The Funbag Demands You Respect The King Of Salad Dressings

Time for your Thursday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Today, we're covering traffic, croutons, sunglasses, periscopes, poop, and more.

I went to the dentist today to get a cleaning. And man, if there's anything that tickles worse than when the hygienist hits the roof of your mouth with that fucking polisher, I don't wanna find out what it is. When I die and am sentenced to Hell, they're gonna send me to Satan's tickling room, and they're gonna jam that polisher against my hard palate for nine years. It's gonna suck.

Your letters:

Mark:

Whenever I eat food out of a bowl that has some sort of liquid in it, preferably soup or cereal, I always put about 8 spoonfuls of said food in my mouth before I even start to think about chewing or swallowing. I love doing this. Sometimes I choke myself and/or have to spit some of it out because the volume alone on my mouth doesn't allow for the proper chewing movements. This of course means, I can down a whole bowl of soup while only having to swallow three times. Do you do this?

I do it with the first few bites of cereal from a bowl, which probably goes a long way to explaining why I've struggled with my weight my entire life. One thing I love doing with cereal is the following: I'll eat the cereal until I get to the bottom of the bowl and it's clear we're almost at the milk-drinking stage. HOWEVAH, I like to leave a decent amount of the cereal in the leftover milk so that I can chug the cereal milk while there are still bits of cereal to chew on as I chug. This sounds extremely complicated, even DANGEROUS, but I adore it. It's like when you're eating Chinese food and you get to the bottom of the rice bowl and all that's left is rice and sauce and little bits of fried crap, so you put the bowl to your mouth and start packing the shit in. I love those moments of eating. That's the fucking BEST.

I also do what Mark does with popcorn. When I grab a handful of popcorn, I do not want that popcorn to stay in my hand for too long, because that'll make my hand all greasy and then I have to wash my hands and I don't like washing my hands if I don't have to. So I will, literally, stuff that popcorn in my mouth until my fucking jaw is completely immobilized.

Andy:

For lunch I made baked chicken and for one drumstick I coated it with the crumbs leftover from the Kirkland Animal Cracker jar for the breading. I can't recommend it enough.

I applaud this man's innovation. He could go on "Chopped," and win. As could this man:

Dan:

I just poured myself a bowl of croutons, dumped salad dressing on it, and ate it. It was delicious.

I'll bet it was. I'll assume you used Caesar dressing. Because when doused with Caesar dressing, a crouton goes from a stale cube of bread to some kind of diabolical orgasmulator machine. The croutons at the bottom of a Caesar salad represent life at its absolute apex. You can't put enough dressing on my Caesar salad. I want to baptize my next child in it. That's the only redeeming feature of shitty chain restaurants like Applebee's. They know why you ordered that Caesar salad, which is why they coat every romaine leaf in at least one cup of Caesar dressing before sending it out to your table. They ordered Caesar salad pizza at my work once and I nearly exploded with pleasure. It's a majestic concoction. So, so evil.

I'm sure some of you prefer other salad dressings, but I have a hard time putting any dressing other than Caesar at the top of a master ranking of salad dressings. My ranking of salad dressings is skewed by my undying hatred of mayonnaise. But suffice it to say, Caesar is number one (oh, Ken's Steakhouse, you are good people), followed by the tahini dressing shit some Asian places give you (like that shithole Dojo's in New York), followed by the liquid crack they put on Olive Garden salads. That restaurant blows, but I could funnel that dressing.

Marty:

Obviously the best thing about wearing sunglasses is getting to ogle tits. Well, what no one prepares you for is when you get real prescription glasses and your brain is still trained to blatantly stare at said tits when you have something on your face, but now you don't have the protective tint. I got glasses about 6 weeks ago and have been busted at least once a week since. The worst had to be by the father of a college-age girl. He was not pleased.

Lucky for me, I've been blind all my life and needed regular glasses well before I needed actual sunglasses. You don't get them confused when you have regular glasses first.

But yes, let's discuss using sunglasses for their intended purpose, which is to ogle strange tang. It's always fun to stare at boobies and stuff when you have sunglasses on. Especially when you purposely turn your head away from the boobs, so you aren't facing them. But you're still staring at them anyway! And the girl is none the wiser! TEE HEE HEE! Only then you get a little paranoid that maybe she KNOWS you're staring at her boobs anyway. Maybe the fact that you aren't looking at her boobs is a clear indication you ARE! Your sunglasses aren't mirrored! You can see your eyeballs if you get close enough. What if she has super vision and can see where your pupils are pointing? ABORT! ABORT!

I'm 33 years old. I have a wife and two kids. There is no reason on Earth, NONE, that I should still feel like a badass when I put sunglasses on. But I'm here to confess, I do. I absolutely do. I feel like fucking Sonny Crockett when I put my sunglasses on. They aren't nice sunglasses either. I bought them at CVS. No matter. I put them on, and I am the coolest motherfucker to walk the planet. I close my car door and I totally look at my reflection in the car window and admire myself wearing sunglasses. I'm an undercover cop. I'm secret service. I'm a movie star evading the paparazzi. I'm that dude from "Burn Notice". I can't believe I'm still a douche who gets off on wearing sunglasses, but I am. I hate guys who wear sunglasses and drive convertibles and have that smug look on their fucking faces. But I love wearing sunglasses anyway, and I'd totally drive a convertible if I had one. My hypocrisy knows no bounds. I'd never wear sunglasses inside or at a poker table. But outside? Even on a cloudy day? SUNGLASSES.

We need more sunglasses fetish porn. When I was a kid, I saw "Night Trips" with Tori Welles and there was a scene where one chick was servicing a guy and doing it while wearing sunglasses. I thought it was the hottest goddamn thing I'd ever seen.

Cardboardbelt:

Fair or Foul: I was sitting in a waiting room when this guy starts asking cute girls "What's your background?" or "Are you Persian? You're Persian, right?"

Is 'What's your background' a valid pick-up line? It feels, as they say, vaguely RAYCESS.

It's not so much racist as it is just creepy. Are you Persian? I only stick it to Persian women. What's your family tree look like? Are you a terrorist? Were you born here in the US? I'm going to need to see your papers, unless you were to perhaps offer me some sort of service. Here, put on these sunglasses…

Ryan:

Whenever I eat pretzels I chew the first one up really well so it's not dry anymore, leave it in my mouth, put another pretzel in, and then cover the dry pretzel in my newly made pretzel goo. It's oddly satisfying, and I don't think I have ever eaten a pretzel in any other fashion and couldn't imagine doing so.

I could see the appeal of that. It's fun to break down food entirely in your mouth. When I was a kid, my folks always bought these stoned wheat crackers. I'd put five in my mouth and just chew and chew and chew them until there was just this giant lump of matzo ball in my mouth. Then I'd go to the bathroom and open my mouth and stare at the mass in the mirror. THEN I'd finish eating it. Then I'd do it again. Eating can be fun like that.

I also like putting M&M's in my mouth, not chewing them, and feeling them break down. It's like they're giving up. MY SALIVARY ACID IS STRONG AND POWERFUL.

Allen:

My wife bought me tickets for Iron Maiden in June. My problem is that I'm 40 and haven't been to a concert since 1991. I have no idea what to expect. Old guys like myself trying to ‘rock'? Young punks in the ‘mosh pit'? The stink of the weed? Bootleg t-shirts? Do I bring ear plugs? Hand sanitizer? Help me Drew.

I think most everyone will be your age. I wouldn't worry about it. The older crowd is less likely to be populated with fuckheads holding up cell phone cameras and blocking your view for the entire concert. I hate people like this and I hope they die a million deaths. I brought earplugs to a Mastodon concert last month, because you're supposed to use them. But I put them in and felt like a fucking ponce. Also, the music didn't sound as good. So out they went.

Jason:

So last night I went out to eat and did something that I just realized I do every single time I go out to eat, and that is never remember the waiter's face. No matter how many times he comes to the table, I can't get my retarded self to just place an image of this guy's face in my mind for the hour or so that I'm there. So I'll order drinks and food, finish my first drink, and sit there with an empty glass while I try to make awkward eye contact with every asshole that works there, including the busboys, in the hope that I'll get lucky and my waiter will notice me scanning the floor for him. This misery was compounded last night when I went to a Latin restaurant and every single person working there was a Hispanic guy. I couldn't even narrow it down.

THASS RAYCESS! I've found that, when I need my waiter, every other employee of the restaurant must first pass by me before the waiter will come out of whatever fucking spider hole he's been hanging out in for the past hour. It's horrible. I'll do that thing where I'll get so tired of trying to spot the waiter that I'll just break down and ask the busboy, who clearly doesn't speak English. To bring me some extra ketchup, then he'll go off and I'll damn well he'll never bring the ketchup back. Then the waiter finally comes by, and I ask his ass for ketchup, then the waiter AND the busboy bring separate helpings of ketchup, and then I'm the asshole for asking for extra ketchup twice.

But you never know when you ask the busboy for something. It's always a 50/50 proposition.

HALFTIME!

FEAST:

Just finished a book called "The Masters: Golf, Money, and Power in Augusta, Georgia." Aside from the kitchen being open every day for whatever you want (I'll be having toro nigiri, 2 waffles, a dozen oysters on the half shell and the Chilean sea bass with mashed potatoes), pretty boring stuff...

Except for this:

Back home in New York, a typical boxing card began with middleweights and ended with heavies, but Augusta National fight nights conclude with a demeaning spectacle called a battle royal.

The battle begins. Six blindfolded black boys who have been recruited from "the Terry"-Augusta's negro territory-are shoved into the ring, their hands encased in boxing gloves. Sometimes one hand is tied behind each warrior's back, to prevent any defensive jabbing. Someone hits a brass bell with a ball peen hammer and the combatants start throwing haymakers. They hit air, ring ropes, ring posts, and each other. Last one standing wins.

How is this not an Olympic event? Wouldn't having an event similar to this, without the brutal racial element, make boxing relevant again? Deadspin Fusion Battle Royal: last commenter standing gets a star.

Jesus Christ. I hope someone sets fire to Augusta National. What a fucking piece of shit that place is. Some tradition you got there, Jimmy Nantz.

Anyway, the answer to FEAST's question is a resounding yes. If you blindfolded six grown and racially diverse men, paid them and had some sign sort of waiver, and then set them upon each other in a steel cage, I'd gladly watch it and make numerous wagers with my Vietnamese bookmaker.

Tyler:

In the existence of the Earth, how many couples do you think have fucked in front of either of their parents? Covers or no covers, I still think this is 100 or less.

I asked Tyler if the parents had to be aware of the fucking going on, and Tyler said no. In that case, the answer is well above 100. You're talking about the whole Earth. There are shanties in India that house eight families of 27 people each. You fuck when you have to fuck, regardless of who's there. Hell, you'd fuck with grandma making roti over in the corner. She's blind anyway.

Shit, I bet at least one Deadspin commenter has had sex with a parent in the same room. Say your folks are asleep on one couch and you and your lady friend are on another couch in the same TV room. And your freaky ladyfriend is feeling all devilish and wants you to do it under the blanket. Do you do it? Oh, I think you do if you're horny enough. YOU FIGHT THROUGH THAT AWKWARDNESS. I once humped a pool jet with family members mere yards away. Nothing can stop a man with a boner.

Kevin:

I was at a jeweler last week putting the finishing touches on buying an engagement ring for my girlfriend (that's a whole other story), when I started looking around wondering how I could pull off an Ocean's Eleven-type robbery and get out of the store stealing all of the precious jewels.

It's impossible to walk into any jewelry store without wanting to rob it. I walk in and I see all the diamonds in the glass cases, and I just wanna bust out a crowbar and fucking LAY WASTE to the case and grab handfuls of stones and get the fuck out of there. Then I'd put all the jewels in a little satin bag and get on a plane to Rio. It's a flawless plan, really. No holes in it at all. I can't imagine any man has walked into some piece of shit Kay Jewelers and NOT wanted to rob it. And the jeweler must know this, and that's good. I like that Jean Pierre has to stay on his toes all day.

I went to the mall the other day, and I'm constantly stunned by how many jewelry stores there are, per capita, in any given mall. Every goddamn mall has nineteen of these stores, and no one's ever in them. How the fuck do they continue to exist? Does DeBeers own all of them? Why are there 37 Shaw's Jewelers in this mall and NO Dairy Queen? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Adam:

I work with kids at a middle school and constantly wish for a massive fight to break out. I would plow through that shit, taking out little brats left and right. It'd be like the matrix. Am I a bad person?

Nah. You're not a bad person. The question is, why AREN'T there fights breaking out at your middle school? It's a middle school. Shouldn't little fat kids be getting into slap fights every seven minutes? I know I did. You must have the most well-behaved set of lily white sixth graders ever.

I'm with Adam. The only reason I'd ever want to become a teacher is to break up fights and slam kids against lockers. I'd lecture those little snots just to assert my authority and become addicted to my own thirst for shallow power. That would be awesome. I'd also love to lay down the HARD truth for asshole parents who pamper their little shit kids. Actually, Mrs. Cavendish, your little Madison is not a perfect little angel. SHE IS A SPOILED LITTLE SHIT AND SHE'LL LET ANYONE ON THE HOCKEY TEAM FINGER HER FOR TWO BUCKS. Deal with THAT.

Alex:

Dipping your fingers in hot melted candle wax just to let it cool and then peel it off is awesome.

Indeed it is. Much better than watching Madonna drip it all over Willem Dafoe's nude body. Willem Dafoe gives me nightmares. Weird dude.

I was obsessed with lit candles when I was a kid. My folks would let me light them for a nice dinner or something and I'd be such a little happy fat kid. Especially if the candle was new and I got to bust the wick's cherry. Look at it MELTING. That is so cool. Then I'd stare at the wax dripping down the side and watch it build up at the bottom of the candlestick. It's all lumpy. It looks like a MONSTER. Nice.

I'll go to dinner with my wife sometimes, and if the restaurant has one of those little candleholders on the table, I will play with it for ten to fifteen minutes at a time. I'll swirl the wax around inside the container. Then I'll watch the wick go down a little bit and then see the fire start back up a bit. SO COOL. Then my wife will slap the shit out of me. Whatever, lady. It's fire. It's awesome.

Luke:

Have you mailed anything recently? Do you have any idea how much work this shit entails?

It's awful. I went to the post office the other day because we didn't have a printer at home so I could print my own labels and never have to go back (I bought one shortly thereafter). I wanted to fucking kill myself after being there for two minutes. I'd rather go to a Scientology seminar than go to the post office again. The post office is horrible. No wonder mailmen shoot people all the time.

But yeah, mailing anything in general is a huge pain in the ass. You need envelopes and stamps, and you have to write out addresses. All terrible. I also cannot write out an address in longhand without making an error and then having to throw out the envelope and start again. I am retarded.

Todd:

You used to live in NYC, how much of a creep do you feel like when you approach your building just as an attractive female is doing likewise, and instead of saying hello or being social, you creepily follow her in, then creepily follow her up the stairs, until she basically runs into her apartment and slams the door while you continue walking up to yours? I always feel like an asshole. I should probably just say hi.

Yeah, but saying hi is even worse. Especially in New York, where saying hello to strangers instantly makes you a fucking freak. I'd bask in the creepiness. Allow your inner sleazebag to indulge himself. I'm following YOU, honey. I bet you're thinking I'm still going up the stairs just so it looks like I have somewhere to go. Well, you're RIGHT. I don't even live in this building. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Monty:

I was walking my dog behind our building last night, half in the bag, and I noticed a guy on his phone walking his bike around our parking lot. The dog was barking at him so I took her elsewhere, but ended up walking back after he left. Then he came back AGAIN.

As I was walking back inside, I wondered...if a bunch of cars had been broken into, would I be able to give the police a description of the guy, and more accurately, would the sketch artist be able to render something based on what little I noticed? I think about this often after I leave various situations: Did I pay enough attention to that guy behind me in line at the Mobil to be able to describe him if the had shot the clerk in the face after I walked out the door?

Yeah, I don't really understand how criminals are ever caught. If I had to describe a perp to a sketch artist, the artist would almost certainly end up having to draw a stick figure of a cat. "Uh… well he had a nose. And feet." You see those witnesses who get up in trials and remember every minute detail of something that happened on a random night three years ago. I so don't buy that. I can't remember what I did yesterday. Really, I can't. I'm trying to think of it right now and… nope. I might've gone to Target. I think. Not really sure.

The point is this: If I witness someone being murdered (and God willing, that will happen one day), the shooter will have to be three feet away from me while pulling the trigger and then have to buy me a drink and blow me afterwards for me to have any chance of remembering what he looked like. Even if I knew what he looked like, I wouldn't know how to word it to give you a good feel for what he looked like. "Uh… his chin did that thing that chins sometimes do where… uh… OH GOD DAMMIT."

By the way, all sketch artists renderings terrify me. I used to watch America's Most Wanted, and whenever they cut to the police sketch of the suspect at the end, I'd be all freaked out by it. THAT DRAWING WANTS TO RAPE ME.

Crhis:

Today I set in traffic for an hour and get to work to find out the main road through ATL was shut down because a kidnapper/rapist had a standoff with police and SWAT declaring he had a bomb, then shot himself, then the bomb squad had to blow his windows out and search for a bomb. WAY better than some bullshit car accident.

Agreed. That's the kind of thing where I'm bitter I wasn't at the front of the traffic jam to witness it firsthand. You talk about great theater.

Nick:

Turned 24 this weekend, total nothing birthday, but the worst shit happened- got a card from grandpa with no check. Not to sound like an asshole, but I thought I had a few more years of $25 checks. Fucking blows.

That it does.

Brooks:

Whenever I'm stuck in traffic I also spend a lot of time wishing my car had a periscope. With a periscope, you'd immediately get to see whatever lies ahead and decide if the carnage merits waiting in traffic (awesome crash in which shit is on fire/flipped over) or if you should just exit (lame fender bender). Plus with an in-car periscope there's the added bonus of getting to use a Russian accent and pretending you're Captain Marko Ramius manning a kickass submarine rather than some shitty car. I told my friend Duffy this idea and he called me/the idea retarded. What are your thoughts?

I don't think it's retarded. I'd like a periscope in my car. I too get frustrated sitting in traffic and not knowing what's going on ahead or how far away I am from sweet freedom. The only thing worse than being stuck in traffic is being stuck in traffic with a fucking Bob's Bread Superstore truck in front of you, completely obscuring your vision. Or some goddamn Suburban with tinted windows. Suburbans should never be allowed to have tinted windows. Your fucking Sears Tower of a car is blocking my view. Let me see through your goddamn SUV. There is nothing inside your car that is important enough to be shielded from the world. You probably have seven asshole kids all picking their noses and watching age-inappropriate DVDs. DIE.

So yeah, the periscope would be nice.

Finally, another GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY. Reader Dino sends in this story I call THE INCREDIBLE MR. POOPET:

The wife and I had dinner at the local Italian joint a few years back, and they had fish as one of their specials. They assured me it was just flown in and I had had fish there before and it was good. I had never heard of the fish they were serving that night, but the waiter told me it was a flavorful white fish so I gave it a shot. They brought me a nice piece of fish, I ate it, and it was good.

The next day, I was sitting in my office when I felt a fart coming on. I let it rip and immediately knew something was wrong.

I sprinted to the bathroom, dropped my drawers, and my underwear was full of this vile orange oily liquid. I threw the shorts away and cleaned my ass as best as I could. Unfortunately, the foul substance had passed through the underwear and soaked through the butt of my khaki pants. I untucked my shirt to try and cover it, but no dice. I walked up to the secretary, told her I had to go home for a bit, and walked backwards away from her around the corner. I went home, showered, changed, and headed back to work, only to find an oily orange film on my chair.

I thought maybe I was dying, but the next day everything was back to normal. Until maybe 6 months later. Same restaurant, same special, same fish. I remembered liking it before, and never put 2 and 2 together. I ate it again and it was good. The next day, I felt a familiar rumbling in my bowels, and headed straight for the can. I proceeded to spackle the bowl with more nasty orange oil. The light bulb went off over my head and I Googled the fish.

It's called Escolar, and it turns out there's a segment of the population that can't digest the fatty oil that makes it taste good. I found out the hard way that I am a member of that segment. Another name for Escolar is "The Laxative Fish".

And I didn't react as badly as some of the horror stories I read about. Needless to say, I have never touched that stuff again.

Can't believe the fish in question wasn't the Orange Roughy.

Oh, and before I go, a very quick congrats to Will Leitch and Alexa Stevenson on their upcoming wedding on Saturday. Everyone give their best to those two crazy kids.