn't a horrible dream.

I can only imagine what they sucked out of you. I mean, some mornings I step into the shower, blow my nose for all its worth, and what comes out looks like something that a black widow shoots at its victims to paralyze them. It's horrifying stuff. So imagine having an infected sinus with all that buildup. Must have looked like a green baby.

Jordan Green:

Six months ago, in need of some aluminum foil and being the environmentally-conscious Oregonian I am, I went with the 100% Recycled kind in the earthy brown box. It's just foil, I thought, how bad could it be, right? Plus, I'm saving the earth!

NOT right. This aluminum foil is awful. It comes apart like wet toilet paper, and the cutting edge is just the cardboard container cut in a zigzag pattern. I only used it for simple jobs (like covering a bowl of spaghetti), and it made me angry EVERY TIME I SAW IT. Then, when I was finally rid of the damn thing, my wife bought a new box because she "thought I liked that brand."

But here's what really pisses me off: the brand name is "If You Care". My theory: If You Care is actually owned by Reynolds Wrap, and is intended to get customers so angry, they never ask for recycled aluminum foil again.

The name of it does sound contemptuous. "If you care so much about saving the fucking planet, you'll probably put up with this horrid foil." I fucking hate bad foil. It tears all over the fucking place. You need the industrial strength Reynolds Wrap. The shit that comes in a box that weighs nine pounds and looks like sheet metal when you pull it out. That is a glorious product. I could build a T-1000 cyborg out of that.

I bought cheap foil by accident once. The package said ULTRA, so I assumed that Ultra meant is was thicker and burlier and metallier. FUCKING METAL. But it was thin as shit and tore the instant I tried putting it over the lip of a plate. Ultra my ass.

SEC Gal:

What's the appropriate etiquette for using the lunchroom microwave? If the dish in the microwave ahead of you is finished, yet its owner is nowhere in sight, is it acceptable to take it out of the microwave and start heating your own food? My feeling is that, unless you're cooking a damn Thanksgiving turkey in there, food takes at most 5 minutes to warm up. So stick around and get your food out when the microwave beeps. I have just taken it out and left it on the counter as I heated mine up, but felt simultaneously justified and rude when its owner came to get it.

I'm the kind of person who will put shit in the microwave and then immediately leave the lunchroom once I've pushed the START button because I can't stand to sit there and wait. The time waiting for something in the microwave to cook feels like the most endless stretch of time ever. It's like the time between waiting for a video to buffer and it finally getting onto your screen. It just feels endless because you have nothing else to do except stand there and watch the fucker rotate. So I happily abandon it. That makes me vulnerable to someone coming and aborting the heating process in favor of their own dish. I think that's fair. If you can't bother to wait three minutes (and I can't), you lose dominion over the microwave and anyone can usurp your lunch with their own. That's fair, though most people let the other thing in there cook anyway. I wouldn't feel bad about taking it out early if I were you.

A couple other workplace microwave tidbits:

• I never gauge microwave cooking times accurately. Either I underestimate the time needed and the thing comes out just as fucking cold as it was before, or I've nuked it into oblivion and all the moisture has been eliminated from whatever is on my plate. It looks like astronaut food by the time I pull that shit out. Huge pores dot the sauce. The only time I score is when the microwave has specific item buttons you can push. POPCORN. BEVERAGE. Shit like that. Yet there's never a CHILI button. Oh, how I yearn for a CHILI button.

• Whenever I cook something in the microwave, it is cold again seven seconds later. Regardless of its initial heat. You could nuke something for an eternity but you better be ready to eat that shit when it comes out, because it will turn cold faster than a newlywed. You take a chicken out of a regular oven, it stays hot for a fucking hour. It bothers me.

• I am a terrible perpetrator of the "smelly lunch item in the microwave" crime, in which someone at your work heats up something exotic in the microwave, causing the odor of it to permanently linger in your workspace for the rest of the day. Curry is the single worst offender of these items, and I have smelled up more than on office reheating that shit. But it's GOOD! And it would go to waste if I didn't eat it at work! Is it my fault the people of India have crafted a cuisine that is both delicious and has an aroma that sticks to fucking walls?

If I had to choose between working next to the company shitter or the company microwave, I'd go with the shitter every time. At least the smell would be consistent.

SEC Gal (again):

Also, is it rude to look at your coworkers' Tupperware containers of leftovers and comment? My feeling is that they're clear, so you can easily see what's inside. Why not burst out with an inspirational, "That looks good," or "Everyone seems to be eating Chinese today." Yet I did this with a coworker the other day and she looked at me like I had poisoned her dog.

It's because lunch is intensely personal for many people at work. It's their oasis in the middle of the day. It's what they're thinking about while they're doing shit in the morning. So if you're like, "Hey, that smells good!", the other person takes that as I WANT TO FUCKING STEAL YOUR LUNCH AND RUIN YOUR FUCKING DAY.

Also, there may be deep shame in whatever it is someone is having for lunch. Maybe they went to PF Changs, tried to resist ordering the sesame chicken, then ordered that shit anyway. Now, they're eating the leftovers and still dealing with the lingering shame from feasting on fried chicken assholes. They may want to indulge in that as inconspicuously as possible, and then cover up the container with other garbage once it goes in the wastebasket. I'm not saying that's right. I'm just saying that working in an office turns people into self-conscious freaks who question your motives when admiring their food.

Donovan:

What are your thoughts on the best age to be? I am now 32, and I think it's the cat's ass. People finally take you seriously at work. You're young enough that your dick still works. You could theoretically land a 19-year-old college girl or a 38-year-old cougar. It's still possible to be in great shape (not me though, I'm hella fat.). It's a great time to be alive.

Yeah but I'm 33 and I have a wife and two kids. The problem with all ages is that nothing coincides. I'd like to have the wisdom of 33 but the sexual freedom of 22. But it doesn't work like that. At 22, you still lack the self-awareness to know you're a complete fucking ponce. And you're even more retarded in your teenage years.

Regardless, I'll take 24 or 25. You're a little bit smarter than 22, still free, and you've figured out enough of the dating scene to know what you're doing. Work still blows, but work always blows.

No wait, I'll take 20. Junior semester abroad. I would stay on junior semester abroad forever.

Scott:

Can we make some kind of fucking law preventing Girl Scout parents from bringing their kid's order forms into work? First off, you're obligated to buy at least one box. Then when she brings in that box of Thin Mints that you ordered to the office, you end up devouring the whole damn box in the span of an hour because you're bored and miserable at work. No way an office-ordered box of Girl Scout cookies has ever successfully made it home. Fucking Girl Scouts. Probably the sole reason New Year's resolution diets fail within 2 months.

There's also that one co-worker who will buy cookies and then leave them out for all to take, and that's even deadlier. Or worse, she'll buy the thin mints and then go the extra mile of sticking them in the freezer. DIABOLICAL. Holy fuck, frozen thin mints are good. I could eat 50 of those in seven seconds. In fact, let's go ahead now and rank Girl Scout cookies in order of deliciousness. I'll omit the Daisy Go Rounds (sounds like a sex act), Trefoils, Thanks-a-lots, Lemon Chalet Cremes, Lemonades, and Thank You Berry Much cookies, because I don't give shit about them. Let's go.

1. Tagalongs. I would strangle you with piano wire for a box of Tagalongs. Cookie and peanut butter center. Covered in chocolate. It's a fucking peanut butter Twix bar, for God's sake. It's not even a cookie. It's candy. It's insane.

2. Thin Mints. Especially if frozen.

3. Samoas. Caramel and coconut. Chocolate on the bottom. Again, diabolical. Naughtier than banging an actual Girl Scout.

4. Do-Si-Dos. The peanut butter sandwich cookies. They are good.

5. Dulce De Leche. I have not had these. They look fucking awesome.

I could eat nothing but the top 3 on that list for the rest of time and be quite pleased. Makes you wonder why the Boy Scouts don't do something similar. All they have to offer are the AV cards of young boys. Dude, my kid is selling Boy Scout jerky. YOU CANNOT RESIST.

HALFTIME!

Doug:

Did you ever make a horrible lube choice growing up? When I was in 5th grade, I used Pert shampoo. That's bad enough. It was even worse because I was too lazy to wipe my dick off when I was done. For the next two weeks I had to deal with a burning crusty dick. It looked like a retarded snake shedding it's skin.

It could be worse. When I was in high school our baseball team traveled across the country to play in a tournament in Florida. One of our pitchers was scratched because he jerked off with mineral ice the night before his start. He could hardly walk the next day.

Shampoo is a common lube mistake among junior masturbators. Baby oil is also difficult for a totally different reason. I remember I was at my grandma's house when I was 12 and there was a bottle of baby oil in the bathroom and I was like FUCKING JACKPOT. So I take off my pants and get to work, only I was a kid so I didn't know a little went a long way, so I just doused myself in that shit. Overuse of baby oil is a real problem because then there's NO friction, and you can't feel a thing. Then you try and wipe it off with toilet paper, only the toilet paper sticks to you and now you look like a fucking idiot. It just gets everywhere.

I swear I have watched sex scenes where they use baby oil and thought to myself, "God damn, that will take AGES to clean up." I'm barely a sexual being at all anymore.

Fantasy:

The guy that wrote in about the ear wax was not shitting you. Here are a couple pictures of the wax I was able to flush out of my ear (with objects for scale comparison). Amazing. And you do hear better after.

The Deadspin Mailbag: Now Twice A Week





HOLY SHIT!

Frank:

Dude, you do NOT want to ever drink whiskey out of a bag. It's fucking disgusting. Observe: the Pocket Shot.

I have consumed this. Though I don't regret living to tell the tale, I cannot recommend it to anyone else. It tastes like cigarette ashes and horse semen. Fucking gross.

I had a lot of people write in about Pocket Shots this week. One reader even tried West Africa's version of the product, who he too did not recommend. When I was thinking of drinking hard liquor out of a bag to look gangsta, a little pissy Pocket Shot wasn't what I had in mind. I'm think a really big, economy size bag of toilet whiskey. Like, if you sitting on your stoop and drinking whiskey out of a bag the size of a bag of Ore-Ida fries. I would try that. Pocket Shots don't really count.

Brent:

What about the grocery store poop…for as long as I can remember I have always needed to take a shit when I go into a grocery store. I can take a shit at home, jump in the car, drive to the grocery store and have to shit again 10 minutes later. Weirdest thing ever.

It's even worse if you can't get home and you have to use the bathroom in the grocery store, which I have had to do. Not every grocery store will let you in the bathroom, but some will let you walk back into the bowels of the store, where they cut meat and stuff, to use the loo. And those bathrooms are never pleasant. You know damn well that some guy who just basted his hands in raw chicken juice for three hours came in and used that thing without washing his hands.

Also, using the bathroom in the grocery store means you have to abandon your cart. I always dislike abandoning my cart because I always picture someone happening upon it and crying out, "Milk? Eggs? Honey Nut Cheerios? WHY, THIS CART HAS EVERYTHING I NEED! I SHALL ABSCOND WITH IT AND ITS OWNER SHALL BE NONE THE WISER! TEE HEE HEE!" Then they make off with my groceries and I have to wade back into the hell of the produce aisle. It never happens. BUT WHAT IF IT DID?

I have similar visions when I put my groceries in the car and then walk the cart back to the store. I imagine someone happening upon the bags in my trunk and totally nicking them, usually because I'm too lazy to lock my car. I often avoid this anxiety by leaving my cart at the front of my parking space, which is a total dick move. But the parking lot to my grocery store has no cart stations in the middle of the parking lot, so I feel justified in committing this heinous act.

Jim:

When you're doing the paperwork after a good download, do you rush to get in the bowl another volley of toilet paper during the bonus flush? I do, and what bugs me is I know I'll still have to have a second full flush anyway. Depression era mentality knows no boundaries.

Yeah, but sometimes you throw that extra wad of paper down mid-flush, and it clears customs, and that is a fucking GREAT feeling. There's always that anxiety when you throw that extra wad in. Will it make it? Was that the poopy straw that shall break the camel's back? And then it makes it through, and it feels like you just smuggled a pound of heroin through Miami International Airport.

Matt:

In response to your post about having to take the dive in any game against a child, I have to say I refuse to abide. I'm 23 and was playing checkers with my 7-year-old niece this past summer when the opportunity for a QUADRUPLE-JUMP presented itself. Seeing that this NEVER happens, I took full advantage and jumped the shit out of those checkers, claiming victory for the good guys.

My niece was non-too happy and my sister declared me a jerk.

Is she right?

No. I think the way you avoid judgment there is by sharing, with your little 7-year-old, the rarity of the quadruple jump. So you say to the kid, "Oh my goodness! Look, junior! This is really cool. The board is set up so I can do a quadruple jump. Look at this. One jump. Two jumps. Three jumps. Four! Isn't that amazing? You set it up just so, so that this checker could jump four times. Isn't that cool? AND SO I JUST FUCKING RUINED YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT." You see how much more mature that makes your victory? Use your success to teach your child, to make his asskicking more palatable. That way, your sister doesn't think you're a jerk. And you still get to savor the victory over the little fucker.

God Hates ASU:

Are you ever just sitting on the toilet, taking a massive dookie and all the while, having a text conversation with someone on your phone? I do this all the time and let me tell you, it is quite entertaining. But if I were to find out someone I was texting was taking a shit while talking to me, I would be kind of pissed. I'm not your god damn shit entertainment buddy. Thoughts?

I wouldn't have a problem with someone texting me while pooping. So they're pooping. Big deal. It's not like the messages I get have fecal residue on them. OR DO THEY?!

I work a lot from home these days, and not only will I text people from the can, I'll call. I've had entire phone conversations where I'm shitting or I'm pissing, and the thrill of it is that you never know if the person on the other end of the line will know what you're doing. Can they hear the stream hitting the water? Do they have the guts to confront me on the phone about it? I took a business call once and I went over to start pissing during the conversation, and I swear I heard the dude on the other end of the line hesitate the second the piss hit the bowl. So disrespectful. I can't get enough.

Sam:

I keep putting the loner sock into the laundry in the hopes it reappears with its mate. The one week that it works I am as happy as a fat chick at Baskin-Robbins.

It can happen, because those stray socks end up in sheets and sweaters and you just never know when they'll re-emerge. Sometimes, I throw the loner sock in the wash, and I get in return the loner sock, and then ANOTHER loner sock that doesn't match. It's quite bittersweet.

John:

Is it bad to watch Little People on TLC and think, "I could totally kick a midget's ass?"

No. Just once, I'd love to do that move where a midget charges at you, then I grab their forehead and they try swinging at me but their stubby little midget arms would be too short to reach my body. Then I'd sing, "HO HO HO GREEN GIANT!"

I've always wanted to have a death fight against someone who I know I could beat. You know those football teams who are like, "Bring us the toughest team! WE WANT TO BEAT THE BEST!" Not me. I want to beat the very worst. I want to just beat the fucking piss out of someone like Tila Tequila and not worry once about defeat. That would be a blast.

In fact, if someone came up to me and said, "Drew, I want you to fight a midget to the death. And, once you kill the midget, it springs back to life as if nothing happened," I would accept on the spot. What I'm saying is that I would like there to be a resurrectable midget I can kill multiple times over without any guilt. Is that weird? I don't care.

Peter:

I get restless and/or stiff sitting in my seat on an airplane and like to stand for a while. There is no place to stand other than next to the aft lavatories. So while you're standing there, people keep showing up, assuming you're in line for the bathroom, and waiting in said "line" themselves. (Lots of people are too dumb to observe and/or believe the "vacant" sign on the door and the fact that the light is not lit up.) You keep having to tell people "oh no, go ahead, the bathroom's open, I'm just standing here." Or worse (or better), the bathroom is occupied, and someone comes out and the person who's waiting next to you assumes you're about to go in and defers to you, and you have to explain either with words or actions that you're just standing there like a moron.

Sometimes I get sick of this and feel like a tool. But more often, I take silent pleasure in every one of these interactions. I make these fuckers wait, just to show them how stupid they are. I stand idly, staring out the little window in the emergency exit door or stretching my calves or doing some other thing that clearly conveys, "not waiting to piss." And when they inevitably fail to figure it out, I snap out of my feigned obliviousness: "Oh, I'm sorry, did you think ...? No please, go ahead." It pleases me that, while I could have let that poor slob relieve his urinary urge three seconds earlier, I didn't. I AM IN CONTROL HERE, PEOPLE.

Yeah, but that's a cock move. Think about if someone did that to you. You'd want to throttle them, and you'd be right to feel that way. I too like to stand up and walk in the cabin of an airplane, so as to relieve my back pain. And when I stand outside the bathroom, I like to pretend I'm the bouncer of the bathroom, and that I'm allowing people past an imaginary velvet rope so that they might use the facility. That way, I get both an ego boost AND I don't have to be quite so dickish. Pass on through, young squire! YOU ARE FIT TO USE MY ROYAL DUTCH AIR SHITROOM.

The bathroom a the back of most planes is located next to the galley, where the stewardesses fill the drink cart. Sometimes, I edge into the galley as I'm standing. Sometimes, you can chat up the flight attendants this way, and it totally makes you feel like you're in their secret club. Oh, the Denver Ramada is the fucking WORST! I agree!

Dennis:

Drew, the only thing worse than losing to a kid on purpose and trying to be like "oh, wow you're so good at tic-tac-toe, etc" is losing when you're trying not to. My 9-year-old son routinely kicks my ass at FIFA 2010 on his PlayStation. I TRY to win and he still beats me. And he's a shitty sport. He runs around, shakes his ass at me (which really pisses me off), and has to watch EVERY fucking replay. I wish I had a dollar for every time I've told him to hit his X button. The other day, after he beat me, I told him I wasn't going to play with him anymore because he was a poor sport. Now I've got a 9-year-old patronizing me when I play him. "Oh, good shot dad, you should have scored on that one." Fuck.

That's terrifying. That is my biggest fear about having a son. I have a son, but he's one, so he's not an actual boy yet. But that's gonna happen soon enough. I was a boy once, and I know for a fact: little boys are complete fucking assholes. So how do you even tolerate having an obnoxious little boy around while also knowing he's YOUR son? It's your fucking fault he's a dirty, lazy little bastard. What if he becomes like Cockeye Jones and jacks it 17 hours a day? What if he's ungrateful? What if he eats all the pepperoni in the fridge and doesn't warn you? Oh God, that just gnaws at my guts. I'm putting the one-year-old in military school right now. Preventive measures.

Dana:

Since I'm sure you don't frequent health food stores, I'll clue you in to a fabulous product called the Ear Candle.

It's a 1-inch cone of fabric and beeswax that you stick in your ear, light the top end on fire, lay down and enjoy. The heat from the flame warms up your earwax, and a vacuum is created to feed the flame, which pulls the warm earwax out of your dirty-ass ears. It feels so good it makes my nipples hard, so I'm sure you boys would find a way to jack it with a big ass flame coming out the side of your head... After you put the flame out, you can cut the bottom of the ear candle open to explore your loot of orange waxy goodness. Not only will you be a-fucking-mazed at the amount of wax that was hiding in there, you will be shocked at how well you can hear afterwards and how light your head feels. Fuck the gym, your big ass head could probably drop 4 lbs just from ear-candling... Enjoy!

Yeah, but it sounds dangerous. How long do you sit there with a goddamn fire blasting out of your ear? 10 minutes? I can't sit still for ten minutes. What if I have to go piss? Does that ruin the vacuum? There's a site that questions the use of these things:

A woman who experienced stuffiness in the nose and ear pains while scuba diving went to a local health-food store and was referred to a "qualified" candler. During the "treatment," she felt an intense burning in her ear. At the emergency room, attempts to remove wax that had dripped from the candle onto her eardrum failed. Surgery was required, and a hole in her eardrum was discovered, which presumably was caused by the procedure.

GAHHHHHH HOT CANDLEWAX ON YOUR EARDRUM. It's like the worst Madonna sex scene ever.

Willie:

Drew, Mastodon is coming to Baltimore. You going? April 20. Hitler's Birthday, Nazi Shark would like that.

You know what? FUCK IT. I'm going. DEADSPIN MASTODON PANTS PARTY ON 4.20 IN BALTIMORE. Ticketbastard link here.

Toker Ace:

I recently started working out again and wondered what the policy is on toking up beforehand.

I'd fall off the machine 50 times and wet myself.

Jim:

Maybe that shit with eating somebody else's fries works on your wife, but with buddies in the car, it'd be fucking war. For years I've been getting an extra medium fry as 'road fries'. Keeps the peace.

That's sound policy, my friend. I cannot dispute such methods. But why a medium? Why not go for the Godzilla size box?

My wife will insist on splitting fries at McDonald's to prevent overeating. I always regret agreeing to this. All I want to do is grab fries by the fistful and stuff them down my fucking throat. Not as easy to do with the dagger eyes on you.

Anonymous:

I used to work as a driver for a company that provided entertainment services, the kind that used to be able to advertise on Craigslist in the adult services section. We received a call about 4am on a weekday that someone had called and requested a date in Beverley Hills, I parked my car across the street and the lady strolls in, (Some inside information for you, not all these girls are full service or even some service. The girls are upfront about what they offer but hint at extras and expect to be paid upfront) The girl and I would communicate through text message and after about 15 minutes she texted me to come in. The usually means that something is wrong that the customer is not happy with the lack of services offered, but to my surprise there is Charlie Sheen, he got a cold beer for me and invites me to come in a relax a while and watch some TV, he asked if we knew of any other Premier Services in the area.

In my tenure as a driver I met many celebrates, and he was by far the nicest to me and the girls.

Yeah, but that's because he hadn't done a speedball and called Denise yet. After that, he becomes a fucking minotaur.

Anon:

Is it possible to watch Olympic figure skating without staring at the woman's crotch the entire time?

No. Because the outfits are designed so that the eye goes directly to them. You can't help it. Plus they're always spreading their legs and raising their legs and doing all kinds of things that showcase the biscuit. They practically lead with it.

Nick:

The Deadspin Mailbag: Now Twice A Week

My god so temping. Definitely would have ended with hot coffee in my eyeballs if I tried it.

It IS tempting, isn't it? The gun is just SITTING there. Out. It's so big. It practically speaks to you. You have half a mind to grab it and turn into Ron Silver in "Blue Steel". Cops have to know this. They have to know everyone wants to grab that thing and just go hog wild. GUNS ARE AWESOME.

I'll tell you one thing I dislike about cops, even though they keep us safe and all that. They have that gun and that uniform they automatically bask in the authority those two things give them. But really, a cop is still just a guy. He isn't REALLY some super awesome strain of person. If you were in a bank with me and didn't have your uni and gun, you'd be just another prick. We'd totally be equals. YOU HEAR ME, PUERCO?!

Ryan:

The last time I leaned forward to rest my head on my arm against the wall at the urinal, I fell over and split my head open. While I was pledging my college fraternity in the Spring of 1998, I slept on someone's couch at the house after drinking a few sodas the night before. To "study" for a noon quiz, I woke up at 10AM abruptly rather than taking my usual 50-60 minutes - that was probably my biggest mistake. Leaning forward and resting my head on my arm against the wall and closing my eyes for a couple of seconds, I fell over and split my head open on the divider between the urinals and sinks. A couple of guys drove me to the hospital, where my BAC was 0.10 at about 10:30 in the morning and I received six staples in the head. Saying that my mother was not too happy about her 18-year-old son's choices that spring would have been an understatement.

Why'd they take your BAC? Fucking hospital sold you out.

See you Thursday, kids.