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 weddings, train surfing, artificial scents, and more.
I was at the gym earlier today and I was in the shower. The shower at the gym has an opaque glass door, but the door only goes up to my neck, so anyone in the locker room can see my big fat alien head while I'm showering. Anyway, I'm standing there washing off, nothing malevolent. And for some reason, I look out above the door and, for a microsecond, make eye contact with a dude getting dressed. And that's a horrible moment, the moment you and another person make inadvertent eye contact, especially when both of you are naked and insecure about your sexuality. I nearly broke my neck looking away. God only knows what the guy thought of me. THIS FUCKING PERV IS STARING AT ME FROM THE SHOWER AND I BET IF THAT GLASS WAS CLEAR I'D SEE HIM TOUCHING HIS PICKLE. So, so horrible. I've never looking anyone in the eyes ever again.
Would innocent bystanders be able to tell any difference between human shit and dog shit in a stinky poo-Pepsi Challenge?
I want to say yes, but I'm guessing I'd put on the blindfold, be certain of my answer, and then find out I was wrong.
One thing I've learned about dogpoop over the years is that dogpoop is 90 times more offensive if smeared. A piece of dog shit on your lawn doesn't smell great, to be certain. But if you were to take a stick and smear that piece of dogshit, somehow that ends up releasing a cloud of odors so foul you can barely stand to look at the thing. It feels like the shit is in your EYES, it's so overwhelming. That's why stepping in dogshit is so awful, because not only did you get shit on your shoe, but you also triggered the smell expansion mechanism. You know IMMEDIATELY that you stepped in dog poop the moment you do it, because the smell quickly takes over the entire atmosphere. You step, you smell, and you ask yourself, "Did I just step in dogshit?" only you already know the horrible truth. You just don't WANT to believe it. Then you look, and your day is over. I've had that happen to me enough times where I think I could place the smell of dogshit easily. But that's because I've never stepped in human feces. Which I'm sure is a hugely pleasant thing to have happen to you.
By the way, if I had to pick between eating dog poop and human poop, I take the human poop. Just seems right.
Was walking to the beach in Sea Isle, NJ and saw this house with... umm, unique windows. Just goes to show you that money can't buy good taste.
Have you seen Unstoppable? I'm sure there's other sequences like this in other movies, but near the end, Denzel Washington's character begins traversing the length of a freight train from end to end by running along the tops of the cars. Do you think you could pull this off? I have a slight fear of heights, but I don't think the movement of the surrounding environment would throw me off too bad. The one problem I would have is inevitably coming up on one of those cylindrical tanker cars. Pulling off that running/jumping maneuver on those things would be harder than the old rotating column portion of the American Gladiators obstacle course.
I've always wanted to play a guitar solo on top of a moving train, but secretly I know this fantasy is unrealistic for many reasons, my inability to play the guitar being the least of my worries. First of all, there's the headwind. If you're on a train and it's going 100 mph through swirling winds, you can pretty much get knocked off the top of a train at any time. Secondly, the train doesn't always stay flat. It turns, and when it turns, it also BANKS, which means you could slide right off. There's no guarantee that the car you're straddling has a surface that your shoes would easily adhere to. There could be grease and grime and any number of things that cause you to slip.
Thirdly, you and I are not Hollywood stuntmen. We're clumsy and uncoordinated and we often trip on stairs simply walking up them, with no good reason for it. The space between the cars, where the couplings are, could require a decent amount of leaping ability, which you may not have. And many train cars don't even bother to have roofs. Many have exposed tops, with grain and shit sitting out in the open. Or what if you have to jump from a box car down to a flat car? I know all the varieties of train car because my kid keeps asking me to read "The Little Red Caboose" every night, which is an awful book you should never buy.
Last thing: DEBRIS. If you've ever read "The Great Brain Goes To The Academy," (and surely you have, because everyone loves kiddie books about young Mormon con men), you know that looking out the window of a moving train can cause you to get a red hot cinder IN YOUR FUCKING EYE. GAHHHHHHHHHHH PAIN AGONY HORRIBLE. You don't want to be in the line of fire for hot cinders, bits of gravel, smoke, and whatever else the train kicks up. It's like being in your car and getting stuck behind an open gravel truck. Ever have one of those stones hit your windshield? PANTS-SHITTINGLY TERRIFYING. Now imagine there is no windshield, and that stone hits you in the face. Unpleasant. And don't forget about the murderous hobo factor. Don't go running on trains.
Taken on the 4th of July... north of the Mason Dixon line. Personally, I think the best part is that this forward thinker is cruising around in Nissan.
If he really wanted that message to reach the correct audience, shouldn't he have written it in Spanish? OH THE IRONING.
Let's say there is a tribe of natives newly discovered in the Amazon rainforest that has had absolutely no contact with the outside world. As an introduction to the outside world, the Brazilian government is allowing one person from America to show a Hollywood-made movie to describe America. If you are chosen to be that person, what movie would you pick?
Can't I just show them the back of that guy's truck? I would pick Se7en, which doesn't represent America at all, really. But it would scare the shit out of them and make them think twice the next time I was canoeing through the rainforest and they were thinking of hitting me up with the blowgun.
I hang out in a group with someone who is allergic to berries. Every time we get together he complains about the allergy. Now I was recently diagnosed with celiac disease which means that I cannot eat bread, pizza, burgers and so much more for the rest of my life. Anything with flour in it is off limits. This guy only ate berries once but constantly complains while I've been eating gluten my whole life. Would it be out of line for me to punch him next time he starts complaining? He can eat 99% of food but I can't eat anything that tastes like bread. This also has made me wonder what the worst thing not to be able to eat is. I think that it has to come from the food pyramid as that encompasses almost all foods. Vegetable wouldn't be hard but if you could never eat milk, meat, grains (like me) again which would be the worst?
First of all, your friend is indeed a huge gash. Who gives a shit if you can't eat berries? Congratulations, you just won an excuse to never eat fruit again. LIFE WINNER. What an idiot. Anyway, your food pyramid question is nearly impossible to answer because each of the remaining big three categories includes something crucial. Purging the dairy group would mean no more ice cream, eggs, or cheese. Forgoing bread would mean no more pasta or pizza or even beer, which is just nightmarish. And then no meat, of course, is no meat. No more steak. No more bacon. No more fried chicken. No more sushi. As someone who once gave up red meat for 14 years, I can tell you that giving up some meat isn't that difficult, but ALL meat? Yeah, no. That's crazy talk. Fuck it. Meat's non-negotiable. Meat stays. Meat and dairy. At least your grain-free days will make you skinny and keep you full of bacon.
The building management company that looks over the office where I work just switched the air freshener/urinal sanitizer to some sort of sour apple scented flavor. Maybe this does not sound like a big deal to you. But it is. Nobody wants to feel like they are shitting in the middle of a Jolly Rancher. With this in mind - and understanding that we now apparently live in a world where exotic bathroom air fresheners are both available and socially acceptable - what would be the ideal scent/musk for the entire bathroom experience?
When I was in college, I drove a used car. And after a while, the car began to smell terrible because I was a disgusting person with awful habits. I threw wrappers on the floor. I wiped boogers under the seat. I often got into the car while sweating after practice or after working out. Your hands would stick to the steering wheel if you ever touched it. One day, a friend of mine riding in the car confronted me about the stink and demanded I go and buy a Car Freshener.
"What scent do I get?" I asked.
"NEW CAR SMELL. AND GET MORE THAN ONE, ASSHOLE."
So I did. I bought the New Car Smell freshener in the shape of a little tree, and the fucker WORKED. It smelled great. Not intrusive at all. It was the best artificial smell ever. So if I were going to ask for one scent to cover up my handiwork in the shitter, it would be New Car Smell. I've been displeased with every other artificial bathroom scent. Ever been hungover and walked into a bathroom that reeked of Pine Sol? It's like a vomit accelerant. Even now, a whiff of Pine Sol is enough to make me want to boot into a trash can. The other common bathroom scent are those horrible Renuzit things that are WAY too strong. These were big in the 80's, when moms would buy them and you twisted it and lifted it up and the inside of the freshener had this weird scented blob in it that STANK. And the blob would collect lint from the air and just get grosser and grosser with each passing day. Those things are putrid.
Fuck suction cups. My wife has a shower caddy that attaches to the shower wall with those worthless pieces of shit, and it seems like once a week they just happen to fail when I'm standing in the shower. You know what happens next: the caddy and the shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a goddamn razor fall on my feet. Why do we keep using suction cups if they clearly don't work for shit, and how is it that some NASA scientist hasn't invented one that actually reliably does what it's supposed to do?
I always figured everyone still used suction cups because it's fun to jam them onto your body and yank on them and see if it hurts (it does). When I was a kid, I could make a great suction cup mark on my arm, a big red dot. I would have been a good Chinese suction cup massage therapist in another life. I like to get a bunch of them and stick them on me and then pretend I'm Elliott in ET, getting quarantined by the mean grownups.
Anyway, it's true. Suction cups are awful. I have basket of toys in the bath for my kids and the basket hangs by using two suction cups. These suction cups do nothing. Put them on wet tile and they just slide right down the goddamn wall. And, despite being a full grown man, I will never cease to be scared shitless when something held up with suction cups falls unexpectedly. OMG WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT KIDS GET THE GUN. You would think I'd know by now what was coming. Or to install hooks in the shower.
Recently, the topic of marriage came up between my girlfriend and I. We've been on-again/off-again for only about a year and a half, so we haven't had many of these conversations. While talking about the idea of getting married, she mentioned something along the lines of how she'll absolutely be having a Catholic wedding "as long as (her) grandma is alive". I'm not religious whatsoever, let alone Catholic. My plan is to propose to her after her grandmother dies, thus avoiding the whole Catholic wedding fiasco. Her grandma is in her late 70's, so I figure she only has a couple years left—which would actually work out quite nicely in terms of the mental timeline I've worked out in my head. So, what do you think of my plan? Incredibly insensitive or pragmatic?
It's not pragmatic, because old people NEVER die when you need them to. They may look old and frail and limp, and they may reek of decaying flesh, but they die SLOW. They just sit there forever, taking up space and piling up medical bills until they've left NOTHING for you to inherit and buy drugs and hookers with. So banking on ol' granny kicking the bucket is a foolish move, especially if you're letting it dictate the most important decision of your life. A wedding is a bride's moment anyway. If she wants to get married in a giant sand castle, you're going to end up getting married inside a goddamn sand castle. That's how it works.
If you want to marry your girlfriend, there's no sense in waiting years and years and years to avoid a service that, at worst, drags out to 90 minutes or so. And the bride and groom sometimes get to take a seat and canoodle while it's going on. Maybe if Grandma were Greek Orthodox, that would be a game changer. Those services last longer than God's entire lifespan. But perhaps you've formed this plan in your head because you really don't want to get married at all. It's just a convenient excuse for you to avoid facing a hard choice between committing fully to someone you aren't quite sure of, and breaking it off and finding yourself alone again in the dating wilderness, perhaps regretting your decision forever, or at least for the length of a Catholic wedding service.
The most self-aware, honest Corvette owner ever?
That's Tucker Max's car!
So which would you be more terrified of: an escaped leopard waiting for you to open the front door of your home or hundreds of roaches living in your attic preparing launch a synchronized attack in your bathroom?
The latter. Death by leopard I can accept. It won't be fun, but least I got taken down by a majestic creature. But I'm horrified of roaches and a coordinated roach attack is pretty much what awaits me once I descend to Hell. I have nightmares about roaches. It's the same nightmare every time. I'm somewhere. I see a roach. I start freaking the fuck out and want to scream out ROACH!!!! but I'm paralyzed. No one else sees the roach and now I'm desperately tugging at people and pointing to get them to notice. Meanwhile, the roach is growing. It's getting bigger and bigger and bigger and every time I try to scream the fucker grows. And then I wake up screaming like a little girl. Roaches are awful. In fact, just gimme the leopard now so I don't have to have the nightmare again.
I was really hoping for pictures of the 2011 Cubs, but it was just bloody fetuses. Oh well.
I was not aware that this was a traffic sign that could be deployed. I can't wait to drive past one that says CAUTION: FALLING SEVERED LIMBS. People should do that. They should erect very official looking road signs that say horrible things and then litter the roads with them. WARNING: ROADS COATED IN SLIPPERY PUSSY JUICE! Or ALERT! BRIDGE SUBJECT TO FREQUENT BAT ATTACKS.
What are your thoughts about jerking it with a dog in the room? I mean, don't get me wrong, the dog is not involved in any way in what I am doing, he's just kind of laying on the floor staring at me. Sometimes I'll only have 15 minutes, though, and I don't want to waste any of that precious time trying to drag the dog out of the room. I figure it's only fair that if he can lick his own genitals in front of me for approximately 24 hours a day, I can stroke mine in front of him for at least few minutes.
I've done a whole lotta jacking during my time here on Earth. I've jacked it in many different countries and states and even in various public places, because that's totally sexy. But I've never done it with a dog in the room. This is probably because there were no dogs in my house when I was growing up. I assume that if there had been, during my formative years, that certainly wouldn't have stopped me from getting done what NEEDED to be done. And if you can pull it off, more power to you. But I don't think I could do it myself anymore. With an AWAKE dog, at least. Not because I disapprove or have any moral stand against it. I just wouldn't trust the dog to remain seated and quiet while I was doing it. What if he barked? What if he just started barking like a shitbag and everyone had to come and shush him while my pants were down around my ankles? Or what if he thought that was vanilla frosting coming out of my penis and tried to get in a quick lick? What if he ATTACKED my penis during my business, and clawed my scrotum until it tore in half? GAHHHHHH BAD DOG BAD DOG!
The only way I could do it now if I'm in bed and the dog is asleep somewhere else, preferably out of my line of sight. But if you can jack it with little Sparky yipping over the in the corner, you're a better man than I am.
So I'm listening to the Superman soundtrack and it makes me think that there has NEVER been a bad movie that had an epic score. True?
Probably untrue. Wyatt Earp has a pretty epic score. Observe:
But I don't remember people going nuts over that movie. I mean, it wasn't Tombstone. Nothing will ever be Tombstone. God, Tombstone is so awesome, I'm almost offended anyone else made another Wyatt Earp movie. Fuck Kevin Costner in the hat. But yeah, it's a good score. And don't forget that the "Duel of the Fates" music was in service of The Phantom Menace. That movie ate a bag of shit.
My friend and I happened to catch a part of Maury where, after 3 years of being married and having a child together, the wife tells the father that he may not be the father. And so we discussed, what is the cutoff point of walking on your wife and "kid" when you found out you've been cuckolded? I mean if your "kid" is 12, you may leave the wife but you've basically adopted the kid as your own. We decided that the cutoff age for cuckoldry is 3 years old. If the kid is under 3, you're gone, no permanent memories have formed yet and there's no way I'd raise another man's kid at that age knowingly and I definitely won't feel bad about it. But after 3 years, we'd probably keep being the father of that bastard child.
Even three is hard because by the time the kid is three they're walking and talking and they have more fully formed face, so they look like real people. If the kid is under one years old? Yeah, fuck that. A baby is just a poop and barf factory. There's no person there yet to get to know. But once the kid is two or so, it gets much harder, especially when you know the mom is a NO GOOD STRUMPET. You're probably gonna have a hard time relinquishing the bastard knowing it's about to spend the rest of its childhood under the protection of the Gone Baby Gone mother.
Time for your email of the week.
My wife and I spent the long July 4 weekend putting 1,000 miles on our car to visit family. Too late to make it all the way home the last night, we get a room in a hotel near my office to save me one day of a hellish daily commute.
This minor turn of events allowed me to turn a usually dull morning ritual (buzz my balding head, shave, shower) into a full on hotel-on-the-lam-change-your-identity fantasy. I got to play full on Day of the Jackal.
I had it all....strange hotel, just a mile off the highway...a chick has just left my room to avoid the difficult goodbye (my wife in a role she doesn't realize she's playing—-I assume I picked her up in a seedy bar, she probably noticed I had the weight of a grisly murder on my hands). Then I pull out my electric razor and a plastic bag—-can't get my DNA all over the sink. Instead, I get it everywhere else: my clothes, the living room, the TV remote...
I shave my face—-4 days growth is about all I need to believe I am the world's deadliest assassin, who will not be able to work again after a high-profile job of global impact. With each swipe of my Schick Quattro, I am erasing the man I was and becoming the deadly hand of anarchy.
I shower in a rush (for no earthly reason), chuck my things in a bag (several candy wrappers, a pizza box—-assassins probably eat better but while I am an international man of action me likes the junk food). Then I rush out of the room, don't bother checking out, rush to the back entrance while avoiding all eye contact and it's into my car for the quick escape.
Is there anything cooler than turning the mundane into full-on delusion? By the way, how does one get away with murder? My hair was EVERYWHERE.
Jordan might have been stoned when he wrote this, but no matter. The man makes a solid point. Any unexpected night in a hotel room and I am instantly a cross between Richard Kimble and Anton Chigurh.