Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Buy Drew's book, The Postmortal, through here. Email the Funbag here. Today, we're covering spiders, memory erasing, headaches, and more.
I was at the gym this morning and some old British dude started talking to me in the locker room, which is a huge breach of gym locker room protocol and totally freaked me out. Anyway, he's like, "You should watch your feet." And I looked down at my bare feet on the tile floor, and he was like, "This isn't the most hygienic floor in the world." Well, fuck you very much, Graham Chapman. I'm a grown man, and if I want to waddle around in stale piss and dried cum, I will. My feet are not your business. WHY ARE YOU EVEN LOOKING AT THEM? GO BACK TO BIG BEN. Your letters:
So I went to the doctor last week for the first time in a couple years or so for a physical. To my sheer terror, I found out I weigh exactly 299 pounds...one pound shy of the pinnacle of fatfuckery. While I'm tall (6 foot 4), I still can't believe I've let myself go this far. I have a typical sedentary deskjob and don't work out much (ever). As someone who has lost some weight, can you tell me is there any magic trick other than starve myself and force myself to the Y during lunch time 5 days/week?
You don't have to starve yourself. If you think of it that way, you'll never make it. Think of it as editing. You like bacon and eggs, right? Well, just have a couple of eggs and two or three strips of bacon for breakfast, without two pancakes and six English muffins. Keep only the most critical foods and discard the rest. I remember I was eating Triscuits out of a box once and I was like, "What the fuck am I doing? These are Triscuits. They're not exciting." You get fat by mindlessly packing in bonus calories that aren't even all that flavorful. Make the 2,000 or so calories you get count: bacon, sausage, ham, dark meat chicken, etc. Edit.
Losing weight is a daunting practice because you feel like you have to lose all the weight immediately or else you'll die. But if you weigh yourself daily, you begin to take solace in those days when you lose a little bit here and there, or the times you gained some weight but then took it right back off. Once you get down to your goal weight, you can manage your shit by doing little mini-diets, where you eat horribly on the weekend but eat like a responsible person during the week. Usually, the scales balance out.
Also, I work standing up because my orthopedist told me to. It's weird at first. You feel like some dipshit standing on top of a Segway. But you get used to it quickly. It gets rid of office ass. Also, it makes you look super important. Hemingway and Don Rumsfeld worked standing up, and if it's good enough for a philandering Communist suicide victim and a despised warmonger, then it's good enough for you.
Would a terrible screaming headache that came right along with every orgasm dissuade you from sexual activity? Evidently this can be perfectly normal and happened to me at the height of my masturbatory career.
It is indeed normal and can happen if you have a tension headache, which results from muscle tightness in the head, neck, or scalp. It's usually not a big deal, except that it SEEMS like a big deal when you're having sex and suddenly YOUR HEAD IS FUCKING EXPLODING. That tends to alarm a man, not to mention his sexual partner. I got one of these headaches once and assumed that I had just suffered a strokeurysm. I spent the next hour closing one eye and making sure that my vision was the same on either side.
I remember I once had a really shitty hangover and I could have sworn that the entire right side of my body was tingly. So I called a neurosurgeon (one I had NEVER visited, I just looked him up in a phone book) and asked him if I had Triple Purple Brain Cancer. He wasn't particularly forthcoming with a diagnosis. Hypochondria is a real bitch sometimes. Anyway, if you're having sex and your head suddenly explodes and your drop your lover to the shower floor and she breaks her neck, do NOT panic. Everything is perfectly fine. Just take some Bufferin and send the midgets home. You need rest.
Sometimes one of my boyfriend's balls will migrate back inside his body for no apparent reason, not trauma or cold or anything. I'll reach for them and only find one and become alarmed- then he just pushes it back down. Is this as normal as he claims?
An undescended testicle can make you more susceptible to testicular cancer. Also, your balls are located inside your scrote to keep them away from the rest of your body, which is at a higher temperature and can damage sperm cells. That's no good. Have him see a doctor. I'M GOOD AT GOOGLING SEXUAL MEDICAL PROBLEMS.
How great would it be if there was a way to purposely forget something? Like if you're watching a show on DVR an hour after it airs or something and one of your fuckhead friends texts you something like "ZOMG I can't believe Sophia was in the barn all along!!!1!" Wouldn't it be great to be able to rid your mind of a fact like that?
I think spoilers would pretty much constitute the only reason I'd ever want to pull an "Eternal Sunshine" and wipe my memory clean. Of course, I've never endured some kind of horrible trauma like rape or something like that (though there's still time, FINGERS CROSSED), but in general you need to remember the bad things in life because they totally build character. Would you be the person you are today if you forgot about your dad beating you with brass knuckles every day when you were five? NO. Very important that you remember the pain and suffering, so that you can take that experience and make something cool out of it, like a really good black metal album.
I read Bob Mould's autobiography a while back and Bob tells a terrifying story of how his parents once left him alone with a babysitter who ended up sexually abusing him. This happened when Bob was extremely young, too young to actually remember the incident itself. His parents waited until he was an adult to tell him about it. Once he found out about it, it helped him understand why he had become the person he had become. No one wants to be reminded of something so horrible and traumatic, but that's information you need if you want to better understand who you are, and why you do the things you do. Also, if I never saw "Magnolia," I'd never have the chance to tell you how much I fucking hated it. The bad things matter.
I'm eating sushi for lunch right now. Whenever you get sushi, they never give you enough soy sauce or wasabi or those ginger things. How much does it suck when you don't get enough of the sushi condiments?
Side note, why do i always get a tiny bit of soy sauce on myself when trying to get that last bit of soy sauce out? It ALWAYS happens. Tide pens are the tits.
Soy sauce packets were designed by a vindictive Kikkoman executive who hates Americans for mixing together soy sauce and wasabi paste (apparently, this practice will cost you a finger if you do it in Japan), and thus ensured that the packet will splash the fuck out of you once you make that final tug to rip the top of the packet clean off. What a fucker.
I picked up some sushi at a store the other day and when I brought it home, I realize that they didn't include any soy sauce, any pickled ginger, any tiny packets of wasabi paste, or the tiny .0000001-cent piece of phony green leafery that keeps everything segregated in the tray. It was horrible. I could actually TASTE the avocado this time. Repulsive. I felt so naked without my soy/wasabi/ginger Santorum mixture. When I finish my sushi, I often drink it straight out of the plastic cup. But I assure you, that much sodium won't hurt your blood pressure in the... HEY WHO THE FUCK MOVED THIS PICTURE FRAME I'LL KILL YOU ALL.
How often do you feel the urge to punch high school aged kids? I missed not one, but two chances to make a left because the local high school kids cannot seem to walk past .02 miles an hour. I hate kids, all kids. I'm not a fan of most people actually, but teenagers are the worst.
I go to a grocery that's situated within walking distance of a nearby high school. And when it's lunchtime, a lot of those kids will walk over to the grocery and just stand around inside it, like a bunch of fucking cattle. They block EVERYTHING. They block the entrance. They block the aisles. They stand in front of the cookies for hours on end. It's unbearable. I want to take a gun and mow them all down and then go slip-n-sliding across the floor using their sweet, sweet blood as a lubricant. And every other adult in the store feels likewise. Perfectly rational fantasy to have.
And the worst part is that I always manage to forget that noon is the TEEN HOUR at the store, and I always wind up pulling into the parking lot just as they're streaming inside like a pack of zombies. I've turned my car around a couple of times. It's that bad. I think all kids between 13 and 18 should be sent to publicly funded military schools. Just sequester them away from the rest of society until they figure out how to move quickly through a produce aisle.
Look who managed my pizza order and tell me how life could get any sweeter.
Nice. Free wine refills!
Any guesses as to who is the real Karl Welzein?
I don't think @DadBoner is run by a novice. It's clearly a TV writer of some sort, probably someone we've never heard of but is a serious professional, you guys. When I die and get to ask God about all the hookups I missed out on, the identity of DadBoner will be among the first questions I ask. Meantime, enjoy Guys Who Might Be DadBoner.
So I just slept through a very important final quiz in one of my college classes. My roommate and I have been arguing about the best way to approach the professor about this— I say I should just be honest and play up the fact that I'm a complete moron, and he says I should pretend I was sick. Who's right?
I slept through the first hour of a final exam in college once. I woke up, saw the clock, and realized that all of my nightmares had just come true. So I ran like hell to the lecture hall, without showering or even brushing my teeth, and I walked right up to the professor and told him what happened, in full view of everyone else sitting there quietly and taking the test. I smelled like a hobo, and I had this crazy look in my eyes that made it clear that I was about to tear out my own throat if he didn't give me a break. So he gave me a copy of the test and told me I'd have an extra half an hour. I ended up getting a B-minus or some other completely acceptable grade. I have no idea if this will work on other teachers, but I think if you looked crazed and smell bad enough, the teacher will either take pity on you or become fearful that you'll go up in a clock tower and start shooting people if he doesn't help you out.
By the way, everyone has the dream where they get to the end of the semester and realize that they forgot to attend class all semester long. This happened to my sister once. She went to an English class at the beginning of the semester, dropped it, and then found out just before graduation that she didn't fill out the DROP paperwork correctly, and that the teacher wanted to fail her. He eventually relented, but seriously: What a complete asshole. You college professors should have a better understanding of the fact that college students, on occasion, are complete retards. Well-meaning retards, but retards nonetheless.
What's the moral code on players farting during a pro sports game?
I assume it's free and easy. If you gotta fart, you gotta fart. Who's gonna begrudge Justin Tuck if he has to let out a whopper while he's struggling to swim past an opposing left tackle? The adrenaline probably blocks out the smell.
Also, I think pro athletes have better things to do than be grossed out by a fart. I mean honestly, it's just a fart. It's not gonna kill you. Sometimes, you're in the middle of an important task (like lovemaking) and suddenly there's a fart, but you just cast that fact aside because there's business to tend to. I think a real man should be unfazed by farts. You shouldn't raise a white hanky and fan yourself every time someone passes gas.
I recently had a nasal passage examination done to determine how to best correct my sleep apnea. They perform this by spraying some numbing fluid up in your nose so it doesn't hurt as bad when they JAM A FUCKING RAILROAD SPIKE WITH A CAMERA ATTACHED INTO YOUR CRANIUM. The images from the camera project onto a big screen for easier examination, so the doc asks if I'd like to be able to see the big screen as he's going up there. Curiosity wins out - I say yes.
That's right, we all apparently have gaping flabby vaginas in the back of our noses.
GAHHHHHHHHHHH!!! I had no idea my nosegina looked like that. I'd prefer that all noseginas be hidden from plain sight, for the sake of our children. I think I'd rather have a camera up my ass than up my nose.
I have a name that I share with about 5-8 other fine Americans. How douchy is it to feel good that I clearly have higher SEO than the others?
Earlier this month, someone emailed the KSK website looking for a Michael Tunison. Now, Michael Tunison is the name of our own Christmas Ape, but the sender wasn't looking for THAT Michael Tunison. He was looking for some other Michael Tunison. And so we tried to figure out if our Michael Tunison was the most famous Michael Tunison of all. Turned out that Ape was the SEO king of all Michael Tunisons, which caused him to exalt:
It brings me joy that I've entirely knocked him off the first page of Google results for my name. That's right, MY name. MINE.
Ufford said likewise:
I did the same to another Matt Ufford. Absolutely obliterated him from Google. Kinda feel bad for him.
There's a certain pleasure to be had in Googlekilling some other poor sap who happens to share your name. When you Google my last name, the first six results are ME. I AM LORD OF THE MAGARYS. It makes me feel crazy important. No one will ever be able to top me when it comes to searching "Magary," unless one of you were to create an Urbandictionary definition of "magary" as "the clump of ass hairs ripped out when removing a particularly stubborn dingleberry," but I'm sure you people are way nicer than that. If you come up #1 in SEO results for your name, you should get a five dollar bonus for the Federal government.
How do you explain to the wife that you cannot engage in sexual intercourse because you just rubbed one out not too long ago?
"Baby, I was so hot for you I couldn't wait! Just let me eat a pizza and I'll be ready to take you back to BonerTown."
Would you enjoy the opportunity to have a near-death experience? Assuming you didn't know about it in advance. Maybe your wife could gift you a near-death experience for your next birthday (without your knowledge). She hires a stranger to strangle you almost to death, or sets up a kick-ass driving scenario where your car's brakes are cut, only to be reinstated by remote control just in time to avoid a collision. Just to see what it really feels like?
Well, wait a second. Those things aren't all that much alike. Being attacked by a stranger and choked to the point of physical pain and suffering is a whole lot different from enacting what amounts to a basic movie stunt. One is an extremely personal violation. The other is something that is terrifying but not nearly as punishing. I wouldn't want to be strangled nearly to death, not even if we were doing a re-enactment of the sex scene from Rising Sun.
Everyone has had a moment in their car when they've nearly avoided what they assume would have been a fatal collision. A friend of mine and I were nearly broadsided by an old lady once. There was a steep dropoff on the right side of the road and if the car hadn't held on, we could have gone flying down it. I wasn't particularly wild about the experience. I don't remember being like, "Wow, now I really appreciate life! I'm gonna go feed AIDS babies and shit!" It was just, "Christ, that was freaky." In fact, take back all the shit I said earlier about needing to experience bad things. That was all a lie. I only wanna remember rainbows and candy.
Our office just relocated downtown and we are right across from City Hall. Sometimes I look out the window and want to see the mayor or some politician giving a speech, when he is gunned down on the steps by the mob or some other crime organization. If that did happen, do you think they would make everyone stay in the building or get off work early?
They'd make you stay in the building for a while until they had the area secured and the shooter apprehended, and then you could probably go home and hug your dog. Anytime I walk by a large set of stairs leading up to a municipal building, I always picture a crazed gunman running up and popping either me or someone else nearby, like in The Godfather, or in Batman. Big steps are a grand stage for a murrrrrrrrrder.
I don't know how many of you have seen the old movie Talk Radio, but at the end of the movie, Eric Bogosian is walking to his car when some guy walks up and asks him for his autograph or something. So Bogosian starts to sign his picture and the dude whips out a gun and screams YOU'RE DEAD, FUCKO and guns him down in cold blood. That always freaked me out. I keep waiting for some random stranger to walk up to me one day and be like YOU'RE DEAD, FUCKO. Such a curt way of ending things. I think that's a really rude way to gun someone down.
I ordered a few books from Amazon as X-mas gifts for the readers in my life. Here is what always happens: I get the books, read the back cover, and then immediately want to start reading the book. Is it out of line to read the book then wrap it up and give it to the intended recipient? Inevitably I'll spill some coffee or get Dorito cheese dust in the pages somewhere, right?
You will. You can't read a book and then give it to someone. It won't have that same pristine flatness once you've turned every page with your meaty hamburger fingers. People can tell. That's why you should only get them books that you know you'll hate, like "Bergdorf Blondes" or whatever.
I got my wife a Kindle for her birthday a while back and I was kind of hoping she wouldn't like it so that I could co-opt it and screw with it. But she did like it, which foiled my plans entirely. And she can tell if I've been dicking around with it because I leave oily thumbprints all over the screen because I'm gross. Never give anyone anything.
I have a 2 year old and whenever my wife goes out and leaves me to watch him I make up stories about how difficult he was to watch (i.e. he made a mess, threw up, pooped 7 times, etc.). So she'll feel guilty about getting her manicure, I let her know how much I endured and overcame during my 2 hours with him. Am I a terrible husband?
No, I'd say that makes you a PIONEER AND A HERO. After all, how do you know she's not playing it up when YOU'RE the one out on the town? For all you know, they could have been perfect little angels, then she saw your car pull up and she cut her forehead with a razorblade and ordered the kids to start dragging each other around by the hair? YOU NEVER KNOW.
Whenever I'm away from home, I always call my wife to check in and I try and get a barometer of whether or not the kids were good that day. And if they were good, then I can go out and get shitfaced and not feel all that guilty about it. But if turns out they were candy-addled speed freaks who spent all day drawing on the furniture and bashing each other in the head with toy pianos, then I can go out and get REALLY shitfaced and feel mildly guilty about it.
There is a spider living in my car. One of the big yellow ones. It has thus far evaded all attempts to kill it by only making itself known while I am actively driving. Is it time to burn the car? I seriously think this thing is going to make me crash by dropping down on my face while I'm merging or something.
Burn it. Left to its devices, it WILL kill you. I think we can all agree with that.
It's my 30th birthday today. I should just put a gun in my mouth at this point, right? From here on out it's all creaking joints and erectile dysfunction and going bald.
Nah, your 30s are solid. You have to deal with having kids and all that tiring bullshit, but 30 is pretty much when the light goes on. You spend so much of your 20s drinking and chasing pussy and finding someone to marry that you aren't all that useful. But once you turn 30, you've accumulated enough experience working and living and whatever to at least pass yourself off as a functional adult. And that's nice. I remember when I was in my 20s and searching for jobs, and every job demanded that the applicant have five or ten years of experience doing something or other, and it made me so MAD. I was like, "FUCK YOU! You can't rule me out just because of some bullshit experience prerequisite!" But it's true. People who are in their 30s are more likely to know what the fuck they're doing. So enjoy that while your new kids are hoovering the cash out of your wallet.
Email of the week time:
I bought my Grandson a PSP for Christmas. I called his father (my son-in-law) to tell him so they could get him some games to go with it. He flips out and starts ranting that they quit making games for those (bullshit) and that they would rather have a Nintendo DS. I know my Grandson likes the PSP because I have one and he plays with it any chance he gets. I think the son-in-law wants the DS because after all he is a big fat prick. Was I wrong for telling him to go get fucked in the ass till he spits shit??
I say no.