Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering Fred Willard, Bane's mask, farts, and more.
I recently started watching wrestling and I am a big fan of the fact that it's rigged. The idea that someone as old and physically unfit as Kane can beat someone as fit as CM Punk in ANY given match intrigues me. Shouldn't all sports be rigged? Being consigned to the fact that the Heat and Thunder will split the next 15 NBA championships is boring as shit, and the notion of Tim Tebow getting Rex Ryan fired, taking over as player-coach and playing Ben Roesthlisberger in the Super Bowl (because he conspired with Roger Goddell to put every shitty team in the AFC and all the good teams in the NFC) in a Cena-Kane type of match is way more exciting than only having skilled teams make it. I also would like to see the Raptors win a championship.
You've got a point there. I get very angry at sports when they refuse to conform to the storyline that I have concocted in my head. Like the Spurs making an NBA Finals? Or the Marlins winning a World Series? I'd never let that happen again. Part of the reason people think that David Stern rigs the NBA is because people WANT David Stern to rig the NBA. They want to believe that they will be served up the most entertaining postseason possible, and that they'll still have a conspiracy to bitch about anyway. Sports are far more fun when you can add an imaginary layer of machination and deceit underneath the rather plain result you see turn up on the field. I want to know that evildoing is going on behind the scenes at all times, that nothing is what it seems. Let's go ahead now and rig the upcoming NFL season. Putting homerism aside, here are some obvious rigged plotlines:
• Tebow assumes starting role, promptly pledges allegiance to Satan, cuts Rex Ryan in the forehead with an old fork, putting him in a coma.
• Sanchez traded to Jacksonville in mid-season. Jaguars then move to LA mid-season. Sanchez suddenly becomes not terrible.
• Eli Manning revealed to have incredible crunch-time poise due to massive brain tumor that could kill him at any moment.
• James Harrison kills a player on the field in cold blood.
• Tom Brady becomes "Hollywood" Tom Brady, takes to the mic before every game to brag about banging his wife, and complains often (and in an effete manner) about the smell of common fans.
• Jerry Jones hires Jim Cornette to run onto the field and assault scoring opponents with a tennis racket when the refs' backs are turned. Jones then cuts Tony Romo and elects to play QB himself.
• Saints begin offering public bounties.
• All AFC South teams demoted to
"mark" "jobber" status, forced to assume names like Mr. X and The Brooklyn Brawler.
• Chicks in thongs everywhere.
• Super Bowl pairs the Lions (featuring noted heel Ndamukong Suh and beloved party boy Matt Stafford) against the evil Tebow Jets (now coached by Jon Gruden). Suh stomps Tebow to death right on the field in a historic face turn, Lions prevail on a last-second twenty-point touchdown.
I think I could get on board with all that.
How does Bane perform cunnilingus for his lady friends? The only thing I could think of during The Dark Knight Rises.
Forget cunnilingus. How does he eat? The front of his mask has a bunch of tubes and just a few little holes. Does he sip smoothies through the holes? Wouldn't that dribble? He clearly needs to take in a lot of calories to maintain his bulk. If he's in dire pain any time the mask is off, he isn't gonna spend much time trying to ingest a hoagie. On this plot point alone, Gregg Easterbrook declares TDKR to be the worst film ever made.
(MILD SPOILER: I didn't like that Alfred's big speech in the movie was basically the same as Affleck's Good Will Hunting speech. "One day I hope you ahhhhhm't hee-yah anymore-ah!" ***MILD SPOILER OVER***)
So I work in New York in a building across from a residential building with a roofdeck. As it's summer, there is now a young lady who lives in the building who uses the roof for sunbathing, which is visible from my desk (and only my desk). She is doing this in full view of multiple office buildings full of people. That's essentially consenting to my occasional staring, right?
Oh, I think so. If she doesn't KNOW you're staring at her, then what's the harm in staring at her? I say you have free rein to install bleachers in your office and charge admission, with supplemental charges for binocular rental. I don't care how old you are or where you are in life, chancing upon an attractive woman through an office or hotel room window is always a little miracle. Fred Willard knows what I'm talkin' 'bout.
Let's say you've been granted the ability to move things with your mind. But that power comes...WITH A PRICE. Every time you use your power, you shit your pants. Not counting all the times you're on the toilet, how often would you utilize your powers? Once a week? Once a month? More? Less? What types of things would make it worth it?
Well, you would have to start wearing an adult diaper around regardless, because you would never know when an emergency would pop up and you'd have to rescue an old lady trapped under a steamroller or something, and you don't want to have shit dribbling down your thigh right after being a hero. You'd wear the adult diaper around, use the power sparingly at first (only in emergencies, or perhaps to move your car out of a really tight parking spot). But the more comfortable you became with shitting into a diaper, the more you'd be compelled to use your powers all the time. After a few months, I would gladly shit myself in order to imprison my children in mid-air, or rescue my entree from the heating station because the asshole waiter refused to get them and serve them to me, or steal large bags of money from an open armored car. I'd get used to the stench and end up shitting myself at all times.
Here are some other profound uses for telekinesis:
• Flying a kite with no strings (!!!!)
• Staging a Vegas show, reaping enormous profits to spend on even better adult diapers
• Airlifting the Paterno statue out of storage, emptying your diaper onto its head
• Getting down stuff from the really high shelves at Home Depot
• Moving the couch to get at the Cheerio that your asshole kid dropped behind it on purpose
• Cross-country parcel delivery
• Running tailgater off the road, just to prove you learned nothing from watching Chronicle
• Blowing imaginary wind up skirts of women passing by
That last one would lead to an endless stream of diarrhea. Make my diaper the XXXXXXL Nighttime Huggies, please.
If you were offered a chance to go to Mars right now, would you do it? No gurantee of survival. Supposedly, it would take about 260 days to get there with today's technology.
Let's say you have to go through some training and all that other cool shit kids get to do at Space camp. Also you aren't going alone, you got a crew with you in charge of everything, but you'll still be the first one to get to step on Mars surface if you go. So roughly about 2-3 years of life devoted on this mission to Mars and back.
Without a guaranteed chance of survival, I'm basically counting on NASA's or SpaceX's or Russia's ability to deliver me to Mars and then return me back to Earth safely, and I think the odds of that are remote, which is why many people are calling for a one-way Mars mission. If we ever make it to Mars, that will be the initial foray. Imagine being that guy. Imagine knowing that you will be remembered forever as the man who gave his life so that man could set foot on Mars, only you'll never return home to enjoy your own lionization. I would spend the 260 days on my Mars ship thinking about NOTHING but my own inevitable death. It would drive me to madness, causing me to murder the entire crew and scuttling the mission before it has a chance to be successful. THE HORROR. THE HORROR.
Anyway, even if you could guarantee survival, I wouldn't do it. The wife would cut my legs off before I could leave her stuck alone with three kids for 2+ years. Wives aren't excited about that prospect.
The driver turned out to be a dude.
You don't say. I hear Gandhi was a strict Vaginatarian.
I'm working for the summer with a company of theater people, because I'm a flat-broke unemployed recent graduate, and that's what we do. I can handle the theater nerds just fine. But there's this one girl. She thinks it's ok to call me (an acquaintance of 3 weeks) hon, sweetie, dear, and/or babe every time she speaks to me. And it's not at all warranted. If I need to get to the sink and she's standing somewhere in the sink's greater vicinity, I get a "SORRY, HON" thrown at me because JUST MAYBE she was slightly in my way. Can I tell her to knock it off before I dropkick her, or do I have to suck it up? I'm pretty sure she does it to everyone, but Sweet Jesus I want to throw a brick at her any time she does it.
You have to conspicuously avoid her. I worked with an Italian lady from Brooklyn once who spent every waking second at work reminding you that she was an Italian lady from Brooklyn. We're talking GABBAGOOLs and "Sorry to get so fired up, it's my Italian blood!" and everything else that comes with hanging around someone aching to be cast as an extra on "The Sopranos". She called everyone DOLL. All the time. She'd walk into our office, sit in one of our chairs without asking, and then say, "Doll... HOW YOU DOIN'?" She wouldn't even have a work request. She was just treating our office like a fucking outdoor cafe. There's a very thin line between certain co-workers and old people at the grocery store who are desperate to strike up a chat with you.
Anyway, after a while, I stopped being polite and started being openly dickish to this lady. I'd roll my eyes when she walked in the room. I'd keep my headphones on when she walked in the door (headphones are the greatest defense ever against inane conversation). I would turn my chair away from her whenever she said DOLL. After a while, she stopped coming by, and eventually looked away anytime I saw her in the hall. It was the greatest thing ever. Later on, her equally insufferable partner was fired for breaking into our boss' email, and she left the company shortly thereafter. I felt like I had slain a dragon. An obnoxious Italian dragon.
What if you could control the smell of your farts? What would they smell like? The obvious answer is bacon. What comes in second?
Freshly burning charcoal would be up there. Anytime I walk down the street and smell burning charcoal, I always announce to no one in particular, SMELLS LIKE SOMEONE'S BARBECUING! As if the people around me couldn't deduce that themselves. I would put that high up on the list, along with Mayan Chocolate, Burning Fireplace, Autumn Leaf Pile, and Discharged Rifle. Having your fart smell like a gun going off would be fitting in so many different ways. And the best part would be the reveal.
FRIEND: Smells like gun powder.
YOU: Oh, that was my fart. I farted.
FRIEND: No way.
YOU: Wanna bet? (second gun powder fart) See?
FRIEND: My god! You're amazing! We need to get you on Broadway!
Conversely, there are some otherwise pleasant smells that would be rendered terrifying if you knew they originated deep inside someone's asshole. Vanilla, for instance. Or butterscotch. No one wants to smell a butterscotch fart.
So, last Friday, I was playing XBox after work, stone cold sober, and I decided to watch a movie. I went pick the movie while sitting on my wood-rimmed, glass-top table and, needless to say, the glass top didn't appreciate my ass that close to it, and it shattered. I braced myself for the fall with my left hand. 6 hours in the ER later, and I was in a full arm splint for ten days with 11 stitches, which I finally got out today. I have learned two things in the last 10 days since it happened. 1) don't sit on glass tables. 2) broken glass tables and hands don't mix (see attached).
GAHHHHHHHHHHH ZOMBIE HAND!
I had a friend who once got shitfaced and ended up falling and slashing his hand and wrist open. They had to operate on his hand for, like, six hours. He had to spend weeks in a cast, wiping his ass with his left hand and getting the stinkeye from his wife because he couldn't help with certain chores because of his drunken hand wound. Do not take your hands for granted. They're shockingly fragile. Sometimes, I cut the tip of my index finger by accident, then when I go to start writing shit, I'm thrown for a loop because my index finger is my TYPIN' FINGER. Completely fucks up my shit to have a Band Aid in that spot.
A couple years ago, my mom was cutting up some food in the kitchen and accidentally dug the knife right into her thumb, severing nerves and tendons and arteries and all kinds of crazy shit. They had to rush her into surgery to fix her thumb and keep it working properly. The problem was that, before all this happened, I had already bought her a new grater for her birthday. Don't laugh. It was one of those kickass Microplanes they use on "Chopped" and shit. You could grate a horse skull on one of these things and it would stay sharp. They're awesome. Anyway, I give it to my mom and she's like, "I can't use this. I'm a little spooked by sharp objects right now." And I got all mad, because I'm self-absorbed and I wanted her to be sufficiently awed by a fucking grater. I kept pushing her to use it by saying, "It works great with cheese! It has a protective sheath! YOU CANNOT LET FEAR DICTATE YOUR LIFE OR ELSE THE TERRORISTS WIN." She never used it, and I was out thirteen bucks. Way to ruin a good gift, Ma.
Had to ask this right when I heard the Fred Willard story. Is it possible he has no idea how to access porn on the internet?
Unlikely. Willard is 72 years old. There are plenty of people that age who have no interested in ever learning about email or the Internet because it scares them and because they'll be dead soon and they don't want to spend their precious little remaining time trying to figure computers out. But I doubt that Willard is one of those people, given that he has a Twitter feed. I'm quite sure he knows how to Google BOOBIES if need be. The more likely explanation is that Willard was jerking off in that theater because he likes jerking off in theaters. That's a thing for some guys. I don't share that fetish. When I'm having quality time with myself, I'd like no one to be within a 300-mile radius, that way I can really let loose and make a mess. But Willard is bolder than I, and to him I say BRAVO. I find it inspiring that a 72 year-old man still has the vitality to go whipping his dick out in public. I hope and pray I will be doing likewise when I'm his age.
I'm an American but currently live in Switzerland near the border of France. Because of the astronomical prices in Switzerland, I risk being deported each week to do my grocery shopping in France and then smuggle lunch meats, cleaning supplies, etc across the border.
On my last run, I picked up some basic household goods including some toilet paper. Last week I was doing my business and reached for the new roll and pulled the last sheet. When I looked at the empty roll some pictures on it caught my eye. I do not speak any French whatsoever but I seemed to make out the words "flushable" and had a tube floating in the toilet.
Now I don't get excited about too many things but the idea that I can just toss the rolls into the toilet is sheer genius. I screamed in nervous excitement as I debated how good my French really was. The last thing I wanted was to have to call my landlord and attempt to explain in German that my toilet is clogged. I frantically searched the bathroom for something I could use to "simulate" a toilet. I then filled the sink, dropped the empty roll in and "voila" it disintegrated instantly.
Is it just me or is this absolutely pure genius? Why don't we have these in America? I think I'm going to risk deportation and start an illegal smuggling ring of toilet paper to the US. Is it worth it?
It appears that Scott Tissue does sell toilet paper with a dissolvable roll here in the US, but only for commercial restrooms in restaurants and hotels. And we all know that Scott Tissue is Public Enemy #1 among assholes the world over. It's not worth it. It's a shame that the dissolvable roll hasn't found its way into normal packages of TP, because I really could have used it when I was single. When I was single, I was too lazy to change the toilet paper roll even though I was the only person living in my apartment. In other words, I was more than happy to be an inconsiderate asshole to myself. Two hours after finishing a roll, I would plop back down for another round of shitting, only to realize that there was no toilet paper. Then I would punch myself in the face.
Whenever I found myself out of toilet paper, I would then try to use the roll to wipe my ass, either by tearing it down the middle and using the cardboard as "paper" (never works), or by keeping the cylinder intact and dragging it along my buttcrack, allowing it to fill, which is MORTALLY DANGEROUS. Do not do this. Always best to duck-walk to the kitchen for napkins, paper towels, ANYTHING. Don't fill a toilet paper roll with your own doodoo. It's like handling a live bomb.
Back when I was single, I never bought napkins because I had paper towels and they were good enough. Only I forgot, many times, to buy more paper towels when I ran out. So there were a handful of occasions when I had to wipe my ass with Chinese restaurant menus. Ever wipe your ass with a menu? Don't.
I think the hardest part of being a basketball official at any level is resisting the temptation to shoot the basketball during timeouts. Do you agree?
I do, particularly if the ref is stationed far from the basket. The Law of Shooting dictates that the farther you are from the basket, the more tempted you are to take the shot. Layups are for pussies.
Let's say you're 40 years old and you have to choose between living the next 40 years of your life, or the Benjamin Button route and live your first 40 years in reverse. Which would you choose?
It's a tough call, because every old person will happily tell you that growing old SUCKS. Your body goes to shit. You're in constant pain. You're always tired. Even the most fit and optimistic old person would rather not be old.
But if you choose to begin aging in reverse, there are a lot of problems. First off all, you'd begin to lose brain functions in the final stages. And your brain is all you have. Even though growing old means risking dementia, I'd like the chance to keep the memories and knowledge that I have. I don't want to gradually slip into babyhood and have my memories and personality fully erased (that part of the Benjamin Button movie devastated me). And I don't want to be as jacked up and insanely horny as I was from ages 11 to 21. When I was 13, I fell in love with girls on beer posters. No joke. We had a hot chick beer poster on the door of our cabin at camp and I would lick it and kiss and talk to it like it was my woman. And while it's nice to feel so passionately about something, I don't want to go back to licking posters and fapping 8 times a day. My peepee can only absorb so much punishment. I don't know if a healthy body is worth the hormonal imbalances, the mental deterioration, and the loss of pubes. Like I said before, if you do life right, you never wanna go back.
Email of the week time:
I work at a Japanese company. On each floor of our office building, there seems to be one room that is always locked, and this room is hastily avoided by most of my Japanese coworkers. Sometimes when I press my ear to the door, I can hear the sounds of slow moving footsteps and screaming.
I've also noticed that when someone gets fired here, they are neither seen nor heard from ever again. What're the odds that, in that room, they force laid-off workers to commit Sepuku (or Hari Kari) so that they might salvage some honor for their failure? Additionally, if that's the case, since I've never personally seen anyone get fired here, what're the odds that when someone here gets fired, a Japanese upper manager approaches the person and simply places a sword on their desk without saying a word?
THASS RAYCESS! I think your company might have zombies.
Now, before we go, I get a lot of people asking for book recommendations, particularly during summer reading season. So if you find yourself in need of decent reading material, and you share my taste for books where people are either brutally murdered and/or lost at sea (adventure porn FTW), then I heartily recommend the following mix of fiction and nonfiction (and no, I didn't put my own books on this list. I'm not an asshole):
• Over the Edge of the World, Laurence Bergreen
• Conquistador, Buddy Levy
• Hellhound on His Trail, Hampton Sides
• The Devil & The White City, Erik Larson
• The Monster of Florence, Douglas Preston & Mario Spezi
• The Long Walk, Stephen King (writing as Richard Bachmann)
• Carter Beats The Devil, Glen David Gould
• Lost in Shangri-La, Mitchell Zuckoff
• Skeletons on the Zahara, Dean King
• The Kid Stays in the Picture, Robert Evans
• City of Thieves, David Benioff
• Columbine, Dave Cullen
• Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil, John Berendt
• Positively Fifth Street, James McManus
• The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien (WARNING: Heavy shit)
• The Lost City of Z, David Grann
• Any Jon Krakauer book, especially Into Thin Air
Those oughtta serve you well.