Time for your Tuesday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Today, we're covering Southwest boarding, porn, Goober, baskets, prison shitting, forks, majors, and more.
I have a question for all the commenters out there: Would you star in a porn film if someone asked you? A real porn film that gets posted on the Internet and everywhere else. You get paid. Like say, two hundred bucks. And you get to have sex with a top tier porn star, like Lisa Ann or someone like that. It all sounds great, but would you really go through with it?
I've asked myself this question a lot. Obviously, I'm married now, so I'd never accept such an offer. But I always posit all sexual hypotheticals to the alternate dimension version of myself that is NOT married with kids. I think, back when I was 18 and a virgin, and back before all porn was on the web, I would have said yes. Immediately. And then I would have failed to get an erection on camera and spent the rest of my life chewing out my genitals.
But I wonder if I'd accept so quickly in the Internet age. Every guy DREAMS of starring in a porno, of course. But you see the fucking lechers and creeps who actually go through with it, and it's hard to want to join them. Plus, you gotta go through blood tests. And you have to take direction. People are staring at you. And you have to worry about people stumbling upon it somewhere down the line. Spouses. Siblings. Parents. Is it worth all that to spend five quality minutes on camera with Sylvia Saint?
Yeah, probably. Onto your letters.
Have you ever been watching TV and an alarm clock goes off on screen with the exact same tone as the one you use at home? It's honestly the worst feeling I can get when watching a show. The trained response that I have from that always makes me depressed thinking that I have to leave my warm bed for work, even though its 8 o'clock at night.
Even worse is when the phone going off on the show sounds exactly like your own, which has happened to me a few times. Nothing makes you feel stupider. I'll even answer my phone before the character answers his. "Hello? Oh, it's the show. HAR HAR." Same with police and ambulance sirens. Wait, is that a real police siren, or is it going off on this special episode of "Top Chef Masters"? Ah. It's real! REAL FIRE SOMEWHERE! NICE!
My in-laws have a dog who goes apeshit any time he hears a doorbell ring. So any time we watch TV at their house and some fucking Domino's ad comes on, the dog springs up and starts barking like an asshole. And, since I can't kick the dog, I find myself irrationally angry at Domino's for not taking the dog's response into consideration. CATER TO ME, FUCKFACES.
I used to write a lot of radio ads. One time, I wrote an ad with a bunch of horns honking and car crashing sound effects, and my boss got pissed. "You can't put this shit in a radio ad. Drivers will get confused and freak out." It's just an unwritten rule of radio advertising. And thus, you rarely hear cars crashing in radio ads I was unaware of. THE MORE YOU KNOW…
Assuming you could only use 5 condiments the rest of your life and they were stored in a fresh and never ending supply (one per finger on one of your hands), which condiments would you choose AND which finger would they be stored in?
The question becomes difficult because this would include breakfasts (maple syrup/honey), desserts (chocolate syrup) and of course any lunch/dinner meal you could think of. Salad dressings do not count on their own unless you use them as a dipping sauce/topper (blue cheese for wings). Anything hot does not count (marinara sauce), nor do liquefied versions of solids (melted queso cheese).
You seem to be a portly fellow, which 5 would you choose, in which finger (doesn't actually matter we have decided over many years and debates) and why?
Oh, I think which finger matters. You'd want the condiment you use most in your index finger. If you put ketchup in your ring finger, you'd spend the rest of your life annoyed you didn't assign it the index finger. So ketchup is a given. Soy sauce is second. I DROWN my food in that shit. My wife always looks at me with equal parts fear and consternation when she sees me abuse the Kikkoman. But I don't give a shit about hypertension. Soy sauce rules. That goes in the thumb. After that, it's BBQ sauce (pinky), sour cream (ring finger), and nuoc mam (middle), which is the fish sauce they give you in Vietnamese restaurants. God dammit, that is good shit. I don't think I need any sweet condiments in there. Whipped cream would be fun for the novelty, but I can just use vanilla ice cream instead of whipped cream for all whipped cream situations.
Tough to leave out A1, salsa, maple syrup, hoisin sauce, and guacamole. I could put those in my left hand. If I were Tony Stark, I would spend most of time engineering things like this.
UPDATE: FRANK'S! I FUCKING FORGOT FRANK'S AND HONEY MUSTARD! JUST FUCKING KILL ME NOW.
What is your stance on a proper PB&J sammich? My brother does what would probably work out to a 3:1 ratio of jelly to peanut butter. I mean it just oozes jelly. I, on the other hand, rep the PB and usually put about two parts peanut butter to one part jelly. My dad really goes crazy. He'll get the peanut butter and jelly, mix them together in a bowl, and then put it on the bread as one spread.
Why would you dad do that when they already have Goober, the shit's that peanut butter and jelly sold in the same jar? Brian Regan does 15 minutes in his act on Goober, and with good reason.
Goober is delicious. My mom bought it when I was a kid, and I used to just eat with a spoon out of the jar. I regret nothing.
Anyway, whenever I make a PB&J sandwich, I use shitloads of both PB&J. No ratio is obeyed. Just a huge swath of Skippy, topped with a Majerus-sized blob of strawberry jam. After one bite, jelly jizzes all over the plate. The PB at the center is roughly half an inch thick. Just an appalling creation, but I've always followed the maxim that all sandwiches must be built as high and unstable as humanly possible. Large sandwiches give me an erection.
What's your stance on using a basket when you go shopping? There are times when I know I only need a few things, but those things will be more than I can just hold in my hands comfortably. I always feel like a pussy when I use one of those baskets, but feel equally daft for using a cart in those circumstances.
I almost never use a basket anymore, because our list is too big and always contains some sort of liquid product, like a gallon of milk, that would make carrying the basket a pain in the ass. All it takes is one six-pack or milk container to make that thing weigh a thousand pounds. And it always slides to one side of the basket, throwing it completely off balance.
Baskets are good if you're just a single dude who's stoned and looking for chips, cookie dough, ice cream, and a tube of summer sausage. Or if you're shopping at some place like Trader Joe's and are only interested in buying cookies, nuts, and a bottle of wine for the night. Otherwise, the basket is worthless.
Those two tier carts some joints have are a happy medium. They're less cumbersome than a cart, and you don't have to carry them. I don't like carrying things. My only issue with them is that I often strike the bottom basket with my shins while I walk. That hurts like a cunt.
Why do rich people keep their booze in those crystal decanters? How do they know what's in them? Maybe they have a more discerning eye because all brown liquor looks the same to me.
If you were rich, why wouldn't you keep booze in a decanter? It looks classy, and you can pretend you're Don Draper about to close a million dollar account when you pour a drink. Some booze is in those decanters because it's actually been decanted, like port or something. And who cares if you can't tell which Scotch is which? Like you can go wrong.
Rod Beck's Bolero:
I've never vomited while fencing, nor have I ever witnessed a vomiting incident at our fencing club. However, wouldn't this be the absolute worst situation in which to vomit? Barfing inside your fencing mask would be awful because (1) the mask would serve as a strainer, separating the solid parts of the vomit from the liquid component, and (2) when you did take the mask off, you'd have to run your face right through the solid portions of your own vomit. I think about this every time I put my mask on.
This is why you shouldn't fence, Manny from "Modern Family". I don't think it would be all that horrible to barf during a sporting event. There's a mat beneath you to make for easy cleaning. There are any number of people at the meet to help clean up quickly so competition can resume. AND you're already sweaty from all that swordsmanship and quoting "The Princess Bride" as you fight. Think of Donovan McNabb in the Super Bowl. When he had to barf, he just let it out on the field and went back to his business. It's nice to have that kind of barfing freedom. No worries about getting it ALL in the toilet. No hunching over the toilet and taking that pre-sniff to help induce further nausea. No cleanup worries. Just barf and go. Sounds excellent to me.
A much worse barfing situation would be if you were at the altar, or if you were appearing on stage in a Tony-nominated play, or if you were hooking up with your stepsister. All far worse.
RE: Southwest boarding. I always do the 24-hour before check-in online thing. I watch the clock tick down on my computer until the second it turns 24 hours before. I click, and I am sure I'm going to be gloating because I have an A10 or something. But…No. I have an A51. WTF? How is that possible!!?
I guess it could be worse – I could have a C ticket with the mouthbreathers.
Do you get to do the pre-board because you have young kids? How sweet is that?
Okay, you got A51 because all the Business Select people paid extra to have priority over you, regardless of when they check in. Those people are fuckers.
Let's just get into all the rituals surrounding flying Southwest right now. First off, I really like how Southwest does things, but there are any number of little things in the process you notice you fly them often enough.
• WAITING FOR THE PLANE TO ARRIVE. All Southwest planes are on a tight-as-shit schedule. One plane flies to Baltimore to Midway to Logan to Raleigh to Miami to LA to Islip to Dallas to Madagascar to Billings all in the same day. So that plane always arrives, what, 10-20 minutes before you're set to board? It's an agonizing wait for that plane, especially if it's running late. I'll see any number of planes taxi by the window and be like THERE IT IS! But nooooo, it always keeps going. FUCK. Because once the plane finally does arrive, you have to wait for all the assholes still on board to get the fuck off. And THAT takes forever, because it always seems like there are a million of them. And there are always five or six random people who finally exit the plan a good five minutes after everyone else has already gotten off. What took THOSE assholes so long? Sometimes, the plane arrives EARLY, and that is the greatest feeling in the fucking world.
• JOCKEYING FOR POSITION. It wasn't until a couple years ago that Southwest had the A, B, and C groups all board en masse, without specific line numbers. Those days were fucking anarchy. People would sit in the line on the floor. Everyone would flood the lines the second the plane landed. Thank God they number the lines now.
• FESTIVAL SEATING. Since you pick your own seat on Southwest, every asshole that goes on first takes an aisle seat and leaves the window and bitch seats empty. Then, everyone else has to crawl over the aisle fuckers to get to the remaining seats. And the flight attendant will always pipe up, "We have a full flight! Please move in!" Only no one ever does, and I don't blame them. You got on first. Why would you take a bitch seat? Fuck that. The upside to this is that, if you fly Southwest alone, you can still get a decent seat even if you're in the C group or something like that, because there's always an open bitch seat at the front of the plane that people have avoided.
• ROOKIES. There's always one dude with a C ticket who doesn't understand why the fuck he can't board with the A group. FIGURE IT OUT, SHITBOX.
• OLD PEOPLE AND PARENT SEATING. The only time I'm jealous of old people is when I fly Southwest, because those oldies always get to board first. It used to be that old fogies and parents with babies could board first, but now parents with babies have to board after the A group. The old fuckers get first crack at the plane to themselves now. Assholes. I wish I had a degenerative hip.
Last thing: I always feel victorious when I land and A) There are people still on the plane who need to remain seated because they're flying onto the next stop, B) I walk past all the poor bastards waiting at the gate to get on the plane I'm just getting off of. Ha ha! EAT IT, CHUBTARDS! You still got flying to do. I'm going home to a warm meal and hot shower! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Do astronauts jerk off?
I assume so. Oh, you mean in space? Well, according to some random person at Yahoo Answers:
I was reading Michael Collins' book Liftoff and one chapter was about Skylab (America's first space station in the 1970s) and on page 191, it says, "Before the Skylab flights, various medical concerns were expressed, including the possibility of the celibate crew getting infected prostate glands that could lead to urinary tract problems. One doctor advised regular masturbation, advice [astronaut] Joe [Kerwin[ ignored."
Joe Kerwin is soooooo completely full of shit. NOPE, NO MASTURBATION FOR ME! I'M TOO AMERICAN FOR THAT! What a fucking liar. You know damn well he blew a load into the space vac.
I spent 2 years in prison…
Like I'll ever pass on an email that starts with THAT phrase.
…and had to learn very quickly to 1) completely remove one leg from any constraint while shitting 2) shit with no stall walls 3) be absolutely aware of everyone in area (6 thrones, 150 men). Total fucking nightmare the first week or so. The great part was absolutely nobody dared to piss standing up anywhere but urinals. Worst part: going to shit in middle of night (hoping for quiet) and finding "certain" inmates douching out their assholes with condiment bottles and water as if were no big deal. Amazing how quickly you adjust to such complete fucking madness.
Holy shit. I mean, HOLY FUCKING GOD. Imagine having to take a shit in prison with any number of rapists and anal smugglers around you. Your asshole is a goddamn commodity in those places. I don't know what I'd do. I don't think I'd shit for a month. And I'd imagine that hearing inmates douche out their asshole would be the BEST CASE scenario for sounds you don't want to hear while shitting in jail at night. "Oh, no one's being raped? Oh, thank God. Thank God it's just Willie giving himself a Venezuelan enema."
Couldn't Amtrak make a boatload of money on late afternoon/evening trains if someone walked through the aisles selling beer/wine? I'd gladly pay $7 for a Bud Light delivered to my seat. Why force us to schlep to the cafe car every time? And people wonder why Amtrak loses millions every year.
PETER KING AGREES AND WANTS HIS AMSTEL DELIVERED TO THE QUIET CAR!
Fun fact about taking Amtrak: When I get out of my seat to get beer, I NEVER guess the correct direction to walk to get to the café car. I'll walk a solid two cars down before realizing the café car was the other way. Oh, sure. I COULD take note of where the café car is before I take my seat. But that would require me to be vigilant and intelligent. I am neither of those things.
I drink like a fish on those trains. If I'm traveling alone, I always blindly leave all my crap in my seat when I go to get a beer. I'm far too lazy to pack all my shit up to prevent risk of theft. One day, I'll get up to grab beer, come back, and my shit will be GONE.
Sometimes, I make a point of getting to the station a little early, so that I can get beer BEFORE I hop on the train. Union Station in DC has a liquor store. You can buy a sixer of tall boys before you board, and you don't have to go to the café car (until you run out of tall boys after 90 minutes, as I do). Getting drunk on a train is a fucking blast. LOOK AT HOW FAST THOSE TREES ARE MOVING! SO BLURRY!
One time, I traveled on Amtrak to New York for business and, due to some kind of miraculous clerical error, I was placed in first class on an Acela train. HOLY FUCK. They bring you free booze. They bring you a menu of all the things you get to eat, like smoked fish and all sort of cool rich person food. I nearly creamed my seat, I was so happy. On the way back to DC, I assumed I still got to ride in first class. The conductor turned me away and directed me back to the coach car with the rest of the hobos. I was fucking crushed.
As a fellow fat man, how desperately will you scrape at the sides of a pan or bowl to ensure that every morsel finds it way into your greedy maw? I just spent at least three minutes trying to make sure every morsel of Annie's Mac N Cheese made their way from the pan into a bowl. There might have been whimpering and bead sweat involved.
Of course. I never let stray bits of macaroni or anything else go unclaimed. All food must be maximized. I also do this when baking cookies or cakes. Every single bit of the dough or batter must be used. I see my wife make cookies and the sides of the bowl are PAINTED with dough when she tosses it in the sink. LOOK AT ALL THAT PRECIOUS DOUGH YOU WASTED, LADY! GET THE PLASTIC SPATULA! GET ANOTHER SPATULA TO SCRAPE THE ORIGINAL SPATULA! NO DOUGH MUST GO UNUSED!
Now that I'm on a fucking diet, I'm even more desperate to get every last taste of whatever I'm eating. I lick plates clean now. Literally. If I have an egg, I'm licking the plate when I'm done. What? Leave stray yolk goo sitting on the plate? FUCK THAT. MINE MINE MINE.
Do you ever imagine being interviewed? Fairly often I will find that my internal narration has taken the form of talking to a pretend interviewer. In this alternate/future universe, I have an impressive and successful career and the guy interviewing me is really interested in hearing very detailed account of my thoughts about my early jobs and colleagues. I'm also frequently an expert speaker on various conference panels. I'm incisive and thought-provoking but also funny and self-deprecating. Sometimes things get heated and I have to stand up to a charlatan with a spontaneous but devastating career-ending critique like the guy who took out Joe McCarthy at the army communism hearings.
Oh, yes. I have a "60 Minutes" profile of myself that is constantly being reworked in my head. Sometimes Morley interviews me. Sometimes Leslie does. Sometimes I get Scott Pelley, who's crazy underrated. Anyway, there are always the same elements: pictures of me as a fat kid, footage of me starring and directing my own Oscar-winning films, etc. Sometimes, when I'm not careful, I will literally start mouthing out the conversation, then stop myself when I realize what I'm doing. So, so gay.
Other times, 60 Minutes has brought me on to be the whistle blower in some top secret corporate conspiracy, ala Jeffrey Wigand. "This goes deeper than you could possibly fathom, Leslie." I blow that shit wide open. No one is going to sneak arsenic into Tyson chicken nuggets on MY watch.
When PTI first started, I always imagined being the subject of Five Good Minutes. I, uh, don't think that's going to happen anytime soon.
And NFL Films! Look, everyone dreams of being an NFL player or coach or some shit like that. And one of the more enjoyable parts of that dream is imagining that you are now retired and Steve Sabol is asking you about your glory days. Oh, we were tough. NO ONE FUCKED WITH US, STEVE. (cut to footage of you scoring TD)
Was wondering your thoughts on pen-smoking (and I don't use that a metaphor for fellatio, I promise). Do only non-smokers do this? I sit at my desk from time to time (and I've been doing this since high school, at least) with a pen dangling out of my mouth while I type (when I need to type and write at the same time, sometimes) and every so often I mime taking a drag, take the pen out like a cigarette (or cigar) and exhale, the hold it in my finger (with Lolcats caption over my head saying "invisible ashtray").
Don't forget to use the old timey movie gangster voice when you do it. YEAH, SEE! IT'S COITAINS FOR YOU AND YOUR GANG, SEE! YEAHHHHHH, SEE!
Also fun to pretend you're Albert Finney in Miller's Crossing during the Danny Boy scene. The man's still an artist with the Thompson.
What is the optimal Taco Bell order? I try to maximize the food while minimizing the cost. I usually stick with two crunchy beef tacos and two bean burritos. I ordered a new combo the other day with an extra taco on top of it (4 items total not including drink) and felt like a fat ass until I saw the kid behind me get five items. How much is too much at Taco Bell?
I am not qualified to answer this question because I am no longer in college and Taco Bell has since expanded the menu and dollar menu options. I used to get nothing but plain bean burritos from them when I went to Michigan, because they were cheap. But if you eat enough Taco Bell bean burritos, you soon grow to become nauseated by the sight of them. I know I did. I started imaging that I was eating cockroach paste while I was eating them, and that kind of ruined it. I assume that fear, by the way, is wholly justified.
I now order the same shit every time I hit the border: three chicken soft tacos. Every one of them gets at least three packets of sauce, so there's a giant sauce bukkake on the wrapper as I eat them. Mmmmm… sauce bukkake.
By the way, I think five items is pushing it at Taco Bell, especially if you have a burrito or a gordita or some shit in there. That'll come back to haunt you.
How much change should you be expected to have in your pocket? Like, if you buy something at a store and it comes to $4.03, everybody loves it if you have 3 pennies or a nickel or something so you don't have to get a pocket full of coins back from the cashier. I bought something that came to $4.12 the other day and the lady said, "Do you have the twelve cents?' like everybody should carry around that many cents at all times. FUCK THAT. I'm saying less than .10 is appropriate.
But she's asking you that for YOUR benefit as well as hers. Fuck, whenever I pay for ANYTHING in cash, I'm digging in my pockets to see if there's change I can get the fuck rid of. I don't want 83 cents back in change. That's like having a fucking tap class in my pocket. I can't stand having more than one coin in my pocket. I have change OCD. I have to get rid of it when paying for something in cash.
And I always come up just short. If it's $4.43, I'll only have 35 cents in my pocket. If it's $1.09, I'll only have a nickel. It's horrible. Ever manage to pawn off four pennies to the cashier when something costs $3.29 or something with a 9 or 4 on the end? VICTORY.
I live off a main roadway and love nothing more than to put the car in neutral and see if I can coast all the way home. Right now my record is a 1/4 of a mile. Unfortunately this makes me very hesitant to tap the brakes and I sometimes come careening around corners nearly missing animals and children. Am I the only one who does this?
I only do it on straightaways. On really steep hills, I feel like a kid riding a bike when I do that. But around corners? Yeah, that's probably a bad idea.
I've always been a huge fan of fast food and a couple months ago I realized why. It's because fast food is a bunch of little presents that you buy for yourself. Think about it. They come in wrapping paper and little boxes. When I come back from McDonald's, I'll plop the bag on the table and I'll feel like Santa with his sack, "Have you been a good boy this year, Douglas? You have? Well, here's a sandwich and a box of nuggets. I wrapped them myself!" Eating fast food is like Christmas morning just with more grease and less yelling.
It's the equivalent of bringing porn home back when porn was something you had to buy or steal. Oh, that moment you open your fast food or your porn, and you're all alone, and IT'S ALL FOR YOU. That's a great feeling.
I get the same feeling when I buy something off the list at the grocery store. I have to buy a lot of boring shit: vegetables, milk, baby food, etc. But every trip or so, I'll spot something awesome, like Oreos on sale, or a new ice cream flavor, and I'll say FUCK IT I'M GETTING THAT. And then I spend the entire car ride home just primed to rape that cookie package once I get it in the kitchen.
What's your favorite video game theme music for any game on any system? I'm gonna say Street Fight II for SNES is the best - Ken's stage having the best theme song.
I was always partial to the music from Super Mario 64, especially the water music:
So soothing when stoned. It is my Enya.
/collects all 120 power stars
I recently found out that the D-league plays its all-star game in the same city as the NBA All-Star, which I find ridiculous. Personally I think that the D-League All Star game should be played in the same state, but in a much shittier city. Instead of playing the D-League game in Dallas, wouldn't it be more fun to put it in El Paso? It gives them something to shoot for.
It shouldn't even be played in a city. It should be played in a refugee camp, and the losing team should be forced to stay in that camp. Why even have a D-League All-Star game? Who's gonna put that on their resume? "Yeah, I was an All-Star… of the pissboy league."
Snackbot. I defy you to name something your office needs more.
So back in college, I noticed that some of my friends cut their food differently than I do. They would hold their knife in their right hand (if they were righties) and hold their fork in their left to steady the food. After they've cut their food, they simply pick up the food while their fork remains in their left hand. I, however, do the following: as a righty, I hold my fork with my left hand to steady the food, and cut with my right. But then, when I've cut my piece, I drop the knife, transfer the fork from my left hand to my right, and pick it up with my right. The length of that sentence should indicate how seemingly complicated this is, but it's what I've known my whole life, and whenever I've tried the other way, I wind up looking like an idiot. Thankfully I've met others like me, but I feel like we're a mentally enfeebled minority.
I also transfer. I wasn't quite sure that I did when I read this email because my eating motion is second nature to me, so I went and cut a banana just now to make sure that's what I do. And I do. And the reason I do this is because my mom taught me to do so. She said it was bad manners to keep the fork in your left hand, which sounds like a whole lotta bullshit to me. And she really drilled it in. I'd be eating my food, about to take a bite…
MOM: TRANSFER your fork.
ME: Can't I just enjoy my food, dammit?
And so now I do just that. I'd feel retarded doing otherwise. I have no issue with people who don't transfer, but I tell you this: Ever see those people who don't even bother to turn the fork around when they eat? Like, the tines are still pointing down when they take a bite? THAT'S WHITE TRASH EATIN'. The dipshit prep school snob in me rears his ugly head!
I used to eat Sun Chips religiously until they switched to the completely compostable bag. I have nothing against helping the earth, but holy hell these new bags are the loudest thing I've ever heard. Even their website acknowledges that the bags are louder than their old ones. What a horrible technology. If saving the earth comes at the expense of my whole house waking up at 2:00 AM because I'm stoned and have the munchies, then fuck the earth.
Not to mention the fact that, sometimes, you need to sneak chips so no one is looking, and a bag like that makes it fucking impossible. With Pringles, you can sneak in a dozen chips with someone else in the next room being none the wiser. But open a bag like that Sun Chips bag, and it's like a siren is going off. HEY EVERYONE, LOOK AT FATTY HERE BEING A FAT PERSON!
So I'm getting to the point in my college career where I have to decide on a major. What subject can I major in that will be both easy and make me look good in the future? I don't want some bullshit Museum Studies degree, but at the same time I don't want to have to do any work. I also like money if that helps narrow things down. Any suggestions? And if you had to do it over, what would you have switched to?
I was an English major, and I recommend it. When you're an English major, all you really have to do is read novels (or, in my case, skim them), then talk about them and write a few papers on them. You don't have to memorize anything. You don't have to do any fucking field research. You don't have to work with a fucking lab partner or something horrible like that. There are no quizzes (unless your professor is a dick). You can bullshit your way through things. And it's a major no one sneers at. Some teachers assign papers instead of ever giving some fucking blue book test. A lot of professors let us choose which one we wanted (we always chose doing a paper). Plus, you can claim to have read any number of great books, and know enough about them to make it sound like you're a smart asshole. I don't think I'd want to major in anything else. Sociology majors are retards.
The ten most lucrative majors, according to the New York Times, are almost all engineering majors. That shit is hard. I dunno if it's worth it.
(NOTE: The only thing that SUCKED about being an English major was the English Theory course I had to take junior year. It was horrible. The professor made us think, and do real work. YES YOU, MR. BRYANT! OR SHOULD I SAY MR. TYRANT?!)
As an American male, is it possible to NOT drive through massive water puddles on the sides of roads, while going an excessive speed? I say no.
What's your fucking beef with Duke? Is it the fact that they've been on TV more than any team since the world-wide leader started televising games? It is because they can at any time put 5 white guys on the court and compete? Is it because you hate Coach K and his constant screaming at the refs? Is it because Dickie V verbally blows them every chance he gets? Is it because you need a 1500 (old SAT system) to get in to Duke? Is it the floor slapping? Is it Krzyzewski-ville and the Cameron Crazies? Or is it simply because you're a UNC or Maryland fan? I'm obviously a Duke fan and can understand why some people don't like them, but what drives me nuts is when people hate Duke without a valid reason ie. Carolina grad, Twerp fan. Please support your hatred with validity or you'll be emailed this question daily until you do. Be scared.
Ooooh, I'm so scared. DUKE GUY IS GONNA RAPE ME!
How about that email? Is that email enough to justify hating your fucking guts? I say yes.
My friend and I who both have baby daughters came up with this question after Christina Hendricks' New York cover. Let's say you're given the choice: your daughter can either become super, Joan-Holloway-hot, or have somewhat below average looks. You don't have a choice about your daughter's character or intelligence, though her looks will probably factor into that on some level. YOU make the call!
Hot. Who wants an ugly daughter? If you have a good-looking daughter, you get to reject and intimidate her numerous suitors. I'd much rather do that than explain to Ugly Betty why she can't get a prom date. "Honey, maybe if you didn't let your weight be such a problem…"
MANDATORY CAVEAT: THE WRITER LOVES HIS CHILDREN REGARDLESS OF THEIR FUTURE APPEARANCE AND PROMISES TO NEVER SELL THEM TO ANY RUSSIAN ARMS DEALER UNLESS THE PRICE IS REASONABLE AND ALL PAYMENTS RE MADE UP FRONT.
Sometimes after taking a massive duke, I'll go to flush and notice a couple of bubbles wiggling their way free from my fresh deposit. I'm sure it's air pockets, but you never know. Are there tiny submarines living in my guts?
No. OR ARE THERE???!!!?!?!?!
The bubbles let you know that turd is fresh. Kind of appetizing if it weren't poop.
If a girl talks to you first in an elevator when it's only the two of you (I got "I like your bag" recently), does that mean she wants you?
Yes. Push the STOP button and pin her against the wall. But if she says, "Hey, I love the Smiths too!", beware. That bitch be hot but crazy!
To continue your idea about eating your own flesh...in high school I had a girlfriend who played soccer. She would get pretty gnarly blisters on her heel from her cleats, and she loved to pop the blisters, cut around the dead patches of skin, remove them and press them between the pages of a large book. After a week, she would remove said pieces of dried skin from the book and chew on them like someone might chew on a piece of beef jerky. And in case you were wondering, yeah, I still enjoyed making out with her.
Oh, that is fucking repulsive. Even I find that horrifying. You girls are WEIRD.