Ghosts, Dessert Carts, And Cancer Porn

Time for your Tuesday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Today, we're poop, menus, Minesweeper, afros, death, Gatorade, gayness, and more.

I've been losing weight recently, and one of the joys of losing weight is overemphasizing my own awe at my body's transformation. "Why are my pants so loose? Why am I not sweating in my sleep? I feel stronger. More agile. WHAT'S HAPPENING TO MY BODY?" I'm not saying I'm becoming Spiderman, but I wouldn't rule out such things. Also, my old Kasabian shirt fits again. It's the little things. Onto your letters.

Carlos:

Me and my brother have come to the conclusion that whoever dies first will haunt the shit out of the other person. I'm gonna be a bad motherfuckin' ghost if I die, I will pull your teeth while you sleep, you bastard. FEAR ME.

Well, that's the main issue. Can you move around tangible objects when you're a ghost? Because that would be awesome. If you're a ghost, you have to be bored out of your mind, what with the whole stuck in purgatory business. The only thing there is to do if you're a ghost is spend most of your time fucking with the living. And so, like Carlos, I'd be a HUGE dick if I were a ghost. I'd turn on the faucets while you were taking a shit, just so you'd clench up, break off the turd, and get all mad. Also, I'd write out lots of vague messages on steamy bathroom mirrors. Shit like, THIS IS THE DAWN OF THE END. Also, I'd implore people in the house to avenge my death, even if I died normally. They don't know I died of a heart attack, so why not give them the illusion that I was murdered in the house, and that they must find the killer? OLD MAN JENKINS NEXT DOOR! YOU CAN'T TRUST HIM!

There are times, late at night, when my wife is asleep but I'm still tossing and turning, when I wonder if our house is haunted. It's not. But what if the specter of some old lady came through the wall and just stared at me? What would I do, apart from shit my pants? I visualize that shit, and then it fucks with me the rest of the night.

At college, one of the guys I sat on the football bench with told me his dorm room was haunted. One night, he was sleeping in his bed. He stirred, opened his eyes, and saw a dark figure standing by the bed. When he reached to touch the figure, his hand went through it. He turned on the light and there was nothing there. HAUNTED! Sure, he was almost certainly lying. But then again, there could have been a girl who had her throat slit by a demented professor in that very same room. I rule out nothing. Just once, I'd like to find myself in a haunted house or hotel room. Just so I can tell people of my brush with the paranormal.

I get very annoyed with reality shows about ghosts (like Ghost Hunters) that supposedly track ghosts and then come up with proof that includes a video still featuring a smudge of light glare. That's no ghost, you fuckers. Where are the chains?!

Dave:

My girlfriend (who I live with) is a moron. When she gets ready in the morning she will put her bra on, then her tank-top undershirt, then whatever shirt/sweater/blouse she decides to wear for the day. It is only after that process is complete that she decides to put deodorant on. Now that by itself is not weird, what is weird is how she puts the deodorant on. She goes DOWN through the NECK instead of up from the bottom of the shirt. The first time I saw this I almost shit myself, who the fuck wants to stretch the necks of their shirts out for deodorant?? GO THROUGH THE FUCKING BOTTOM LIKE EVERY NORMAL PERSON. What third world country is she from?

Your girl is not as moronic as you may think, good sir. Now, I almost always apply deodorant while shirtless. The only time I do it with a shirt on is if I have my shirt on, forget I put on deodorant, and am too lazy to remove my shirt to apply it. I find applying it with a shirt on to be deeply unsatisfying. I don't get to raise my arm all the way up and take a big swipe with the stick, as usual. I feel like Picasso when I do that. Plus, I get to stare at all the little deodorant bits now clinging to my pit hair. SO COOL.

The problem with putting on the deodorant with my shirt off is that sometimes, if I do that and then put on my shirt, little deodorant marks will somehow end up on the bottom of my shirt. I have no fucking idea how this happens, but it happens often enough for me to question my entire application process. So your girl may be applying the deodorant with a shirt on to avoid getting deodorant on the outside of the shirt. As for the neck thing, I dunno. Is she a Christian Scientist? That may explain it.

Mike:

I'm in the john after lunch yesterday. I don't read or anything in the john, I tend to kind of zone out. I just sit there quietly and wait for everything to be done. So this guy comes in, uses the urinal, and on his way out fucking bangs the shitter door with his fist. No words, just bangs the door and walks out. It literally scared the shit out of me. And almost gave me a heart attack.

That is so not right. Listen you angry people out there: We all know shitter doors are fun to take out your aggression on. They're very light, and flimsy, and easy to slam. Fun too, especially when shitfaced. Ever tear off a shitter door while drunk? It's quite something.

But be courteous to your fellow shitters. They have feelings too, you know.

Chip:

Who still uses regular deodorant and not deodorant/anti-perspirant? I mistakenly bought a stick of deodorant the other day, and was reminded of why it sucks when I had to use it.

Yeah, I don't get that at all. That's the kind of thing your mom buys you by accident. I dunno why'd you want to smell nice, but remain sweating like a hog. Perhaps it's an Italian thing.

Sean:

I have an afro. It is awesome. Everybody wants to touch it, which gets on my nerves sometimes, but with the ladies it's a good icebreaker. Don't you wish you could grow an afro?

Yes. Fuck you.

I went to a party once and a friend of mine brought an afro wig, which I promptly stole from his head and wore. And then everyone was like, "DREW WITH THE FRO!" And I was like, "Oh, fuck yeah!" Then my friend was like, "Okay, give me it back." And I was like, "Fuck that. THE FRO HAS FOUND ITS TRUE OWNER." Then another friend wanted to wear it. It was a power struggle for the afro wig, and only one man could come out on top.

So yes, I would like a big glorious afro. I ROCK ROUGH AND STUFF WITH MY DREWFRO PUFFS.

Chris:

Let's suppose - hypothetically - you were engaged to marry a girl who once, while very drunk celebrating her 21st birthday, made out with Wee Man (yes, the Jackass midget) in Vegas. Dealbreaker?

No. Marry her. It's not like she stored him in her vagina.

Ryan:

Since you seem to have an active daydreaming mind, I'm wondering if you ever have my most frequent one during long car drives: What if I just swerved my car off the side of the highway while going 80 mph? Not only do I envision doing this (while "fighting" the urge not to), but I also envision the police going to my parents/girlfriend to tell them, everyone I ever knew (and some people who don't know me) crying and mourning my death, a kickass funeral/eulogy, my girlfriend meeting another guy down the road and marrying him, etc. I have even caused my own eyes to start watering on occasion, but only because I throw myself in the moment and act like I'm one of the proletariat who will mourn my death. Is this weird or what? Note that I do not have any suicidal tendencies in the least bit, but a very active imagination.

Agreed. There is that part of my mind when I'm driving that's like, "Oh look! We're on a bridge! What if we just took a gander at the bottom of the Potomac there, fella?" It's just an odd thought that pops up. It has nothing to do with depression or anything like that. It's just one of those thoughts my mind processes and then discards. But that doesn't mean I don't think it. Like, I'll pick up a huge chef's knife and be like, "Damn, this is one bigass knife. What if I just plunged this fucker into my chest? That would be weird."

I absolutely do the thing where I picture my own death and then imagine everyone totally sad that I'm gone. MAYBE YOU PEOPLE WILL FINALLY LEARN TO APPRECIATE ME! I've also envisioned myself getting cancer and having this long, overwrought struggle, where everyone's crying and I record videos for my kids to watch when they get older. I totally blame that shitty movie My Life for that. I wish I'd never seen it. That movie is 100% cancer porn. "Now Jimmy, when I'm gone, you're going to need to learn how to shoot a jumpshot."

Jordan:

What would you rather own: a real-life Transformer or a real-life Terminator (Arnold Edition).

It really depends on maintenance costs. How much fuel does a Transformer need? Is Bumblebee there fueled by his own alien Transformer space rock shit? Or does he only get .00005 miles a gallon/step?

Regardless, I'd want the transformer. Jordan made a sound argument in a portion of his email for the Terminator, but with a Transformer you get both a robot AND a kickass vehicle of some sort. A Terminator is only a robot. And while it's nice, in theory, to use it to kill people, I actually don't want to kill anyone. And there's just no point in having a Terminator if you can't terminate with it. If I had a Terminator, I'd just make him stay up and guard the house. Also, I'd teach him to babysit. I bet he could learn to change a diaper without tearing the kid's leg off.

Joda:

How old is too old to wear cargo shorts?

It depends on weight. Since I'm a big guy, I look like a fucking slob in cargo shorts. This is a pity, as I find the extra pockets useful for things like phones, change, and hard candy. But I've seen pictures of myself in cargos, and I look like someone who can't get a fucking job. Once past college age, I think you're at the time where you must wear standard shorts without cargo pockets, particularly if you're fat.

Aside: When I was in school, my mom used to buy all my clothes (shocking, I know). She usually made fine choices, but occasionally she'd bring home something completely fucking outlandish. And the worst thing she ever brought me was a pair of Hugo Boss jorts. They were very baggy, hung below the knee, and the word BOSS was emblazoned in gold thread along the back bottom of the legs. I swear to God, I have never seen an uglier piece of clothing in my life. I almost burned them in front of her. They were returned.

Big Lebowski:

Do you ever get in your car, either late at night or very early in the morning, when it is pitch black outside, and imagine that someone is hiding in the back seat waiting to slit your throat?

Oh, yes.

It never fails that every time, I have to check the rearview mirror. My brother in law says he always pictures someone hiding under the car that will come out and slash his Achilles tendon. I don't picture myself fighting the attacker off. I picture myself getting fucking killed. What does this mean? Does it mean I'm a realist? Does it mean I'm a huge pussy? Or is it my subconscious just yearning for the sweet relief of death?

It means you're just scared of someone slitting your throat in the back of a car. Perfectly understandable. Remember, when you see that sort of thing in movies, the person in the front seat NEVER ends up avoiding death. They get fucking iced, and that is why you picture it likewise. Think of Carlo in The Godfather. He kicks through the windshield and everything when they strangle his ass. Such an ugly way to die.

If I'm driving at night, and the road is deserted, I constantly picture some madman and/or Mafioso springing up in the rearview and taking my goddamn head off. And that's when I start singing happy dance music to scare them away. CAN'T READ MY, CAN'T READ MY, NO HE CAN'T READ MY POKERRRR FACE!

Nelson:

Is there anything worse than getting Facebook invitations from people?

No, especially all that Mafia Wars bullshit. Or that, "Become a fan of…" shit. Fuck you. I'm not a fan.

Tanner:

Lately, whenever I'm in the passenger seat of a car and the door is visibly unlocked, I've been getting these almost irresistible urges to open the door in traffic. Sometimes I try to inch my hand as near to the handle as I can get without anyone noticing. Eventually, if the ride is long enough, I'll just lock the door (onlookers be damned!) and yank the handle to my heart's content. Am I alone in this?

I had a friend in grade school whose family had a van with a sliding door, and he always opened the door and liked to drag his foot along the road. AND HIS FUCKING MOM LET HIM! Oh, that's good 80's parenting.

If I'm in a car and there's a biker or pedestrian coming up, I have to fight the urge to open the door just as I get to them, completely ruining their shit. I mean, that is just such a nasty move. It's irresistible, the old "bash someone to death with a freshly opened car door" trick. It's 50 times more tempting when you're driving in Manhattan.

Last thing: when I'm parked on a street and my door is on the street side, I'm always horrified that, when I open my door, some car will come speeding from out of nowhere and take the thing right off. There's clearly enough room on the road to accommodate my open door. But that doesn't mean it CAN'T happen. FLYING DOOR!

FPD:

Is it just me, or do you get immense satisfaction out of doing the most mundane tasks on legal paper. I'm sitting here studying for an accounting exam, and I've just been ripping through practice problem after practice problem on some legal pads. Hell, after one a few hours of working on them I look like I'm preparing to make an appeal on behalf of Ruben Carter.

I took a night class in advertising once, and I drew all my spec ads on sheets of white paper. Even if it was just a headline, I used the whole sheet for just that one headline. So I'd come into class with a fucking giant stack of paper, which made it look like I had shitloads of ideas. I totally thought it would intimidate the other students. Look at him! He's got lots of paper! HE MUST BE A GENIUS.

Quetzal:

I hate restaurants that cut their pizzas into grids rather than slices. One of the beauties of pizza is that each serving has its own little handle. When Descartes cuts my pizza, I can't eat any of the internal, crustless pieces without making a mess of myself. On a related note, one of the best parts of having small children around is that they "hate the crust" and always leave some of the choicest bites right at the edge of the slice for me to finish.

Agreed. I prefer triangle slice to squares in all pizza-related matters. Triangle slices also allow for proper folding. I have been known to take middle slice of a square pizza and simply place them upside down on an edge piece, and then eat it as a double slice.

I have a one-year-old, and the kid loves gnawing on pizza crust. So my wife will ask me to save my pizza crust for him, and that completely fucks me up. I'm not supposed to give up my crust. I'm supposed to be a fucking crust landfill. That's the plus of being a dad. I get all the sandwich and pizza crusts and bread heels. WHO THE FUCK DOES THIS LITTLE BOY THINK HE IS?

HALFTIME!

Paul:

I've been drinking a lot of tea recently. The best part about tea is imagining the tea packet is a big boat. You put it on the water gingerly, and slowly watch its tiny cabins fill with water, until PREW! under like the Titanic. I imagine myself to be the water god, looking down at the foolish tea humans who thought they could create a tea bag no one could sink. I am Tea Poseidon! I shall not be mocked!

A lot of tea bags seem to sit on the surface of the water forever, which is when I take action and grab a spoon and jam that fucker right down to the bottom of the cup. THAT'LL TEACH YOU TO FLOAT, YOU LITTLE BAG OF TWININGS SHIT.

I like watch tea steep because it looks like the teabag is bleeding. MWAHAHAHAHA. Tonight, we feast on Earl Grey's blood.

Dodo:

How fucking awesome is Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? Not that Johnny Depp shit. The one with the lunatic Gene Wilder. How fucking awesome would it be to go on that tour? The candy room where you can eat everything, the insane boat ride, drinking that stuff and flying, seeing all the shitty kids die horrible deaths. That's like the coolest thing ever.

I concur. When I was kid, I assumed every candy bar I ate might contain some kind of secret golden ticket, a potential prize not even mentioned on the wrapper. I never found such a ticket. But I did get to eat any number of 100 Grand bars.

That tour is the height of children's candy porn. And the reason why is because, when I was kid, there was no more thrilling sight that that of a buffet. Yes, this was because I was a fat kid. But, to any kid, the sight of a real buffet is like stumbling upon the fucking treasure room in King Tut's tomb. My grandparents once took me to this place that had a giant dessert buffet. Every fucking dessert you could imagine: ice creams, cakes, pies, puddings, trifles, jello, tarts, tortes. Everything. It was, like, twenty yards long. My head nearly exploded. I didn't even know where to start. I went back 900 times. Being a kid and seeing a buffet is like being an adult and having Megan Fox spread out naked in your bedroom. Only the desserts don't talk.

Ever go somewhere as a kid that had a dessert cart? Is there a shrewder piece of salesmanship than the dessert cart? It's one thing to see the chocolate ganache torte described on the menu. But now, here it comes on a wheeled cart for your viewing pleasure. So very, very close. You can almost taste it. Like I'm not ordering off a fucking dessert cart. I want to hijack the thing very time I see one. I wish my car were a dessert cart.

DeepFriar:

I enjoy looking in Pottery Barn. But how much crack would you need to smoke to rationalize their pricing scheme? $255 for outdoor chaise cushions? Zuh?

Secretly, I also don't mind being dragged into a Pottery Barn by the Mrs. I always find the most luxurious piece of furniture and sit down in it. Makes me feel like I live well and have many rich friends who vacation in Lombardy.

But yeah, that shit's way too expensive.

MT:

How many unarmed men, trapped in a hockey rink sized space, bare hands only, would it take to kill a full grown silver back gorilla. One roommate immediately threw out three. I think this is an absolute impossibility. No way you get this done with less than 10 and even then you're taking casualties, right? What are your thoughts? Strategy?

I love to think one day I could throw this out while interviewing a potential new employee and see how they react.

Well, lets' see. A male silverback can grow to 440 lbs. And, according to some random thing over at Yahoo Answers:

It should be sufficient to say that anecdotal evidence of animals observed almost casually bending and snapping objects such as tempered steel bars (2 inches thick) and giant bamboo stalks, suggest that the gorilla has the muscle power of between 8-15 men and possibly more. Jersey Zoos Jambo was observed to hang from one arm (he was over 400 lbs) while methodically ripping over 200 ft of inner ceiling planks from the roof of the new gorilla house with his other arm (the planks were securely screwed and nailed), simply because he didn't like them.

Goddamn. That's one strong monkey. I wish I had my DNA fused with a silverback. Then I could join the Marvel universe (SILVERBACK! THE MAN WITH APE STRENGTH!) and rob banks. If the gorilla has the power of over 15 men, you'll need an extra five or so to make sure it's held down. Then you need one more guy to strangle it while it's down to kill it. I have to think the first guy to reach the gorilla would get his head bashed in, so that's at least one casualty. But I think 21 guys would be able to do the trick. Remember: Steve Irwin only needed like, four other dudes to hold down a crocodile. Crocs are crazy strong. Not ape strong, but real fucking strong. No way you get it done with just three dudes. That would be a massacre. General Powell says the use of overwhelming force is required on Coco.

Damone:

Since birds are descendants of dinosaurs, how good would a T-Rex leg taste?

I dunno if that's actually true, given that, like you, everything I know about both dinosaurs and Chaos Theory I learned from "Jurassic Park." All I know is that, while T-Rex's may have something to do with birds, they're still fucking reptiles, and most chefs agree that reptiles taste like shit. Except komodo dragon. "THIS IS AN UGLY WORD, THIS ‘SCAM'!"

Canna:

What color is lemon lime gatorade? The vast majority of my friends insist its yellow. I, however, am positive that it is green. This has led to heated debates but I refuse to waver from my position.

Doesn't it depend on the lighting? Gatorade is like paint. Its color shifts with the light. I usually say the color of Gatorade is neon. Not neon yellow, or neon green. Just neon. I can't tell you how disappointed I am that Gatorade doesn't glow in the dark. It's the exact same color of the little glow in the dark star stickers I put on my kid's ceiling.

Brandon:

Do you ever study the menu online of the restaurant you're going to later? Whenever I'm excited for a meal at a new or nice place, I immediately pull up that menu and look it over like I'm searching for a hidden treasure map. I don't want to risk getting hurried by some cheery waiter and end up with a grilled chicken salad.

I study it intensely. Once we've picked a restaurant, I immediately hop online to look at the menu and drool over my potential future meal. Oooh, hamachi tartare. Fuck me, that sounds good. I plan my order and prepare myself for it hours in advance. I get myself in the proper state of mind to eat said food.

Mood is important to eating. Ever in the mood for a certain type of food – let's say Mexican – then you go to the restaurant and it's jammed, and then you decide to bail and go to another restaurant next door that is NOT Mexican? Fucks you up, doesn't it? You've mentally psyched yourself up for tacos. Now you get spaghetti. It's not a smooth transition.

I've also looked at online menus, prepared myself to order one thing, then gone to the restaurant only to find the menu has changed and the thing I wanted is no longer on the menu. But what happened to the grouper? WHERE DID IT GO, MAN?

I love looking at menus. If I walk by a restaurant and there's a menu posted outside, I always stop and peruse it. I also mock order in my head, even if I know full well I won't be dining there that night. I have issues with food.

Paul:

Is there a better feeling than beating advanced mode on Minesweeper? I did it once a few years back and celebrated like I'd simultaneously won the Super Bowl and banged Elle MacPherson. I subsequently retired from Minesweeper; had to go out on top.

It's such a bitch because there will be at least nine different times during the course of any advanced Minesweeper game where logic cannot narrow it down to less than two boxes that may have the mine. Thus, you are forced to make that horrible guess as to which box doesn't have the mine behind it. And it always happens right at the end. Click the right box, you beat it and feel like Jeremy Renner. Click the wrong box, smiley face goes frowny. FUCK.

One of my favorite things while playing Minesweeper was getting a really high numbered box. Once or twice, I stumbled on a box that had an 8. Eight fucking mines around it! Completely surrounded! NICE!

Tom M:

I once had a dream Tom Glavine was hunting my brother because he thought he possessed some rare jewel. Tom Glavine continually stalked me from a distance until one day, he came to my front door and stared at me with his cold, piercing eyes and without saying a word made me reveal my brothers whereabouts. Needless to say it was fucking terrifying and I have been convinced Tom Glavine is the devil ever since.

Well, he WAS a union rep.

Matt:

By far, my favorite piece of clothing for girls to wear is those stretchy-yoga pants. Holy shit. I go to school in New York when it's cold, and it's almost worth all the shitty baggy sweats and hoodies just to see those babies brought out. Those pants automatically improve any ass, and make good asses look fucking nuclear.

It's not just the pants themselves, but what most women do while wearing them. Any woman wearing skintight yoga pants is also the type to walk into the center of the stretching area and do a standing hamstring stretch. You may as well put a goddamn pole in the center of the room.

Kevin:

If you were buried in snot up to your neck, and someone threw a bucket of puke at your face, would you duck?

Is it my own snot? I assume not. If it's not my snot, then I don't duck. I only duck if it's a bucket of feces thrown at me.

I hope I don't get buried in snot.

Pat:

Ghosts, Dessert Carts, And Cancer Porn

Alex:

Do you ever get paranoid over a possible terrorist attack when you go to a large sporting event? When I was an undergrad at Michigan, I attended every home game and always wondered what's stopping North Korea from sending a cruise missile to the 50-yard line. One missile, 100,000 people dead instantly. Seems highly efficient.

Well, at least it would finally get fans in Michigan Stadium out of their seats. ZING! For real, that crowd's about as lively as an AA meeting.

Of course I think about terrorist attacks anywhere I go, stadiums included. This is why I always make sure to fully envision the attack, so that I jinx it from actually happening. The only way that stadium is blowing up is if I DON'T first envision someone blowing it up. This way, I remove the terrorist's element of surprise. You see how that makes sense? Good.

Anytime I walk out of a grocery store, I envision it blowing up behind me in a sudden terrorist attack. NO! NOT GIANT! I JUST FIGURED OUT WHERE THE FISH SAUCE WAS!

I always wanted to be interviewed by news crews after something bad has happened and I witnessed it. "Oh my God! I was walking out and there was just this big fireball! I can't believe it! Will this air at 6PM or 11?"

Scott:

When my old high school friends and I all get together to party, we get gay a lot of the time. Not like actual gay, but saying pretty vulgar gay things, whipping our D's out, and the like. My wife obviously thinks we're weird, although she doesn't even know half the shit that really happens. I say we've been friends for almost 15 years now, so we're all extremely comfortable with each other. And I seem to think that other people do this as well. Thoughts?

Well, I went to prep school, so I'm not really a good arbiter of what constitutes getting gay with friends, since I am inherently gayer than most. We stuck our dicks in each other's ears. We had a thing called Naked Police, where everyone in the dorm ran naked into a freshman's room and just hung around and made him feel awkward. I made a point of sitting on the freshman's bed with my legs and cheeks spread as far wide as humanly possible.

Also, I'd drop my pants in the common room, and thrust my hips violently so my dick would slap against my belly and back down. So I'm not really one to declare you "too gay".

Ben:

Do you ever go through a slump in your dumping life? Some weeks I'll be the world's best crapper, where twice a day I leave glorious turds and stand up feeling like I lost 10 pounds. And then there are weeks like this week, where no matter how at ease I am or how long I stay there, I am never satisfied with the results. Any suggestions on how to break this slump?

Metamucil. I had to take a fiber supplement because it's supposed to help you lose weight and lower cholesterol, so now I take Metamucil thrice daily (I do the Pink Lemonade flavor, because it makes me feel like a KEWL KID). Anyway, since I started drinking that stuff, my shits have been pristine. I feel like I'm shitting out gold coins. It feels fantastic. Totally worth feeling like an old lump of shit for having Metamucil in your house.

I have long prided myself on being a good and prolific shitter. I dunno why that's such a point of pride. Like, I view constipation as a character flaw. If I drop trou, I am not leaving that bathroom until I see brown, no matter how long I have to stay. To get off the pot without have excreted anything makes me feel like a fucking failure. Hasn't been a problem since Metamucil arrived on the scene. I feel like I'm taking HGH for my asshole.

Sean:

I work for an engineering company that specializes in designing plumbing layouts for office buildings, schools etc. We have been recommending our customers use this new toilet model called "The Champion 4" for some time now. It has gotten such good reviews that my boss decided to see what all the fuss was about, and installed one in our office bathroom.

According to the American Standard website: "The Champion will move a mass 70% larger than the industry standard. It achieves the highest bulk removal rating of 1,000 grams and will even flush a bucket of golf balls! Which means you can flush with confidence and never worry about plunging a toilet again."

Hear that? Flush with CONFIDENCE. Well, they aren't kidding. We've had a Champion in our office now for about a year, and I don't think it has clogged once. I've taken some massive coffee induced shits in this thing, and it flushes every time without fail. Unbelievable.

Found this video of a kid dumping all sorts of random objects into a Champion 4....bottom line, you can't defeat the Champ. That's some fine American toilet-design right there.

HOLY SHIT. I want to flush a lobster down that thing.