Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Preorder Drew's new book, The Postmortal, right here. Email the Funbag here. Today, we're covering cage fighting, religious conversions, teleportation, and more.
Last Saturday I was supposed to sing the National Anthem at a Richmond Revolution game. The Richmond Revolution are a team in the Indoor Football League. What I didn't know is that Richmond Revolution are the only team in the Indoor Football League that plays its games OUTSIDE, and are therefore subject to numerous lightning/flooding/plague of poison dart frog delays. They had to delay the game and then try and squeeze it in between two large storm systems. And the power went out in the stadium booth. As a result, the anthem got canceled. It's almost as if God didn't want to hear me sing. SO WEIRD!
Anyway, I became very concerned for both teams during the game because I've never seen a sporting event take place without the blessing of National Anthem played beforehand. Does it even count in the standings? I worried that a flock of mutant black Eagles would emerge from the sky and eat everyone's eyes out. Or that a team of SEALs would rise up from the puddle near the concession stand and shoot us all in the chest. Because that shit wasn't Anthem-sanctioned, man! NEVER AGAIN SHALL I BE ABLE TO UNLEASH MY SMOOTH BARITONE! Onto your letters:
How many pitches do you think it would take you to get through a major league half-inning? Let's assume you have a major league defense behind you. Personally, I think I may be able to get through the inning in less than 30 pitches. I'm not that great of an athlete, but I would have no problem delivering 50 MPH strikes. You would have to assume that the batters would be swinging at every pitch since they would be meatballs over the heart of the plate and my thinking is that at least a few of those balls will be put in play resulting in fly outs, line outs, or even groundouts.
I guess the best reference point would be the Home Run Derby, where they offer up meatballs to hitters and the hitters sometimes manage to only hit pop flies anyway. If you stayed in long enough, eventually three guys would get out just by force of sheer luck. But it would take a lot of pitches. More than 30. The guy delivering BP at the Home Run Derby can consistently get the ball over the plate. You and I can't do that (And I call bullshit that you could deliver 50MPH strikes with consistency). What's to keep a disciplined hitter from just standing there and taking pitch after pitch, knowing you probably can't string together three strikes? It could take fucking months.
This is what would happen if I had to pitch a half-inning of MLB. I'd get out there, and after every pitch, I would cower in fright because I'd be terrified of getting a line drive right to the fucking dome. Then batter after batter would walk, 45 runs would be scored, and eventually the other team would start trying to hit me with line drives on purpose, just to get me out of there. Then they'd manage to hit me in the head, I would start crying, and everyone would boo me as I got dragged off the field. That's what would happen. And if you think it would happen differently for you just because you hit 60mph at the State Fair pitching booth, you're probably wrong.
From time to time I will be listening to talk radio (mostly sports) and hear an issue on which I feel particularly qualified to speak. I will then turn off the program in the middle of the discussion, and promptly take over the role of both moderator and expert, and voice my thoughts out loud, which seems like a totally dipshit thing to do. I have done this several times concerning the NFL labor negotiations.
Yep, I do that. Even worse is when the hosts are talking about a certain topic and have left out a glaring example, which happens on sports talk radio all the time. Like, they'll start having a discussion about great running quarterbacks and go fifty minutes without mentioning Randall Cunningham. And I'll be in the car losing my fucking mind, screaming out CUNNINGHAM! CUNNINGHAM, YOU STUPID FUCKS! And then some caller will finally chime in and say, "What about Cunningham?" And then I'll get mad at that caller because I totally thought of Cunningham first. This is why I like listening to sports talk radio. It gives me a chance to get really angry because I'm not allowed to contribute to a pointless argument.
I've been interviewed on the radio a few times, but I still daydream of being the dude they interview on the radio or on TV when serious news is broken. Like, when bin Laden was killed, I would have given anything to be one of the military experts interviewed by CNN or something. "Well Wolf, this is what we Navy SEALs call a ThunderStrike…" I would have made a terrible Navy SEAL, but I would have been a solid former SEAL on TV.
I have a 4-year old daughter and 20-month old son and so obviously they bathe together. We have a larger than normal tub, but still the kids are always all over the place during the bath. It seems to me that at least once or twice a week there is always some momentary case of near accidental incest that freaks me out to no end. I know that neither one of them knows what the hell they are doing, but is there anything I can do to avoid this or do I just have to be a constant referee and separate them whenever things get a little too close.
You just have to be a constant referee. Remember: Incest is all about INTENT. If your four-year-old grabs the one-year-old's dick just because it makes him squeal, that's not a handjob. That's just good family comedy. If it happens ten years from now? INCEST.
Is there a finite amount of time you get to make your last words before being executed? If you are babbling on too long, will the executioner just kill you mid-speech? I'm guessing they wouldn't do that, as there would probably be some negative backlash that would arise from it.
Now with that in mind, I ask, is it possible to filibuster your own execution? I'm guessing its not, but speaking in hypothetical terms, let's say the executioner wasn't allowed to kill you until you finish your last words, how long do you think you could last if you knew that as soon as you stopped talking, you would be killed?
I would like to think that if I planned it in advance, and mentally prepared some talking points, I could probably last 10-12 hours considering the stakes if I stopped, but then again, who knows?
Well, if you were just filibustering to delay the execution, you'd only need to repeat the same talking point or two over and over again until you were overcome with thirst or exhaustion. I don't know if they'd allow you a piss break or a water break. That might be a violation of the rules, if only the spirit of them. But you've never seen any death row inmate try and do that, and the reason why is because death is probably a universal relief to every single one of them. You spend that much time on death row, you're probably going to lose your zest for living. You're just gonna want to get right to it. Furthermore, by rambling on, you're just extending your own anticipation of death, and we all know by now that ANTICIPATION OF DEATH IS WORSE THAN DEATH ITSELF. Everyone who grew up in Seagal's heyday saw that quote and found it to be a concrete truth. NO ONE DENIES IT. So prolonging your own death sentencing by babbling on only causes you more unbearable dread.
I have had that daydream where I'm gonna be executed, but it's split into two versions. In the first version, I'm guilty. But I'm guilty of a really kickass crime, like murdering my girlfriend's rapist. And so I give a speech so intense, so eloquent, so bravely defiant that they feel compelled to let me go and acquit me of the crime without bothering to hold a former appeal. In the other version, I'm totally NOT guilty, and again I give a brave and eloquent speech that leaves nary a dry eye in the house. Again, I get off. I'M FUCKIN' INNOCENT! SO YOU CAN SUCK ME!
Which of the four major sports, MLB, NHL, NFL, & NBA, has the toughest players? We devised a cage match scenario to put the question to the test. Here is what we came up with: each league could pick any 5 guys to enter the death cage, whoever came out afterward is crowned the toughest league.
Here is what we agreed on as the most likely outcome;
4th Place: NBA - by far the biggest sissies and it would be surprising if they even entered the cage
3rd place - MLB - no question regarding their toughness, however size would be their biggest disadvantage
2nd Place - NFL - sheer size has them edging out MLB
1st Place - NHL - easily the toughest, best conditioned athletes in the cage
Whoa whoa whoa. The toughness of baseball players isn't a question? Look, I admire baseball players who can stand in the batter's box while some pitcher throws a fucking rock at their head. But some of those guys are fat as shit. NBA players are much better conditioned, and plenty of them are ballsy enough to drive the lane when they know they're gonna get raped by elbows.
I guess I can't argue with NHL guys being at the top, since they have experience with fighting and all that. I guess it depends on if the NFL guys in the Octagon train with Jay Glazer, because Jay Glazer TOTALLY CAN TEACH THEM MMA MOVES, BRAH!!!!! DRINX AT THE CLUB LATERZZZ!
All of these athletes would lose out to professional yachters by the way.
I was watching the new "Kennedys" miniseries with my wife this weekend and it got me thinking — how soon after JFK was assassinated do you think Jackie either masturbated or had sex and climaxed?
Given that JFK fucked everything that moved, I assume she was probably flicking the bean in the middle of the motorcade. Seriously though, she married again five years after JFK's death. And that was clearly for money, so maybe she never worked up the nerve to have sex again after JFK was killed. But it would have been a different story if Jackie O had been the one killed and JFK lived on. Men can have sex and/or masturbate through any tragedy. I'm virtually certain that I masturbated on 9/11. I'm sure I didn't feel good about doing it. But I was in New York and it seemed like the world was ending. How many more chances was I going to have to enjoy myself? It's not like the Mrs. was gonna be forthcoming that evening. I'd like to hear from any American reader here that got laid the night of 9/11, because that would have been quite a feat.
I'm a born-and-raised Catholic, only go to church on holidays and the occasional wedding/funeral, and I've been dating a Jewish girl for almost 2 years. Great relationship, we love each other to pieces, HOWEVER...
One day, we might have to get married, and here's the kicker: She wants me to convert. I may not be the most practicing Catholic, but I don't really want to convert to being Druish. She tries to guilt-trip me by saying, "If our kids are raised Jewish and you're not Jewish, you won't be able to stand on the beama with them at their mitzvah." I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT A BEAMA IS!
It may be laziness/apathy, but still… If I convert, am I a pussy? Will my Catholic God hate me? Will I be the only 30-year-old to have a bar mitzvah? SHOULD I EVEN DO IT? What really fucks me is that her cousin married a Catholic guy and he converted to Jewish-ness for her, so now she assumes all Catholic guys will ditch the church for the 'gogue. I should kick his ass.
Do you have to do anything to convert? Do you have to go to Temple every Sunday and stuff? Or is it more of a ceremonial conversion? Because if it's the latter, I don't see how it's that big of a deal. You're still a fairly nonreligious person either way. Unless you actually believe Jesus of Nazareth was the son of God, was crucified for your sins, and then rose from the Dead and ascended to the Heavens. And only an IDIOT would believe that nonsense!
Believe me, she'll never drop the issue until you give in. In fact, you may as well convert now, to save yourself from the agonizing months of nagging and goading you already know are in store for you. Just get it over with and be done with it. Sure, it's kind of unfair for her to push her faith upon you. In fact, it's a much larger relationship issue than your crisis of faith itself. But you're a guy, and being a guy means letting enormous conflicts slide just so you don't ever have to deal with them again. My wife could demand I get my arm amputated and I'd likely end up doing it just to get her to pipe down. Women are RELENTLESS.
When I wake up in the middle of the night to take a dump I can't get back to sleep. Am I the only one who has this problem? When I stumble to go pee I'm asleep again in 5 minutes. Is the rectal trauma I just suffered so severe that my body refuses to go back to sleep?
I think it's because taking a shit awakens your mind more than taking a piss does. Believe me, I've been there. I've gotten up in the middle of the night to piss, felt my bowels clench, and then argued with myself for five minutes over whether or not to bite the bullet and drop trou. Because I'd almost always prefer to wait until morning if I can. But sometimes duty calls and you have to take a shit right there in the dark at 3AM, and you try and keep up your sleep momentum by keeping your eyes shut while you're sitting on the can, but I find that to be a fairly futile effort. Now that I'm on the shitter, my brain is pretty much awake and thinking of threatening emails to send health care executives and things like that. Then I touch paper to starfish and sleeptime is more or less over.
That's why I get pissed if I feel the need to shit in the middle of the night. Like, legitimate anger. I just want to crawl inside my own asshole and start yell at it for having bad timing.
Let's say teleporting is one day invented, but rather than replacing transportation altogether, it's instead offered as luxury at select locations, to be charged at a premium of 5 times the normal cost of transportation. For example, let's say a teleporter is installed at every bus stop and subway station in your city, and runs alongside the already established public transportation system. So when you head to work in the morning, you have the option of either riding the subway/bus for, say, $3 a trip, or you can be instantly teleported to another teleporter for $15. The same applies for the ride home, or lunch time, or going out to get fucked up on Friday night, etc.
Before we get to the rest of this question, let me just express great sadness at Bones' scenario, because this is EXACTLY how a magical teleportation devise would end up being deployed in the real world. "Oh, we found a way to get you to teleport!" "YAY!" "Except that it costs $125 a pop because the teleporter is fueled by seal vaginas." "BOOOOOO."
The question is, how often would you choose the teleporter over the subway/bus? I know that $15 is an outrageous price to pay for a trip to work, but imagine how hard it would be to pass up an extra hour of sleep when your alarm goes off in the morning, or to be on your couch with a cold beer cracked open minutes after closing your laptop. And if you're drunk at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night and want get home, money is obviously not going to be an issue at that point. I'd say that I would use it at least 3-4 times a week, which would cost me an extra $1800-$2500 a year, but there's a good chance my estimate is still too conservative.
It is, and Big Teleportation knows it. Big Teleportation is already concocting various ways to screw you out of your money and cause you to eventually resent the incredible miracle of their nascent technology. Fuckers. I hate them already. I bet someone from Verizon will be placed in charge of the whole enterprise.
Which current NFL coach would you least like to have to immediately follow up after in the shitter?
I pitched the idea a few years ago and picked Mike Tice. I can see that dude crapping out hairy 10lb logs like they're coming out of a Slip ‘n Slide. Then I pictured Bill Parcells in his off-time. I bet he has gray, foamy shit that smells like rotten hot dogs and upholstery.
I think Andy Reid and Rex Ryan are the obvious choices here. I could Reid sitting in the team shitter just annihilating the poor toilet, then walking out and getting all flushed because everyone one the team is like OH SHIT COACH REID DONE IT AGAIN! Then he hustles out of the room and goes back to studying his ten-minute drill.
Just who is supposed to be laughing?
I guess fellow Mercedes owners? Because BMW is their natural rival? I don't get car people. Fuck that asshole.
I just got back from Easter mass. I don't know if they do this everywhere, but at my church, they do a renewal of your Baptismal vows during mass on Easter. It's impossible for me to hear those questions and not picture myself as Michael Corleone, saying that I reject Satan while knowing that the heads of the five families and Moe Green are getting wacked simultaneously on my orders. Then I spend the rest of mass wondering whether someone will come whisper in my ear on my way out and I will have to go straight to Vegas.
I gotta go to church more often then. I think churches operate as the epicenter of most American daydreams. I can't sit in a church for more than five minutes without imagining a flock of vampires crashing through the stained glass window, and I have to stab them all in the heart with a steel crucifix. I'm pretty sure my visions are exactly like that new Paul Bettany movie.
I've been at ceremonies where they do the whole "Do you reject Satan?" thing, and it's impossible to not think of The Godfather at that moment. I also wish they had an effigy of Satan right at the altar that you could stab or shoot with a crossbow. Why not add a bit flourish to the ceremony?
I was cleaning up the yard this weekend and got to thinking about how painful any mishap with a weed whacker could be. Then it dawned on me that I've never seen a movie where they torture somebody with a weed whacker. Why not? Think about it, would you ever hold back valuable information if a weed whacker was buzzing 2 inches from your eyes, or even worse, your ball bag? It also has the added benefit of probably not cutting deep enough to actually kill the person you were torturing, so you wouldn't have to worry about going overboard and not getting the information you wanted.
And you never see any Garden Weasel torture either! Think of all the genitals you could mangle with one of those puppies!
Say you have an island, and we're talking about a big-ass island. and say you have a small river that starts on one end of the island and empties into the ocean on opposite side. Does this give you one island or two? It's one big landmass, but a definition of an island is a body of land surrounded by water.
Can you cross the river with relative ease? Is it essentially a little stream? Then it's one island. But in the real estate brochure? PRIVATE ARCHIPELAGO.
If it's a river that is sometimes too wide to cross and can hold whitewater rafting competitions, then you have two islands. If I had two islands, I would name them Milo and Otis.
My wife's family are super religious but we are not. When I say Religious I mean holding hands around the table when we are out to eat to pray type of religious. This year we spent Easter morning and evening with them netting me 3 prayer sessions. I did not say "Amen" once because I don't really practice religion at all and I feel like I would be faking if I did. Do you think they noticed? I mean three times with the same exact core group of people, somebody HAD to notice.
Oh, they noticed. You're already in Hell taking a weed whacker to the nuts in their eyes. You should have just faked it and said "Amen." I do. I get a sordid thrill out of it. Like I've infiltrated the cult and disguised myself by practicing their customs. They'll never know I'm really a godless infidel! HEE HEE! UNDERCOVER JESUS FREAK STRIKES AGAIN! I also enjoy trying to follow along with the Lord's Prayer and failing, then mumbling my way through the parts that I don't know. "Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive not uhh muhhh muhhhhh lalalalala. AMEN." Secretly amuses me. I'm a rotten person.
Time for your email of the week!
AJ (not Daulerio):
As you have probably heard there is a real life serial killer on Long Island. My buddy's Grandparents lived at West Gilgo beach (right in the middle of the Dumping Ground). So many many times a summer we would go there to make a fire and get absolutely hammered. We did this for years and one night we decide to make Skippys (for those who haven't had it its just a mixture of 30 beers, a handle of cheap vodka, and powdered lemonade mix in a big gatorade cooler). So obviously I and everyone else was hammered, I decide to get naked and go swimming, I come out and refuse to get dressed and I am eventually threatened by my friend and decide to take off into the dunes and down the parkway. God knows how many dead bodies or body dumps in progress I ran by that night.
I now think this would be an awesome CSI/Law and Order opening. I am streaking through the dunes and I trip on something and I fall down and realize it's a body and immediately puke due to the alcohol and decomposing corpse. Then you either hear the Law and Order dun dun or see David Caruso putting on his sunglasses making some kind of witty remark about skinny dipping as The Who begins to wail into the opening credits.
I find that recipe for Skippys far more terrifying than the actual murders.
Top image by Jim Cooke