Is The Best Buy Geek Squad Stealing Your Donkey Porn?S

Time for your Thursday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Today, we're covering poop, drinking, grilling, weight, packaging, windows, and more.

No time to waste. My hand hurts a lot from talking with my kid while using a cow puppet yesterday. I used the puppet for, like, an hour. Now I have carpal tunnel. Lamest injury ever? Lamest injury ever. Fucking cow puppet. Right to the letters:

Luke:

I knew a bunch of guys that worked geek squad at Best Buy, and they had a program that would scour a machine for all video and pictures. They would go through it for porn, and add it to a hard drive they kept around. They literally had thousands of GBs of random and weird fucking porn, and all kinds of amateurs, including weird shit like goatses and lemon parties and shit. Anyone who takes any machine to a computer place better be ready to have any dirty stuff on their computers collected by guys who will compare it to 70 year old man goatses and three fat girl lesbian meneges and guys who like to be gimps.

Well, they can have the porn. JUST STAY AWAY FROM MY MADONNA.COM PREMIUM CLUB MEMBER USERNAME AND PASSWORD. I'd also prefer they not find the poems I've written. They are quasi-JJ Redickish.

By the way, why would anyone "keep" porn on their computer anymore? If you're dumb enough to still be downloading 40MB files of Tera Patrick getting blasted on a butterfly fuck swing, you deserve to have that found. They stream that shit now. Not that I would know anything about it.

Hank:

As a fellow dieter, is there anything better than progressing on to the next notch on your belt? Conversely, anything worse than having to go back a notch after a weekend bender?

There's a whole other extension of that. I'm on this diet, and I've lost decent amount of weight. So I decided to say FUCK IT and go all in. I bought new clothes, a new belt, and had my wedding ring resized (no more Jimmy Dean fingers for daddy's chubby little secret). I donated all my fat boy clothes to goodwill (some very lucky child is gonna get size 42 pleated khakis COATED with invisible urine stains). There's no going back now. If I get fat again, then I have to re-buy every piece of fat boy clothing I just gave away. And if I have to do that…

/pictures it

/puts steak knife to throat

I used to fluctuate in weight from time to time (from fat to fatter), so I'd keep my fat(ter) person clothes around just in case. I didn't do that this time. A fear of returning to Sears has to be a decent deterrent against lapsed weight gain. Has to be. Right? RIGHT? Oh God, I'll be back there with three months. GUHHHHHHHHH…

So yes, it's nice to do the whole "I have sartorial proof of my new handsomeness!" thing. But that always comes packaged with the fear of turning around and heading right back to ChubtardTown and throwing down money on new clothes to do so.

By the way, I bought a pair of shorts the other day. They were, like, size 34. Only they weren't. I took a measure and they were 38 inches around. OLD NAVY HAS LIED TO ME THIS WHOLE TIME. Not only is my supposedly skinny size a ruse, but this means I was even fucking FATTER than I even imagined. Those 42 jeans were probably a 46. Holy shit. That's repulsive. I was Kamala.

You listen to me, male clothing manufacturers. I want you to use accurate measurements. Accurate measurements are what separate men from nutty women. No fudging for us. No arbitrary sizes like 2 or 4 or Sherri Shepherd. That's bullshit and I won't allow it. Men's sizes should be without reproach. They should tell you exactly what you are, which is likely fatter than you care to be.

Bobby:

Why does reading the delicious description on the packaging (e.g. Cape Cod chips) of something you're eating while also eating that thing without fail make it taste better?

Because eating is a full sensory experience. ONE MUST ENGAGE BOTH THE TONGUE AND THE MIND. And the best way to do that is to open up a bag of chips, turn it around, and then read the copy that some dude laid off from J. Peterman inscribed. Here's the copy from the Cape Cod chips website (SLOGAN: OW-AHHH CHIPS AHHH BETTAHHH THAN YOUR-AHHH CHIPS! LEBRAWN IS A LAZY DAHHKIE!):

Our Classics are old-fashioned, premium kettle cooked potato chips.

Oh, fuck. You cooked them in a kettle? Was it made of copper? Don't you make tea in a kettle? I don't know, but making them in a kettle has to be better than making them in some dipshit fryer.

…with a legendary crunch…

/eats chip

Goddamn, that IS crunchy! It's as if Homer himself devised its texture!

…and hearty potato flavor.

I didn't even notice the potato flavor until just now.

Enjoy with your favorite sandwich

Oh, sandwich…

or savor them on their own!

Mmmmm… after that sandwich, I will eat them solo and savor them thusly.

I read the packaging on every food item I buy. The copy is especially effective on any package of fancy candy. "Fresh picked Iranian apricots, enrobed in 75% dark cacao." Oh, be still my heart. Everything enrobed is fucking good.

Andrew:

Is The Best Buy Geek Squad Stealing Your Donkey Porn?S

HOLY CRAP.

Paul:

Is there anything that makes you look like a bigger idiot or the situation more awkward than referencing a movie or television quote to your friends or a group of people that they don't pick up on?

Nope. It's terrible, and the internet makes it worse. Like, if I'm here at Deadspin and I say, "Well, I for one welcome our new insect overlords," most of you are going to get it (those of you that don't can die in a fire). But then I go and assume that everyone out in the real world will get that reference. And they so do NOT. Flies right over their head, and it's not even close to being, in my opinion, an obscure reference. So then I feel like an ass for assuming Cunty McShitstain at some party knows what I'm talking about, while simultaneously being angry at that person for being so blindly ignorant to a major pop culture meme. DOES HE EVEN KNOW WHAT A MEME IS? GAHHHHH!!!

It's terrible because I want to throw out some one else's very smart and funny line to make me sound smart and funny, and it backfires. BUT IT SHOULDN'T! THESE PEOPLE ARE UNCULTURED!

Anyway, it bothers me.

Micah:

Do you ever find yourself randomly practicing kung fu when you're alone in your room as if you were Bruce Lee reincarnated, instead of (in my case as well as yours) some uncoordinated white guy?

Oh, yes. And now I have kids, so I get them in on it too. You can get in a pretend kung fu fight with a kid at least three times a day, except they don't know it's pretend and then they take it too far and end up slapping you in the nuts. JUDO CHOP!

Micah (again):

Do you ever put something down in the bathroom, say to yourself 'okay, I need to remember this when I leave' and then forget about it anyway?

Every five seconds. I could tattoo DON'T FORGET YOUR SOCKS on my dick and still leave them behind. It's even worse if my wife asks me to remember something. I'm in the grocery store. I'm getting all the food. The phone rings.

HER: Hey, can you also get some bread crumbs?

ME: Bread crumbs. Got it.

Those bread crumbs NEVER end up being purchased. Ever. Because I'll go back to the shopping list, get the next item on it, and that's when Mr. 4C Bread Crumbs goes flying right out of my brain. It's not on the list, and I do not carry a pen on me to place it on the list. The list is EVERYTHING.

I will come never come downstairs in the house without forgetting something from upstairs. Clothes for the gym. A vital insulin shot for one of the kids. Whatever. So then my wife is like, "Did you get the (blank)?" And I'll be like FUCKING GOD DAMMIT FUCK. Then I'll trudge back upstairs. There's nothing worse than unneeded trips up and down a staircase. I do not like stairs.

Viking Expat:

Do you ever drive by a hotel and look in the windows hoping to see a couple doing it? I drive by a 7 story famous chain hotel every day on my way home, and every day I think 'today is the day!', but it never is. It's pissing me off to the point that I want to hire a couple to do it front of a window of this hotel so I'll quit getting into a near car wreck every damn day.

I hope ANY window I cross will have attractive people banging the shit out of each other without inhibition in it. Any time I walk into a hotel room or someone's apartment. I lived in an apartment for six years and spent virtually every morning eating cereal by the window and looking at the building across the street hoping to see naked people or people being murdered. Never happened. Real life is awful.

One time, I was in a friend's apartment, and we were drunk, and we looked out the window and my friend thought he saw a woman undressing. So we sat there and fucking stared. There was definitely an older woman in there. We didn't even care if she was old or 5,000 pounds. Just so long as she was naked. But we never got an angle on her that offered conclusive proof. BUT WE SAW A BODY! SCORE!

HALFTIME!

PJ:

I was in the bathroom at work to go make pee and walked up to the urinal. I saw a guy in the stall sitting to poo. It sounded like he was giving it a good go, so I minded my business and finished up. As I was turning to leave though, I noticed something odd. The guys' feet in the stall were very close together while pooping. Like, his knees and heels must have been touching. I was not aware of this technique, as I always sit with a rather wide stance. Is this common among some poopers?

I dunno why it would be. Like PJ and Larry Craig, I also deploy the wide stance. My knees practically touch the sides of the stall. I may as well be giving birth. I want that asshole spread as wide open as humanly possible. No reason to do otherwise.

I have only one theory as to why a guy in a bathroom stall would keep his legs tight together while voiding his bowels: a laptop. He must have had laptop on his lap and surfing for porn while duking. Some people would be bold enough. Not me. I hate having a laptop actually on top of my lap. Excruciatingly uncomfortable. My testicles get pressed.

Rod Leviathan:

Girls always look cute in baseball caps, right? And they'll ALWAYS say they look stupid/silly in a cap, but they'll still look fucking cute.

Depends on the cap. I see a girl in a pink Red Sox or Yankees cap, and I want to kick her in throat. Those are the girls who get wildly drunk on four beers and get louder than Fireman Ed by the sixth inning. No one likes drunk girls like that. (Or drunk guys like that.)

Anyway, women look cute in baseball hats if they wear them OCCASIONALLY. But you wouldn't want her wearing that shit every day. Let your flowing locks FREE, girl.

Justin:

The other day I came home and there was a slip from FedEx on my door. They attempted to deliver a package, but would not leave it without a signature, for "security reasons." I was unable to be there for any attempt to deliver it, and I had to pick it up at the FedEx distribution center. I had no idea what it was, and I found myself getting more and more excited. I couldn't help but think that it was a package from a longlost acquaintance who had been murdered, but before he had been murdered, he had quickly shoved the incriminating evidence from witnessing a politician murdering someone, or the evidence blowing the whistle on a huge conspiracy. Perhaps it was the definitive video of the JFK assasination. You can't imagine how disappointed I was that it was informational videos from a medical device company about artificial urinary sphincters.

I can only imagine the letdown.

It's also terrible if a package shows up at work or at home and you think it's for you but then you look at the slip and it isn't. Some other dickface is getting a care package filled with oatmeal raisins cookies and homemade Chex Mix. Not you. BULLSHIT.

I'll buy something online and then forget it. Then a package will show up at my door a week later and I'm like OH SHIT, WHAT IS THIS? GOTTA BE SOMETHING AWESOME. MAGNETIC HOVERBOARD. Then I open it and I'm like, "Oh yeah, it's that thing I got. WHATEVER." Then I toss it aside.

Direct mailers are so fucking sneaky now. They'll send you shit in giant URGENT envelopes, so you think someone has sent you plans for a nuclear Russian sub. Or they'll use a font that looks like handwriting, so you think it's your grandma sending you a check for $300 before she dies. These techniques are evil and should be outlawed.

The flipside to receiving a package is the anxiety that it could be a letter bomb. I always shake the package, to make sure it doesn't sound like bomb parts, because I totally know bomb parts by sound. I listen for a ticking clock, perhaps a watch that has had its band removed and then has been strapped to a bunch of dynamite. I never know when Peter King will say ENOUGH IS ENOUGH and deploy the final solution.

John Locke Ness Smoke Monster:

I have a habit which is both unique and considered disgusting among my peers. When consuming canned tuna (in water), instead of pouring out the water, I like to drink it like a nice chamomile. I see no real problem with this, it's just tuna water.

True. It's just tuna water, WHICH IS REPUGNANT. Seriously, that is wrong. You don't see stores selling tuna juice, do you? Not a hot commodity. I find tuna can juice even nastier than olive jar juice. When someone orders a dirty martini at a bar, I want to barf into their glass.

TC:

Why is it that 90 percent of the time I put on a t-shirt without looking at the tag I put it on backwards? Shouldn't it be closer to 50 percent?

It should. If I have to get dressed and my wife is still sleeping, I'll get dressed in the dark. It's fun, because there's the challenge of A) opening the drawers and hoping you picked a decent shirt and pair of underwear, B) Getting dressed without making any noise, and C) Getting all your clothes on properly. I'd wager that, 90 percent of the time, not only is my shirt backwards, it's also inside out. I'm a lousy darkness dresser.

Chris:

In 45 degree weather, with heavy rain and 20+ mph winds, I grilled the perfect ribeye this evening. How long am I allowed to talk about this achievement, or does nobody really care?

Well, YOU care. And really, isn't that all that matters? I say you should carve you own trophy to commemorate the occasion. I like grilling in inclement weather because it will always prompt the wife to ask, "You're gonna grill out there?" I AM. I'M THAT RUGGED.

Chris:

If you could to get every hair in one (and only one) of the following areas of your body removed permanently via electrolysis, which area would you choose:

(1) ass crack
(2) pubic region (above package, on and behind balls)
(3) back of neck

Asscrack. Not even close. No more dingleberries? Ever? No more feeling like I'm dragging the toilet paper through a field of wheat down there? I'll take a bald crack any day.

Steve:

So I'm 26 and soon to be 27. I'm a college educated professional working a decent job in IT. On St. Patrick's Day I took a vacation day and was at a bar promptly at 6am. Twelve hours later I tripped on the street and injured my foot. Being too drunk to realize the extent of the injury, I continued on to another bar before limping back to the hotel. After an 90-minute drive back home and a quick trip to Urgent Care the next morning, a doctor informed me I broke my foot and put me in a surgical boot.

Now my girlfriend seems to think that I should be ashamed of this injury, citing the fact that I'm 26. I say I'm only 26 with no kids; it makes for a good drinking story and a badge of honor. Who's right here, and at what age do drinking stories slowly fade into tales of shame?

This is the problem with alcoholism. It doesn't really exist. It's an illusion designed by loved ones to make you feel bad because you're having a way better time than they are. They're so jealous and petty. Well, I don't need them! FUCK THEM! I'll just leave them and then I can finally drink alone. Oh, scotch. You're all the support I'll ever need. No one knows me like you do. WHO NEEDS A FAMILY? WHO ARE THEY TO JUDGE?!

I kid, I kid. But it's such an annoying thing. You like drinking. Drinking is fun. But someone you love worries you're drinking too much. So then YOU worry that you're drinking too much, only there wouldn't be a problem at all if they weren't such tightasses about how much you drink. You see how messy this gets? You didn't have a booze problem until someone worried you had a booze problem, and now you have a problem because they have a problem with you. Then they have that AA form and it's like, "Does alcohol affect your personal relationships?" Well, yeah. BUT ONLY BECAUSE MISSY TEETOTALER WON'T MIND HER OWN BEESWAX! It's not that clear cut, AA! It's true! Stupid other people.

Finally, a GREAT MOMENT IN POOPOVATION:

Adam:

My cousin told me a story about how he recently ended up in the next stall over from a guy who had awful, upsetting diarrhea. My cousin was panicked and completely unable to do his own business due to the alarming sounds and smells coming from the guy's stall. The sounds are one thing, you can plug your ears, but smells like the ones involved here are pervasive and essentially inescapable. And you know that with each breath, tiny bits of that man's anus are going into your nose and throat and there's nothing you can do about it.

My cousin flushed his own toilet a couple times to hint to the guy that he needed to courtesy flush, but the guy didn't take the hint.

I am a huge advocate of the courtesy flush, and it never ceases to amaze me how few people courtesy flush. If you're in a public bathroom and you're pooping, flush it down when it hits the water. Just do it. Even if you know there's more coming, if there's going to be a more than 10-second delay before the followup, flush down the big one. Don't make other people smell your ass.

Anyway, that, and my cousin's story led me to have the brilliant idea of a Courtesy Flush Stick. This is a thin stick located on or near the toilet that you reach through the little gap between the bathroom and stall wall to flush the toilet of the nearest convenient uncourteous pooper. Yes, it is embarrassing for the both of you, but it properly shames the pooper who is intent on enslaving the local bathroom populace to his turd stink and prevents you from an even more unpleasant experience. I will make a million dollars with this idea.

Sounds nice in theory. But I would end up prank flushing the guy next to me every seven seconds, fella. And then you know what happens? NO ONE poops in public for fear of the stick. Ever. Then you have everyman walking around holding in his giant poopy sausage links until the end of the day. That would be POOPAGEDDON.