Time for your Tuesday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Today, we're covering erotic sneezing, charity, numbness, weed testing, war, watches, driving, and more.
No time for tiddlywinks. I have to look into renting out some sort of dungeon or kennel for my four-year-old. Let's go right to your letters:
Reefer Madness (spelling left as is for fun):
So, I smoked a bowl last weekend. I usually dont because I can get random drug tests at my job. And of course Monday my boss says i have been chosen for a piss test. So, I run home and start chugging water do a mile and a half on the tread mill, chug some more water, until my piss is almost clear. Now I have done the test and i am experiencing the worst week of work in my life. I cant seem interested in what the test results are. I am suppost to be clean and not have to worry about it. Did my body flush work? Did i not have enough in my system to produce a positive? Will I get called into my bosses office and fired? Rehab? I have no idea what will happen and it is driving me crazy. All over a little weed.
Clearly, our man was stoned as he wrote this, which is so perfect. He obviously had to smoke some weed to calm down from being so freaked out from being forced to take a weed test after smoking weed and being paranoid from smoking that weed.
Anyway, I've never held a job that required random drug testing (the advertising and blogging industries would suffer a 98% casualty rate if either ever adopted a testing regime). The idea of it terrifies me, yet also intrigues me. I'm way past the age where drinking and smoking weed is fun because you aren't supposed to do them. Oh, but if I could smoke some weed and then beat a work-mandated weed test? Oh Christ, that would be like being 14 all over again. Anyway, I asked Reefer if he passed the test.
surprisingly, I did. My one boss told my other boss that my test came back inconclusive. No doubt from all the water I drank. My second, and cooler boss said, "oh, that just means he drank a lot of water, hes fine". So I lucked out. Im sad that I can no longer smoke pot, but I like paying my bills more.
Are you sure you stopped, my friend? Because you don't sound like you did. Maybe you're still smoking pot and you don't know it. Maybe the government is INJECTING you with pot in hopes of catching you, man! And there are fucking snakes in your closet, man! Why do I somehow doubt that drinking lots of water is your key to beating any drug test?
I live in the DC area, and lots of people who work around here work in government jobs that require a security clearance. When people need a security clearance, the government does an enormous background check on them. They talk to everyone you know. They know you're toggling between this site and videos of Lisa Ann getting plowed as we speak. Anyway, my wife has twice been interviewed by the government for background checks on people she knows. I always want her to lie and cast doubt on her friend's background, but she never does. "Oh, Jamie? Oh, she was a wild one in college. Hung out in Bogota ALL THE TIME. I wonder why she always had those porcelain dolls packed in coffee grounds shipped in to school. Those dolls smelled weird. She said she could sell them for a FORTUNE! Did you know she has Arab blood in her?"
Anyone else feel like Mother Teresa after they give a homeless person some coin? Maybe once a week, usually on payday, I toss a bum a quarter and feel like a saint. For some reason after giving a homeless guy some spare change, I feel all my sins have been dissolved and it gives me the right to go get blacked out drunk for the next 48hrs, diddle a pig, dropkick a baby and break all 10 commandments. If a bum was to ask me for some change on a Tuesday, I would tell him to fuck off.
Well played, but did you make sure you were in the presence of a woman when you gave the bum some change? If I were a homeless person, I'd only target men who are in the company of a woman. No guy alone is dumb enough to give some homeless asshole money. But throw a woman into the equation, and suddenly the guy is much more open to the idea. Give a dollar to the bum, and maybe the girl will be like, "Oh wow! You're so kind and compassionate! Yet strong and independent." Then she'll take you home AND ROCK YOUR FUCKING PARTY WORLD.
We do a charity drive at KSK every year, and we do that charity drive specifically so that we can tell people that we do a charity drive. I make no apologies for it. If I'm gonna give $50 to African cleft palate babies, you better damn well believe I am going to squeeze every last compliment out of it. One day, I will be a billionaire, and I will give millions to charity, and people will say DREW, YOU ARE SO GENEROUS WITH YOUR LARGESSE. And then they will give my heartless oil/insurance/lawyering/missile-building company MORE money because we care so much, thus ensuring me a net profit and a hefty tax rebate to boot. THE SYSTEM WORKS.
I remember when the tsunami hit Southeast Asia. I gave $100 to charity after it happened. And holy shit, did I walk around like I was Milton Hershey after that. LOOK AT HOW I HELPED THE LITTLE PEOPLE! Which is so dumb. That $100 probably went to pay a fifth of the monthly bill for a cold calling center. WORLD: HELPED.
So I am a big turkey hunter. I mostly hunt in the early morning which requires me getting out in the woods at around 5:45 or so. While out there some days there is a light fog. During this time, I always envision myself, since I am already decked out in all camo, that I am in WWII waiting for a group of dirty Kraut fucks to walk up right past me. I wait until they get just past, then BOOM fuck those bastards up with my shotgun, turn tail and then hide in the bush until the next patrol comes by. Do you ever have any war daydreams?
Oh yes. Unlike Matt Ufford, who fought in an ACTUAL war, I have only fought wars in my mind. But oh, what a resume I have. Platoon leader. Fifteen-time Purple Star Of Honor winner. The man who never had to pay a dime to Vietnamese prostitutes because they admired his bedroom prowess so much. I've saved friends, women, enemies, presidents. I've outsmarted Joshua the computer at Global Thermonuclear War. I've fallen in love with the mysterious Gin Chau, who may or may not be a secret Viet Cong assassin (FON DUC TO!). I've killed Hitler so many times, I'm bored with it. I've liberated Auschwitz. I've been a prisoner IN Auschwitz and led a revolt out, bayoneting Nazis in the throat as I went along.
I've written letters to my long lost love back home. "Dear Francine, it was tough one today. Some good men died out there. But I'm all right. I'll be home soon. I don't fear death. I BELONG TO YOU." Then I arrive home from Korea and bone Francine's lights out. In real life, war is hell. But in my imagination? Quite the opposite. It's a rollicking good time. We hit up bars in France and I'm the cool colonel who lets his men smoke weed in the barracks. YOU DID GOOD OUT THERE, MEN. Real good.
In 2nd grade I wore a watch, but it was not just any watch. This bad boy had a small sticker-hologram to the right of the time display that, in my mind, made me a secret agent spy. I would whisper into and listen to this watch with the hopes that others would notice. Obviously, I was communicating with a super secret government agency, and I wanted to make everyone aware of how badass I was because I was a kid James Bond. I am now an unemployed grad of a small liberal arts school.
Oh, that's so fucking funny. When I was a kid, all I wanted was an Ironman watch. I saw the ads and thought they were so fucking cool. I totally thought owning one made me officially a cyborg: half man, half death robot. Anyway, I got it for a Christmas gift one year. I put it on and I made a fist and I just stared at the thing on my wrist. I thought it looked like the most badass thing in history. No one could touch me now. I WAS IRON MAN. I would totally have friends at school now, such was the power of the watch. I talked to the watch. I posed in the mirror with the watch. I stood in the shower and watched the watch resist water. FUCKING SWEET. I lost the watch on the exact same day I got it. My folks refused to buy a new one. Smart people.
I also had any number of Swatches when I was a kid, complete with dipshit rubber Swatch guard. I had the one that went right down the center of the face of the watch. It's hard to overstate just how stupid people look while wearing a Swatch. You have to be, like, Spike fucking Jonze to pull off something that goofy nowadays.
I also had a calculator watch, which I used to input any number of top secret bank vault codes.
I now have a metal watch, which also makes me feel like a secret agent. "This is a Rouchefoucauld. The thinnest water-resistant watch in the world. Singularly unique, sculptured in design, hand-crafted in Switzerland, and water resistant to three atmospheres. This is *the* sports watch of the '80s. Six thousand, nine hundred and fifty five dollars retail!"
I was driving earlier today and got stuck behind this car that kept slowing down and then speeding up. Fuck you guy that will never set your cruise control. These drivers always piss me off. I pass them while on the highway and then I'm just cruising along and then the guy all of a sudden decides to go faster than me and passes me. I'm cool with that as long as I don't have to make the effort to pass him again. But nooooooooooo! He slows down and he's in my lane so I have to change lanes to pass him. This is made much worse if there's faster cars coming by and I have to wait for them to go by first. Fuck you inconsistent car speed driver!!!!
It's some kind of law in my life where I will set the cruise control, be all ready to bask in the fact that I don't have to go to the effort of depressing the accelerator, only to IMMEDIATELY come upon two assholes going 50 miles an hour right next to each other, with no way around them. And they'll stay like that FOREVER. They could care less about being in each other's blind spot. They'll just tag team and fuck over legions of drivers behind them.
This annoys me, because I want to use my cruise control more often than I do. Sometimes I'll think I've set the cruise control, only I didn't push the button hard enough or something for it to take, but I don't realize that until I'm going five miles an hour slower, and then I freak out and I'm like OH NO! MUST HAVE SPEED! MUST HAVE SPEED! Then I speed way the fuck up.
There's something enjoyable about speeding up when you have cruise control on. When you speed up merely by pushing the RESUME ACCEL button on the steering wheel. It speeds up without me pressing the gas, and that makes me feel like I'm piloting a fighter jet. Again, war is fun.
Going back to Louis's rant, I also dislike people who come up on my ass, then I move over to let them by, and then they don't pass. What the fuck? I'm being nice to you, prick. PASS ME. Is the thrill gone for you now? Do you only love the chase? Other drivers are fucked in the head.
Is it just me or do hangovers after the age of 30 seem to last for a couple of days?
They do, and it blows. I used to pride myself on never getting hangovers (sweet drinks will ruin you!). Now I get loaded and I need two weeks to recover. I don't like that old age has made drinking more trouble than it's worth. That's not fair at all. Must everything become a pain in the ass when you're over 30? Hangovers? Pain in the ass. Work? Pain in the ass. Sex? Kind of a pain in the ass, and that's just figuratively speaking! I don't even like the yaki yaki!
Do you ever crush your arm in your sleep and cut off blood flow to your hand? It is downright creepy when you wake up. There is absolutely no feeling in your fingers. They are cold and numb, and a sort of odd fascination comes over me, like I'm Jack Nicholson in "The Departed" holding that severed hand. But then a primal fear washes over me: what happens if my hand is permanently crippled and has to be amputated? What will life be like as Jim Abbott? Did I at least paralyze my left hand, so I can still write/eat/brush my teeth? Will I be able to park in a handicap space? Will my wife still love me? Thankfully, after shaking the dead limb violently, blood starts to return to my lifeless fingers, and after a couple of minutes the hand is back to normal, but my heart rate is not.
Due to my bad back, I had lots of nerve problems in my legs. So when I went to sleep once and my arm went fucking dead for a solid five minutes after I woke up, I went to the doctor because I was freaked out that I had some nerve problem stemming from my back or neck. But no, he said, I had just slept on my ulnar nerve. When you sleep on it, your arm and your pinky and ring fingers go numb. But there's no serious danger of permanent injury from sleeping on it wrong. However, like Scott says, that doesn't keep me from freaking the fuck out when I wake up at 4 a.m. and can't feel a goddamn thing in either arm. It's not just pins and needles, like your foot falling asleep. It feels like the arms don't exist, and that's a billion times scarier. No sensation at all. I totally want to stab myself with a letter opener when it's all numbed up like that, just so I can get a posterity scar.
There are any number of little goofy things like that, that freak me out regularly. Ever have your hearing switch up on you? Like, you're sitting in a room and suddenly your hearing shifts? Like, did someone just adjust the fucking treble in this room? What the hell is going on? Am I going deaf? It's possible I listen to too much music.
I am always infuriated when traffic gets backed up because people slow down to check out a wreck or something on the side of the road. However, I always like to take a peek myself just to see what is so damn interesting. I rationalize this by knowing, deep down inside, that if I was the first along to notice whatever it is on the side of the road , I'd be able to zip by at 5-10mph over the speed limit and still be able to get a sufficient look.
In other words, you get to participate in the gawker's block — hey, you didn't start it and everyone's going slow anyway. Yup. That's a legit bullshit excuse.
Sometimes when I'm driving on the highway, I like to pick out a car in front of me and decide that person is a Russian spy that I must track and kill. I weave in and out, keeping a solid distance as not to alert the spy, but following them intently. Sometimes, I even wear sunglasses while I'm doing it. When they inevitably exit and escape my grasp, I always look over to my wife and say, "They just THINK they got away" as I hold up my cell phone suggesting I put a tracking device on the car beforehand. She always responds, "What the hell are you talking about?"
That's not a bad idea. I'm always paranoid I'm being followed. That what movies have ingrained in me. "Shhh! We're being tailed! The red BMW. At five o'clock." But I like R's policy of reversing that shit. He isn't going to stand for being the hunted. He is the HUNTER, and he will tailgate you into submission. A brilliant ploy.
I also like revving my engine very loud when passing people and pretending my car is the Batmobile, but that's neither here nor there.
Finally, A TERRIFYING MOMENT IN AUTOEROTIC SNEEZING:
I have recently become aware of a debilitating and horrifying disorder. This unusual problem is called the Autosomal Dominant Compelling Heliopthalmic Outburst Syndrome. It pretty much means you sneeze at random times because the nerve signals got mixed up or some shit. Most people with this problem sneeze when they see bright lights, but there's an even smaller part of the population who start compulsively sneezing when they think of anything sexual. Why do I know this? Because I am one of the cursed few who is plagued by this problem. I always thought it was weird, but I finally googled that shit and found out it was an actual problem. Can you please take a moment and think of what it would be like to start sneezing every time you have sex, think about sex, or even see an attractive person you wouldn't mind banging? Pretty fucking annoying. Can we get a fund going to help find a cure? Every time you have a dirty thought, just imagine that some poor bastard is thinking the same thing and sneezing his damn brains out.
Does that mean you sneeze while orgasming? Does your fucking head explode when that happens, or is it the greatest feeling on Earth? What if you shit, sneezed, and jizzed all at once? Would you time travel? This is a disease I would like to test drive for a day, just to see what it's like to suffer from.
They should have test trial runs for all diseases, so you can get for a day and empathize with its sufferers. Sure, cystic fibrosis SOUNDS shitty. But what if I could give it to you for five minutes? Wouldn't you be more inclined to cut Gunnar Esiason a check then? I say yes. I'd also like Tourette's for day, strictly so I can use it to explain this column to my parents. And I'd like that disease where you have no hair on your body, just to see how much bigger it makes my penis look.
But yeah, sneezing when you're turned on. Sounds brutal, kid. Sorry about that. OOH LOOK! FREE HAM!