I grind my teeth at night. I've done it all my life, and it's so bad that the sharp ends of my cuspids have been sanded down flat. Which means I totally can't be a phony vampire anymore.
Anyway, if you grind your teeth enough, you'll erode your teeth to the point where nerve endings are exposed. This is horrible, and I fear every day that a toothy nerve of mine will become exposed and simply taking in cool air will result in me suffering a bout of pain known only to Dustin Hoffman at the end of Marathon Man. So six years ago, in an effort to keep that from happening, I got a night guard. It's a hard plastic mouthguard you sleep with, and it costs a goddamn fortune. I now sleep with it every night.
Now, you're supposed to clean this thing every day. I think. I dunno. Anyway, I'm lazy, so all I do is rinse that shit out and throw it back in the case. That's what I've done for six years. As a result, this night guard is now, arguably, the most repugnant object on Earth. It used to be clear. It's now yellower than Woodstock the bird. And there are years and years of encrusted mouth filth all over the thing. One whiff is enough to put Paul Bunyan down. Smells like feta. Some nights, right before I put it in, there's, like, moisture in the grooves of it. It's almost certainly a culture. You could probably make yogurt with it.
But there's no way I'm tossing this thing out. Like I said, it cost an insane amount. It's a piece of fucking plastic, yet they charge you its weight in platinum. Also, I'm fascinated by it. I love to examine it and check out the massive grooves in it that I made by grinding my teeth at night. I'd also like to know what all the white shit built up on the insides is. Is that calcium? Do my teeth make bones at night? If I got rich and really fucking famous, would some retard in Kentucky pay $1,000 for this at auction? I hope so.
Anyway, night guards and retainers are nasty. Your letters.
Is it wrong to hate Facebook because I can't stand to see other people happier than me?
But they AREN'T happier! That's the whole ruse of Facebook. Everyone posts their goddamn vacation photos and pictures of their little shit kids and they're all like JUST HAD A GREAT DINNER WITH THE KIDS AT BERTUCCI'S! Bullshit. Total crap. I know damn well those kids screamed the whole time, didn't eat a fucking thing, and Mom resents Dad because he sneaked in five more minutes to enjoy his meal than she did. But noooo, you won't see that on Facebook. You just get the varnish. It's people advertising themselves. Which is fine, but don't expect me to buy that you're some fucking avid hiker, Tony.
I also strongly dislike people who use status updates on Twitter or Facebook to compose flowery, phony deep thoughts for the day, or to quote Emily Dickinson or something horrible like that. Hey fuckface, you wanna write a book? Write a goddamn book. No one's gonna read your stupid status update and think you're the 160-character James Joyce. Take it from a self-absorbed dick who tweets about how many pushups he does.
Is there anything on God's green earth more frustrating than an unpoppable pimple? Not only does it make you feel like a complete fucking failure but the zit inevitably swells up to like five times its original size so you look like Stephen Strasburg plunked you in the face. It's like a badge of incompetence that you have to adorn for a minimum of 5 days. In my endless brilliance, I have even gone as far as searching through the toolbox, landing on a pair of rusty needlenose pliers. It still didn't work. Now I have zitty, tetanus-laden forehead. Maybe I should shower more.
It's awful, and the process of popping it always comes at a highly inconvenient time. If I notice a whitehead that needs popping, I have to pop it immediately. It'll drive me fucking nuts if I wait to do it. Consequently, I end up trying to pop the zit somewhere like in the middle of the office or something like that. I do this because I think the popping will be a relatively simple affair. I pop the zit, use one of the 5,000 napkins I've accumulated from take out lunches ordered to clean it up, and off I go. Instead, it becomes this whole Sisyphean process that ends up turning the goddamn zit into a boil. And the top gets all blue and shit and I'm sitting there squeezing this thing like it's a toothpaste tube and it really fucking hurts and then I rest before having another go at it. Can I squeeze even harder this time? I CAN! OH GOOD GOD THAT FUCKING KILLS! WHY WON'T YOU POP? Then I bust out the paper clips and the amateur surgery begins.
As an aside, when I worked in an office, I stockpiled so many napkins and sauce packets from ordered lunches that my desk drawer looked like a fixin's bar at Roy Rogers. I became an expert in which takeout napkins are superior. Some restaurants give you the brown ones made of recycled paper. Those are doodoo. But some restaurant handed out these lovely, embroidered white napkins. The Vanity Fair ones. LUXURY. Man, did I love those napkins. Because desk napkins have so many different uses. You can mop up spills with them (to mop up any spill, I always use fifty times more paper than is necessary), blow your nose (yellow snot! WHOA!), clean up blood, wipe off your monitor. I love a good horde of desk napkins. Running out of desk napkins is never pleasant.
I have a motorcycle and almost every time I'm out riding I'll catch myself making motorcycle engine/exhaust noises with my mouth, like a kid on a bicycle or pretending to drive a car. It's just me out in a helmet there with no music, so I don't know if it's boredom or what, but is this normal? Do other people do this?
I dunno, but I'm totally buying a motorcycle now. Or a Can-Am! It's so futurey looking, but also kinda gay!
I've told my old lady that my life goal is to own a waverunner. But that, since we don't live near water, I will buy a motorcycle instead because I have a theory that riding a motorcycle is like riding a waverunner ON LAND. She balks, but I will do it. I'll scrounge up some money and buy the cushiest, roomiest, douchiest looking bike ever. One of those old guy motorcycles with three compartments for sandwiches and shit. And a back to the seat! Oh yeah!
My family just put up some rat traps above the refrigerator in our house, and every time I look at them I'm tempted to stick my finger in and see what happens. It's the same reason me and my friends used to shock ourselves against my neighbors electric fence when we were younger, but I've grown up a little since then and you'd think that the desire to injure yourself would dissipate with age. Do you ever do, or think about doing, things like this?
Sure do! Those rat traps really are tempting. They're like mousetraps, but fucking HUGE. They could sever a thumb. I'm 33, but I've never stopped being curious about how badly I can potentially hurt myself with things like this. What if I stuck my dick in that rat trap? God damn, that would hurt. I better not do that.
We buy mousetraps for our kitchen. They're the sticky traps, the ones where the mice get caught and then rip off their own legs trying to escape. NICE. Anyway, any time I take the traps out of the box, I'm dying to jam a hand in there. Just to see what's going on. They say you can clean it off with oil. Hey, who knew washing your hands with oil was a good idea? LOUISIANA IS ABOUT TO GET A GREAT LAND DETAILING!
I'm graduating soon and have the option of living in New York City, Chicago, or San Francisco for a year. I've lived in Minnesota my whole life and need to get away from these frigid winters.
What do you think? I've been to Chicago and loved it, but then I figured if I'm gonna live in a big city why not live in the biggest, most famous city in the US? (I've never been to the east coast though). But then I think why don't I just tell winter to go fuck itself and move to San Francisco? I've visited LA a few times and could never live there, but I think SF is diff.
San Fran is most definitely different. It's fucking COLD. And the cold in San Fran is far worse than the cold in New York because you're always thinking to yourself, "What the fuck? It's May in California, and I'm fucking freezing to death." Unexpected cold like that is much worse than expected frigidity. I have my issues with San Francisco. I'd far rather live in Chicago or New York. And if I were you, I'd go with Chicago because it's cheaper and you'll be able to live in an apartment larger than a shoebox. That's critical booze money.
Living in DC do you ever race against fellow Metro riders to see who can get off the train and through the turnstiles the fastest? I find myself doing this frequently, and will award myself medals for placing (bronze, silver, gold). Of course other commuters don't realize it's a race, but that's what makes the victory so thrilling.
Oh, yes. Because the first one to the escalator gets a trip up the escalator free of retarded tourists blocking both sides, shitheads with giant rollerboard suitcases, and slow climbers on the left. As the train is pulling into the station, I walk to the door and get as close to it as possible, like a racehorse escorted into the Derby gates. Then I bust out my best possible Urgent White Man walk to the escalator. I even figured out which train car will pull up closest to the escalator.
One time, I was walking into an office building. The entrance was a set of double glass doors. Opening the right door, in front of me, was this black dude. He was going kinda slow, so I grabbed the left door and opened it and passed him through the doorway. He looked at me like I was a dick and said, "You can't wait?!" No sir. No, I cannot. WHITEY'S ALWAYS GOTTA BE FIRST!
At what age is it inappropriate to try things you've seen in movies/TV/video games? I'm 30 and reasonably well-educated, but:
-After watching enough cooking shows, I try to crack eggs one-handed now. My wife is not impressed.
-I played through all the Tony Hawk games in college, and went and bought a skateboard, breaking my wrist within the hour.
-I played Assassin's Creed, and now I want one of those hidden wrist blade things and inspect every building I see for climbability.
I'd like to say I'm a mature adult, but given the above, clearly this is not the case. Or is this totally ok?
It's totally okay. I was in my mid-20's when "Jackass" first premiered. You know how they had that warning at the beginning of the show about how you shouldn't try and set yourself on fire and shit after watching it? Well, that warning was just for kids. Every guy at my office happily tried to duplicate those stunts during working hours. As did I. I'm a lemming.
We have a new playground in our neighborhood, and I've watched way too many Parkour wipeout videos because I now am always thinking of freerunning routes over the playground. RUN UP THE SLIDE THEN JUMP ON TOP OF THE MONKEY BARS THEN LEAP ONTO THE MERRY-GO-ROUND! FUCK YEAH! Every time I drive my car, I have to resist the urge to yank up the parking brake, jam the wheel hard left, and then drift down the street. That would soooo rule.
Did you ever have an amazing dinner the night before and you couldn't shovel every delicious morsel down in one sitting? You bring home those leftovers. All the next day, I can't stop thinking about those leftovers. I have homemade papperdelle in my fridge. RIGHT NOW. It kills me and I end up eating usually at a very inappropriate hour. Like 8 AM.
Well of course, I can always shovel down every delicious morsel I order at a restaurant. I always clean my plate, even if I'm full. I will order myself to fight through that bloat and vacuum up everything, even if it means risking spending the rest of the night feeling like I'm in the throes of respiratory failure.
HOWEVAH, the wife will have leftovers, and I'm never allowed to eat my own food and then gorge on her remaining dinner. That's piggish, or something. So we bring that home. And oh yes, I think about it. I'll try and eat it when we get home from the restaurant (Yes, I'm still hungry, missy!). Or, I'll take a fork and have a bite from the container, put the fork in the sink, go watch TV for three minutes, go to the kitchen, get a NEW fork, and then take another bite, and then continue that cycle until there are two bites left. The next day…
WIFE: Did you eat this?
When I worked in an office, my boss would over-order at lunch and we'd inevitably be stuck with a fridge full of leftover Chinese or Indian food. You try resisting that shit two hours after you've eaten lunch. Or the next morning. If tikka misala at 10AM is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
/would like to be buried in Indian food
I've given up hope that there's some cool mini-Harrier jet engine that'll fit on a skateboard body that will sustain the weight of an average human while also providing lift. But we've already harnessed the power of magnets, like in MRI machines. Let's take an empty warehouse somewhere, put in a magnetic floor like they used in the prison in Face-Off, and put opposing magnets in our hoverboards. It's flawless. The only drawback I can think of is having like a 3 year old gliding around the warehouse, flipping the board and getting crushed instantly when the opposite side of the magnet gets attracted to the floor. So we will need an age minimum.
Indeed we will. Because older people are better at not being crushed!
I do like the idea. I think maintaining balance would be a serious problem (and I imagine it's the number one engineering issue for all future hoverboard manufacturers). But whatever. We can get some dork to science that shit.
We've discussed magnets here before at the funbag. But we didn't talking about OPPOSING magnets, which are awesome. They totally feel like magic. AN INVISIBLE FORCE IS KEEPING THESE THOMAS THE TRAIN SET PIECES APART! THAT IS SO FUCKING RAD! I could fuck around with opposing magnets all day long. I feel like Magneto, minus the whole Holocaust childhood thing.
I used to work as a paramedic in B.F.E. Louisiana and we had a call to an accident late one night. In this region of Louisiana the commercial tree farming and logging industry was prevalent because, quite simply, there was nothing else out there. They were mostly logging young pine trees, trees relatively small in diameter and would bounce and flex all over the place when going down a narrow, poorly maintained West Louisiana road. Well, an individual rear ended one of these trucks carrying these logs and the result was… unpleasant.
Oh, do tell.
Since the trees would sometimes stick up to 10 feet behind the rear fender of the trailer of a logging truck, this individual was basically impaled in his car. The tree pierced the hood, blew by the engine block, passed through the firewall like a knife through butter and went through the pelvic girdle, missing the breadbasket by about 2 inches and then exiting through the left cheek, through the driver seat and into rear driver side passenger door. When we arrived on scene, he was passed out from the pain, and we had to borrow a chainsaw to cut him out of his car, we proceeded to transport him to the hospital with a log about 6-7 inches in diameter in the space below the belly button and above his junk. Needless to say, he lost a few feet of intestine, but survived, don't know what happened to the log though.
HOLY LIVING FUCK!
I don't even know how to process that. Sweet Jesus, this guy had a tree go THROUGH his ass. Reverse raped by an Elm. Terrifying. I'm never tailgating a logging truck again. I can't even think about it. Let's make blueberry crumble pie instead.
1 stick cold butter, cut up
1 egg yolk
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 pint blueberries
Put the first five ingredients in a bowl and mix them by hand (I like to pretend I'm mashing human brains when I do this). After a while, everything should blend into a crumbly mixture. Take half the mixture and pour it into a pie pan. Spread it evenly. Throw the blueberries on top of that. Put the rest of the mixture on top of the blueberries. And spread it around until the berries are covered. Throw a few extra pats of butter on top. Throw in a 425 degree oven (waiting for an oven to preheat is the longest time spent on Earth) and bake 20 to 25 minutes, until golden brown on top. Served with vanilla ice cream. Ejaculate.
Finally, we end today with a GREAT MOMENT IN CHINESE BAG DRINKING:
There is no drinking better than drinking beer out of a bag. I was visiting Qingdao (more commonly known as Tsingtao), China to visit the brewery of the same name, when I discovered this amazing phenomenon. In Qingdao, there is a convenience store approximately every 20 yards. Chained to the front of each of these stores is 4 to 6 kegs of beer. You buy the beer by the pound at a stunning (converted) rate of about a nickel/lb. They pour the beer into plastic bags like you get at the grocery store with little handles and then give you a little apple juice straw to poke into the bag and stumble off with. We asked the most important question first, and quickly found out that one could safely fit five pounds of beer into a bag. The best part of this deal? 100 yards away on the beach, you could rent a jetski for $4 and take your newfound bag of happiness out for a spin on the ocean. I don't even like seafood, but after 3 bags of beer me and my buddies had happily settled in next to a public restroom with 5 dozen spicy oysters and couldn't have been happier. Maybe this whole socialism thing isn't so terrible after all.
/books flight to China immediately
Seriously, that's fantastic. I love countries that have no public health oversight like that.
I read recently about a ghost city that exists in China. It was built for a million people and has townhomes, giant street lights, and everything. But it's completely desolate. Well, I'd get me a bag of Chinese beer, then to the ghost city and spend the whole day A) Pretending I'm the last man on Earth, and B) Wrecking every goddamn thing in sight.
China is cool.