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 conference realignment, Beau Hossler's sex life, and more.
I was hanging with my kid the other day and she sprung this on me:
KID: Dad, does outer space end?
ME: Yeah, it does.
KID: What's on the other side?
ME: Well, that's a question that a lot of people have spent a lot of time trying to ...
KID: MAYBE ON THE OTHER SIDE IT'S COMPUTER GAME WORLD!
ME: Uh, no.
KID: AND YOU PLAY COMPUTER GAMES FOREVER AND EVER!
ME: No. The other side of the universe doesn't include a GameStop.
KID: But it could.
KID: For real, it could.
KID: That's for real.
ME: Why don't you just watch some TV or something.
What female sport do you think the most people beat off to? After having lived in a country that regularly shows volleyball on TV, I am going to have to go with that. Tennis is perhaps a close second. I can't even think of a third.
I think tennis is #1 because women's tennis is arguably the most popular women's sport to watch, and because SEXY SKIRTS. My puberty owes a great deal to lingering shots of Steffi Graf's backside. Even though beach volleyball shows a lot more skin, it's not as if millions of people watch it on a regular basis. It's one of those sports that pops up during the Olympics every four years and you watch it because you're like, "Oooh hey, hot ladies!" I think NBC gives you ten minutes of coverage every night during the Olympics just you can get your fapping out of the way. Here is how I think the sports rank:
2. Figure skating. The line separating Sasha Cohen and Sasha Grey is remarkably thin. Figure skating attracts both creeps who like staring at underage girls and gentlemen who prefer their skaters to be fully mature women. Those are the classy skating fappers.
3. Ice dancing. It's like figure skating, only the women are more fully figured, and they wear sexier outfits. Observe!
4. Volleyball/Beach volleyball
5. Gymnastics. Gross. I don't approve, but I have to accept the reality that there are repulsive men out there with mustaches who got a rager watching Kerri Strug do that vault. For shame, people! For shame.
6. Diving. Very tight butts. Way better for your needs than watching swimming.
7. Soccer. The shin pads do it for me. Lingerie shops should sell red lace shin pads.
8. Synchronized swimming
9. Luge, I guess?
10 (tie). Softball/Golf
978 (tie). Women's basketball/Women's marathon. I can't imagine anyone getting off on watching 80-lb. women struggling to finish a full marathon. You must like gratifying yourself to old pictures of internment camps being liberated.
This Beau Hossler kid is 17 years old and in competition to win the US Open. Do you think he has ever gotten a blow job? I think due to his success at a young age he has, my friend says he is so sheltered and focused on golf he hasn't. What do you think?
I think he has. Remember, Beau is
going to Texas. Anyone in Texas who displays any modicum of athletic ability at the high school level is summarily rewarded with his own crew of Pep Girls, a $70 million training facility, and a surfeit of decent fellatio. I bet he's gotten his, and I bet it was every bit as awkward as you picture it being. "Oooh... ohhhh... that feels, like, really good."
I recently discovered that I could program the keyless entry to my car to unlock all 4 doors with 1 push of the keyless entry button rather than having to go through the chore of hitting the remote twice, once for driver door only and then again for the remaining doors.
My original instinct told me this was a no brainer and I quickly opted for the 1 press option for all 4 doors... Less work and might save me from a child abuse stint in the clinker from strangling my kid for ripping off a door handle because he can't wait for me to hit the goddamn button a 2nd time.
But then I thought that there is a REASON they make it... so if a murdering rapist is chasing you, you can unlock only the driver door on the fly and you can safely hop in without worrying that the attacker will simultaneously hop in the rear door and slit your throat. I hung my head in shame and quickly reverted back to the 2 tap mode. Which would you go with?
Go bold and opt for the single tap to open all four doors. Remember, if a murdering rapist is going to sneak into your car and murder rape you, they're going to do it in the dead of night, when you're not around. Then you'll get into your car before dawn one morning, pull out onto the highway and then see their deranged face pop up in the rearview right before they strangle you to death and have their way with your warm corpse. That's how it's done. So don't worry!
Sometimes, I'll go out to my car in the morning and realize that I forgot to lock the doors the night before. So then I check the backseat thoroughly to make sure there are NO rapists hiding back there. And even after I've checked, there's still a lingering trace of doubt.
I have a minivan and this minivan is equipped with electronic sliding doors, which are awesome except for the fact that my children ALSO know how to work the electronic sliding doors. One time, I was buckling my kid into his car seat when my other kid pushed the button to close the door on me and crush me to death. Now tell that isn't grounds for prosecution. I COULD HAVE FUCKING DIED. And oh, how they laughed. Thought it was the funniest goddamn thing in the world. My entire adult life has spent yelling THIS IS NOT A TOY! over and over again.
What do you think the Terminator would have done if he was successful in his mission to kill Sarah Connor? Kyle Reese made it clear there's no going back. Was it programmed to just shut down if he completed his mission? Would he go out killing other important humans of the future? What?
If the Terminator had been successful in killing Sarah Connor, then he would have also successfully erased himself from history. If Sarah Connor is killed and the resistance is negated, there's no need for Skynet to produce that specific model of Terminator to complete that particular mission. Now, to be certain, Skynet would still be cranking out Terminators left and right, to enslave any other humans and because, in general, they look badass. But that one model would be stricken from history. Or its history would be altered in such a drastic way that its original lifespan would be rendered invisible.
I was in the bookstore with kid the other day and whenever my kid is at the bookstore I desperately try and find a grownup book for me to thumb through while they're getting injured at the Thomas the Train set. Anyway, the one I picked up was Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything, which attempts to explain the origins of the universe. And in the introduction, Bryson explains that before the Big Bang, space and time itself didn't even exist. To say that there was a void before then is inaccurate because even a void is thing, an expanse that happens to be empty. But before the Big Bang, there was nothing to be emptied: the very idea of SOMETHING, of tangible existence, didn't exist. And trying to picture that makes my skull explode.
I'm just gonna assume that before the universe was here, there was Computer Game World.
So my future wife somehow viewed a comment I posted on YouTube a few weeks ago. It read "I want to put my sour semen on those tits." Whose at fault here? I'm playing the angry card here because she promised not to spy on my mail-facebook etc. but damn...
Well, YouTube isn't your email or Facebook account. That's a public site where you made it clear to the world (even if you used an anonymous handle) that you'd like to put your sour semen on those tits. So you, alas, don't have the upper hand. She doesn't want you openly talking about how much you'd like to bone other women in public, and I have to say that's not an unreasonable request. You have to make those concessions when you get married. You can't just hop on Twitter and be like, "God, Kate Upton, I wanna fuck you till you fart." Other people read that. You gotta be careful. Now, let's get back to talking about me daydreaming about tennis players. I'M A GENTLEMAN.
A billionaire will pay you $50,000 every year for life. The catch is you will have rancid breath for the rest of your life. No amount of mouthwash, toothpaste, mints or dental procedures will lessen the stench. Is it worth it?
Yes. You now have a legitimate excuse to never go to family reunions and business functions. I should poison my own breath for nothing, and sometimes I do!
So my fianceé, who I live with, has started "juicing" on the recommendation of one of her close friends. Not to be confused with baseball juicing, this form of juicing consists of cramming various produce items into a juicer (overpriced blender), which then produces a liquid that tastes like carrot juice infused with GASOLINE AND DOG PISS OMG THIS SHIT TASTES AWFUL. The other day I open my fridge to find this horrific scene:
What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Not even a shelf to my name. Is there any way I regain control over my fridge?
One easy way of solving the problem is to just wait. Juice diets have a dubious track record, and it's nearly impossible for people to stay on them for any decent length of time. At some point, your fiancee will get tired of drinking beet semen, or she'll get tired of the tedious process of having to make it. We all go on runs of food, and juices are no different. I remember once I was really big into yogurt and granola. I was eating a bigass bowl of Dannon with granola and honey in it and I was like, "This is delicious! I could eat this every day!" WRONG. I stocked up on that shit and fell out of love with it almost instantly. Then I was left with a big tub of runny yogurt in my fridge. What to do then? Shove it up your butt, that's what. So wait the girl out and shit should come back to normal.
If that doesn't turn out to be the case, I think it's fair to bring up your grievances in a polite but firm way. Grabbing her ear and yelling at her "LOOK AT ALL THIS FUCKING KALE, WOMAN" is unlikely to achieve the desired result. At the very least, ask her to buy bagged lettuce. Loose lettuce takes up more room than a defensive lineman, and washing it makes me want to kill myself. Fucking hate loose lettuce. No salad is worth it.
My friend thought this meant "Buddhism". I was pretty sure she was wrong. When I saw the frame around the plate, I was even more sure.
I wonder if the DMV charges extra for the heart character.
How many people would you estimate have barfed while listening to/singing along to "Margaritaville?" You know, roughly.
The average person vomits 1 to 3 times per year. I assume that's vomiting sessions, and not actual heaves, otherwise the number would be far larger. Let's assume most redneck alkies reside at the thrice yearly rate (which, I think we can all agree, is probably a gross underestimation). The song itself is 35 years old, which means the average middle-aged American has barfed 105 times since its release. Now, urban legend has it that "Margaritaville" is played somewhere around the country once every eight minutes, or 7.5 times per hour. That's 2,299,500 total plays throughout its history, which again seems like an underestimation. Divide that into 36,750,000,000 American barfs over that timespan and you've got 1 in 15,981 shot that your vomiting session took place while that song was being played (NOTE: Methodology not guaranteed!). Divide that into the total US population and you've got 21,901 people who have barfed to that song over its history. MY MATH IS IRONCLAD.
Would you rather have a constant fully erect boner the rest of your life, or constantly be flaccid and incapable of getting any kind of erection (even with drugs)? I think most would immediately, without thinking, choose the boner. But the more I think about that boner the more I start thinking about all the problems that could come with it. I'm still on the fence.
The problem with choosing the boner is that long-lasting erections become extremely painful, so you're talking about spending the rest of your life in agonizing dick pain. You'd HAVE to choose the limp noodle to avoid that. There's just no way around it. Furthermore, if you never got an erection, you wouldn't feel as compelled to satisfy your penis constantly, the way most American men feel these days. You'd have to deal with your wounded pride, which is no small matter, but I have to think that beats the pain and the inevitable embarrassment of having everyone see your springboard every time you go out in public.
If every second of urinating felt like an orgasm, how much water would you drink?
A lot. But even better, think of pissing when you're drunk! You down a whole six pack of Budweiser, and then you have a series of three-minute orgasms to look forward to. What a great moment. We'd also have to build rest stops every half mile along our nation's highways. Office productivity would plummet even further down than its current level. The world would probably go to shit. The fact that you have to work to achieve orgasm, even just a little, is enough of a deterrent to keep the world fully operational. If it were as easy as pissing, we'd all be doomed.
Also, consider the flipside: What if you had to beat off in order to urinate? You know how hellish that would make life? Any time you wanted to pee, you had to go stand at a urinal and tug on yourself for two minutes before anything came out? And you'd have to ration your liquid intake vigilantly, so that you could avoid chafing. What a nightmare. Be glad you get to urinate the traditional way.
If you had the power to realign the SEC, Big 12, Pac 12, and Big 10 so they will all be 16 team superconferences, what would be the teams you choose for each conference? Keep in mind that geography of the schools is not a factor, you can add any school with a football program to each conference, and you can kick out existing members as long as the total is 16 teams per conference.
So we're killing off the ACC and Big East entirely, yes? I like that idea. The first thing I would do is put Notre Dame in the SEC, so that they would go 4-8 every year for the rest of time. That would make me happy. Also, I'd put Harvard in the Big Ten, strictly to watch them get their ass kicked on a yearly basis. I hate the idea of the Big 12 sticking around, because Texas nearly blew it apart a while back and then pulled a huge cocktease by keeping it all together. It would have been a blast to see the Big 12 fail. For some reason, conference realignment excites me, often more than watching an actual Big Ten football game. I'm gonna do away with the Big 12 entirely, because we don't need it. Let's see if we can create the perfect FBS landscape using three conferences:
University of Chicago (founding conference member!)
I got rid of the Indiana schools because fuck the Indiana schools.
We don't need two Arizona schools. They're barely schools.
And there you have it. Apologies to Maryland, Kentucky, Duke, Mississippi State, Virginia, NC St., Missou, Texas Tech, Syracuse and every other major school that I omitted. Just kidding about Mississippi State. Pretty sure that place is just a chicken shed.
Professional sports love having a few games per year where the teams wear retro jerseys to appeal to the crotchety old men and to sell more merchandise. I think each of the four pro sports needs to take it a step further once or twice a season. The NBA would have a Lakers-Celtics game with every player in Converse All-Stars and super short shorts. And take out the three point line and shot clock for the game. The NHL should have guys in no helmets, smaller pads, and goalies in the crazy old Jason masks. All wood sticks, too. To appease the Boston fans, baseball could go extra retro and ban minorities for the novelty game. This idea could go to golf as well. Mostly, I just want to see LeBron play in Chuck Taylors.
I would also like to see that, but the NBA would never allow such a thing because if LeBron played in Chucks, he would suddenly morph into an average player and we'd finally realize that it was Nike shoes propping him up THIS WHOLE TIME. That's totally what would happen. I'd love to see an NFL game where forward passes were illegal, and then I'd love to change the channel from that game after five minutes because I would know that it would inevitably end in a 3-3 tie.
For golf, you could go to wood clubs. Ditto wood rackets in tennis. For baseball, you could ban the DH from the AL for a day and outlaw relief pitching . For the Tour de France, everyone would have to ride an old Huffy. And for boxing, BARE KNUCKLES. In fact, I'd be all for making these rules standard across all sports on a regular basis. I see no possible downside to it.
This pic is from the Singapore airport men's room (I was there last week). On your way out of the can, you get to rate your bathroom experience. Presumably, they hold poor Yeo Khe Yoong personally accountable and, this being Singapore, cane his ass if he doesn't get all happy fun time excellent faces.
And by the way, the bathroom was immaculate.
HOLY SHIT! That's amazing. You'd have to be a real heartless fucker to hit the frowny face.
We lived in Indianapolis at the time and went out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant one night. I was apparently a very well behaved baby, so screaming and crying was out of the ordinary. Well I screamed and cried throughout the entire dinner. The parents couldn't figure it out - I wasn't hungry or sick, no smells coming from the diaper, etc.
After dinner they finally decided to check my diaper more thoroughly and found the cause of my screaming. A cockroach. In my fucking diaper.
No. NONONONONONONONO. I'm never opening a diaper again.
By the way, I have an infant and I oddly look forward to seeing what kind of shit he's produced whenever he's taken a shit. For some reason, small turds disappoint me. I'm always hoping for a gigantic load of chunky peanut butter. And no cockroaches.
Email of the week!
About 15 years ago, I worked for a pretty well-known architecture firm in the Northeast US. (They are still around, albeit in a different configuration, so I won't name them.)
I was basically an office/clerical/IT drone, doing whatever the three partners and 25 or so architects needed on any given day. It was a weird group of people. I used to describe it to friends by comparing it to the law office on "Ally McBeal." Although we didn't have co-ed bathrooms with remote control flushes, the personalities were just about as fucked up.
So on one sunny spring day, I get to work and the atmosphere is noticeably tense. People whispering to each other, etc., etc. A police officer shows up, talks to one of the partners for a while, then leaves. Rumblings around the office are that the cop was asking about one of our employees, and phrases like "he molested a child" are being thrown around.
A few minutes later, that partner (the biggest jackass of the three), storms over to my desk and says "Where is 'John Smith'"? (Obviously not his real name.)
I tell the boss that John is downstairs, in our auxiliary space on the second floor. He asks me to call down there, which I do, and let him know that the boss wants to see him.
"OK," John responds cheerily, not at all sounding like a child molester. "Be right up."
Five minutes pass, no John Smith. The boss storms back over to my desk, and through clenched teeth, tells me, "Go down there, and get Smith. NOW."
I follow orders and bring John back upstairs to the main office, the most awkward elevator ride of my life. He immediately goes behind closed doors with the boss.
Ten minutes later, the entire office is called into the conference room. The boss announces that John has something to tell all of us.
"OK, well, I was working late last night, and no one else was here, and I went out on the fire escape, and I um….engaged in some auto-erotic activity."
The rest of us all look at each other in shocked silence, and we realize that he's talking about wanking his dick on a 5th-floor fire escape, open to the world, in a major metropolitan area. The story continues that he was simply wanting to fap in peace, but a woman in an apartment across the way happened to see him, and so he bolted and went home. The woman, who had a young child in her apartment (it was never clear whether or not the kid saw anything) called the cops, which prompted their visit the next day.
"John" got to keep his job, after a severe reprimand; I don't know if the cops got him for indecent exposure or anything like that. To this day, however, I cannot hear anything about architects or architecture without remembering the phrase "auto-erotic activity."