"I Want My Wife To Stick Her Finger Up My Butt"

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Email the Funbag here. Today, we're covering porn, fingerblasting, the DMV, and more.

No time for tiddlywinks. Your letters:

Bob:

I am at home on parental leave (paid leave for dads of new babies) while the wife goes back to work teaching. I've done the porn thing when the baby goes to bed upstairs and I've come to the realization that I like a little finger in the butt action - saw it on a video, tried it, loved it - now my question to you is do I tell my wife about this new and lovely fetish of mine? And how do I explain how I came about liking it?

I'm not really sure of the best way to tell your wife that you've been giving yourself the stinkfinger, and that you'd like her to give it a whirl. Obviously, you should NEVER tell her you learned about it from porn. "Hey honey, I saw this really cool thing on RedTube the other day! CHECK IT OUT!" It's porn, and while you may consider it the penis' answer to BabyCenter, she's probably repulsed by it.

I think the best way to go about this is to present a case for it to your wife at a private moment. Don't get her in bed and then grab her hand and jam it up there. That would be asking for trouble. Instead, I would use hard evidence and be very forthright and mature about it. Honey, were you aware that massaging the prostate thru the anal canal has potential health benefits AND can cause more intense orgasming? I think maybe we should give it a whirl. Here, throw this baggie on your hand and dip it in this paraffin bath I've set up on the dining room buffet. I think this could really improve our lives. NOW STICK IT IN MY POOPER, LADYFINGER!

Lew:

Which of the three major sports do you think has the highest percentage of professional athletes with an STD? I've included my list and reasoning below, but you could really make a solid argument for any of the sports.

1) Baseball: Most days on the road with mysterious poon

2) Basketball: Smallest of the leagues and who knows what all of the European players have

3) Football: Ben Roethlisberger

It's a tough call between baseball and basketball, but I'll say the NBA has the higher percentage of STD-ridden players. Maybe they don't go on the road quite as much as baseball players, but they're out on the road plenty. Basketball players, on average, also make more money and have better name recognition than their baseball-playing counterparts. But the most important factor in this is race. Over 80 percent of NBA players are black, versus just 10 percent of baseball players. Now, take a look at this report from the Centers for Disease Control. When it comes to the clap and siffy and all that, African-Americans contract a severely disproportionate number of STDs:

In 2007, blacks represented 12% of the US population but accounted for 70% of reported gonorrhea cases, 48% of all chlamydia cases, and 46% of all syphilis cases.

THASS RAYCESS! Nearly half of all cases of the clap in the US occur among African-Americans (with Willis McGahee accounting for 5,687 transmissions just on his own). If you're African-American, you are NINETEEN times more likely to get gonorrhea than a white person. It's a statistical discrepancy that has all sorts of crazy social and economic implications, and more needs to be done to help close that gap. I think we whites need to do a much better job giving each other syphilis. We clearly lack both the courage and passion to dive headlong into scabby genitals in the name of getting a good nut off, and I don't like that one bit.

So if you're going to rank the sports by STD percentage, you're unfortunately best off guessing by racial makeup. That means basketball first, football second, and baseball last. Which seems wrong. Baseball players are so dirty and stupid. I bet you get herpes just from shaking Johnny Damon's hand.

Anonymous:

So last week my dad came home from work, and he was talking to me, and the whole time I was thinking he was high. So last Thursday I was in his office while he was in court, and I found about $150 worth of weed and some roaches. I was wondering what I should be doing about this. I don't have a problem with it because I'm a big stoner, but I don't know if I should say something to him. My only friend who knows his father smokes had his dad come over to him and tell him he smokes. I don't care that he does, it doesn't matter financially for my family, and I'm just curious if I should go over to him or leave it be.

YOU, ALL RIGHT! I LEARNED IT BY WATCHING YOU!!

Unless you feel like blazing up with your old man, I wouldn't bother him about it. He's had to work and raise you, so don't ruin his shit by telling him you know about him doing pot. Then he'll get all angsty about it and it won't be as relaxing for him to do anymore.

Also, why would you compromise a potentially useful weed source? What if you find yourself out of weed on a Friday night, and your dealer isn't calling you back? BOOM! Daddy's office stash. What's Dad gonna say if he notices a joint or two missing? NOTHING. You can probably skim off that stash with impunity for as long as you like, so long as you don't go blowing his cover. I wish I had found a weed stash on my old man. But I never did. He's a cagey fella.

Andrew:

What do rich people do about going to the DMV? I just can't imagine Mark Cuban or Bill Gates having to deal with that hell.

I'd like to think that's the one redeeming thing about the DMV: That they treat EVERYONE like dogshit and force them to show up in person and wait in that goddamn line, even the richest of the rich. But I know damn well that's a lie. I know someone like Bill Gates is well-connected enough to be able to call the governor's office, then have them call the DMV and have the head of the joint handle that shit personally. Trust me: Rich white people can always find a way to game the system. Always. Oh, what I'd pay to see Paris Hilton stuck behind me at the DMV, and then turned away by the clerk for not having the proper registration form for her car (and you know full well that cunt wouldn't have it). That's porn for the middle-aged, right there.

CantRememberMyPassword:

At what number date is it appropriate to use a gift card to purchase the dinner? Or is this only allowed for married folk? I mean if the lady chooses Outback Steakhouse, and I have a 4-month-old gift card in my wallet, I should be allowed to use it right? And if so, what's the proper etiquette so I don't come off as a cheap bastard?

If she chose Outback? Well then, you've got yourself a classy lady right there. Bet she looks like Madden in heels. Anyway, I think it's absolutely fine to use the gift card if she suggested the joint. On a first date or whatever. Why should she care? She's not paying for it either way. If she balks at you using a gift card, then I'd say she's kind of annoying. You should break the news to her gently, perhaps over dinner at a Houlihan's.

If you're self-conscious about her seeing the gift card, just tuck it into the bill the second the waiter brings it and send him back to process it (with your credit card if the gift card isn't enough to cover the full tab). Don't even let the waiter put the bill on the table. Makes you look like a take-charge fellow who has a monstrous penis.

Alec:

"I Want My Wife To Stick Her Finger Up My Butt"

Here's a picture of my little sister's spelling homework. It's a trick question, there are two words spelled correctly.

Oh, that is wrong.

I can't wait to start doing my kid's homework. I get the occasional homework assignment from her preschool and it takes everything in me to not do the assignment for her. Cut out pictures in magazines? Pfft. I can do that. Watch how fast I can do that. I'm way smarter than you, kid.

Sometimes, my wife will ask my kid some question to test her knowledge, only I cut in with the answer right away because I'm so jazzed that I know it.

HER: Sweetheart, do you know what state this is?

ME: Oh! Oh! I know that! It's Maryland! FUCK YEAH!

HER: (searches for new husband)

HALFTIME!

Aaron:

All day I'm sitting at my desk hearing this weird scratching noise, but I figured I was just imagining things or that our crappy heaters were being crappy. Finally, at around 4, I reached over and opened the top drawer to the little aluminum filing cabinet I have next to my desk. And found a mouse gnawing on a granola bar.

I slammed the drawer closed and he scurried off. I keep thinking about catching the mouse and training him. He could be a living prank, placed in people's drawers or trained to run messages for me up and down the halls. On the other hand, I have this terrifying thought that the mouse is going to come back for me when I least expect him, most likely while I'm defenseless in the bathroom. (Specifically, an irrational fear the mouse is going to come up from the toilet while I'm using it and attack my bunghole.) Is the prospect of training my very own mousy ally worth the risk that he is secretly a revenge-filled poop fiend? I request your advice.

Kill it. You're not gonna be able to train it to be your little errand boy. It's just gonna keep shitting all over everything and spreading all sorts of horrible germs. Buy a glue trap (I like them because they're inhumane), then leave it in your drawer and wait for the magic to happen. Then when you do catch it, announce it to the office so they can watch you bravely dispose of it while still alive. The men will admire you. The women will feel secure around you and want you to put your penis inside them. Best of all, no more mouse poop.

It's odd how we treat mice. If I see one in a cage in a classroom, I think it's the cutest thing in the world. If I see one freely hanging around my kitchen, I want to grab it and tear its fucking head off. Mice are all about context.

RB:

Why are parents so worried about their young children swearing? Obviously they have to know that inevitably the kid is going to have as filthy a vocabulary as they do. Even the most delusional parent must realize this and also realize it has no bearing on their eventual character as an adult... Do they really think their kids are going to be different? Or are they really just concerned about what the other parents will think about them if their kid swears in public? I think it's the latter even though none of my friends with kids will ever admit this. If that's true, how much of parenting is related to worrying about what other people will think of their parenting versus actual concern about the children's behavior? Maybe I'm dead wrong and just being super cynical about parenting.

No, no. You're pretty much 100 percent correct. Every parent lives in constant fear of being judged a bad parent by some other asshole. You don't want some smarmy jackoff at your kid's school thinking he's a better parent than you, and giving you advice about potty training that you don't want to hear. He can go suck a dick. And so that's why parents tend to be neurotic about making sure their kid hits all their marks: eating well, sleeping well, not swearing, whatever.

Obviously, I'm in something of a unique position among parents because I use profanity for a living. So I set a really horrible example for my kids, one I'm gonna have to explain to them somewhere down the pike. I already have most of the explanation ready to go: "Do you get paid to swear online, like Daddy does? No? Then go fly a fucking kite, kiddo."

Of all people, I should be the last to try and discourage swearing among my kids. But I do it, just like everyone else does. I say GOSH and GOODNESS GRACIOUS and I shush my dad if he drops an s-bomb when the kid is within earshot (EARMUFFS!). And obviously I'm just delaying the inevitable. Both kids are gonna start dropping f-bombs at some point (which will be AWESOME), and that's that. But you have to try and shield them from it for a while, for the same reasons you don't let them drink at age 8 or whatever. Kids that age are too young to know HOW to swear effectively. They really don't understand how a well-placed CUNTRAG can really help elevate an argument. They lack the education and nuance to call Roger Goodell a shitheel and be credible. I do. I totally do. And that's why my hypocrisy is totally OK.

Also, and I know this is totally nuts for someone like me to say, but have you ever seen a five-year-old kid with a pottymouth? They're ASSHOLES. Trust me. You don't want them around.

Anthony:

In your opinion, what is a good sign that you are watching too much porn? For me, it's when you bring porn into everyday discussion without even realizing it. The other day, someone asked me what a coworker named Rita's last name was. Without even thinking, I said 'Faltoyano' to him and didn't think anything of it. On a hunch, I decided to Google her name and realized 'Oh, FUCK!'. Thinking quickly to avoid an embarrassing situation, I looked her email up in the company directory, caught up with the guy, and told him her real last name. Luckily, this has not gotten back to me and I think I am in the clear.

I assume it's like any addiction. If you feel like it causes problems with your relationships, or causes you personal grief, or threatens your employment, then you're probably doing it too much. If it's the kind of thing where you think, "I probably watch too much porn," then you probably do. Also, I totally don't buy that you had to Google Rita Faltoyano's name to remember that she was a porn star. Not a fucking chance. I bet you could spell her name backwards on command.

Nick:

"I Want My Wife To Stick Her Finger Up My Butt"

Charles Barkley?

(Click to enlarge)

I dunno, but I tell you what: I'd let that car pass. You won't see me getting in the way of a man and his blowjob.

Adam:

Scout's honor, Macho Man Randy Savage is my second cousin (Grandma's sister's son). Unfortunately my Grandma has like 11 sisters, and only gets along with half of them, and Macho Mom (as we call her) is not one of them, so we are not particularly close and have only met him a couple times.

Randy Savage's Dad told me as a kid that he held the World Situp Record at one point. Apparently, during WWII, he had German prisoners hold his feet down as he was breaking the record.

That is the fucking awesomest thing I've ever heard. "Hey, Kraut! Come hold my legs while I destroy this record. OH YEEEEEEAH DIG IT UHHHHHH!"

Lenny Leonard:

So I have looked through my girlfriend's phone on occasion and have seen that she regular talks to other guys, one being her ex-boyfriend. On the surface my girlfriend is extremely innocent and is becoming a teacher, but by looking at these messages I have found out that 1. She cheated on her long term ex, which she previously denied to me. 2. After a drunken argument one night between her and I, she had a 90-minute phone call with her ex. 3. She continuously talked and flirted with a guy who I was suspicious about, but adamantly insists that they were just friends. Now I'm not sure of whether she has cheated on me or not, but how do I approach this? I obviously can't just bring it up because she will have the upper hand saying I should never look in her phone. But this is some information that is hard to forget about, especially since we are very serious and have been dating for awhile now.

You may as well just admit it and have the fight now. Otherwise, you're just delaying the inevitable. You'll stay resentful of her talking to her ex-boyfriend, and you won't be able to resist checking out her phone again and again to see if she sent him pictures of herself with a cucumber up her butt. There's already distrust in your relationship, and that won't go away if you just ignore it. Take your lashing for spying on her and see if you can make the relationship better from there.

But in the future, don't EVER look at your girlfriend's cell phone or email. You'll probably always find something to regret. You're never gonna find something awesome, like a text to a friend about how she's planning a surprise threesome for you. That never happens.

Hey, time for your email of the week.

Paige:

So I watched "Apocalypse Now" yesterday, right before bed, and I actually woke up multiple times throughout the night from nightmares of fighting in Vietnam and being caught in an air-strike and crawling through the jungle just scared out of my fucking mind that I am going to cross right over a landmine and blow up.

So today, naturally, all I can think about is how long I might have been able to survive in the Vietnam War. I don't just mean survive, as in not get killed by the opposing sides, I also mean survive, as in not lose my fucking mind and just go completely crazy. I give myself a week, especially if I'm stuck in the jungle, before I lose it and either give myself up to the enemy, purposefully blow off my foot to be able to be sent home on disability, or become so crazy that I move deeper into the jungle, start making clothing out of palm fronds, and live in a hollowed out tree trunk, acting like I am constantly tripping on acid. Nothing is fucking scarier than Vietnam.

You know what the freakiest part of that movie is? When they show you this letter:

"I Want My Wife To Stick Her Finger Up My Butt"

Nothing scarier, indeed.