This Week In Insane Joe Paterno Conspiracy Theories

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering Superman, office fights, trouser penis, and more.

Your letters:

Jason:

What are the chances that Joe Paterno killed himself in January? I mean, he lied to a Grand Jury, knew about all the raping going on and did nothing about it, I think his cancer was the perfect get out of jail free card. "Oh I have lung cancer? Hook me up to that morphine bitch!" Why not? He probably didn't have much longer and instead of facing all of this shit like a man, why not pussy out and pay off a doctor to end it early? If there is anything we've learned about Joe Paterno it's that he knows how to cover shit up.

Well now that's you've espoused the theory, I have no choice to believe it 100 percent. And radio host Steve Czaban has also endorsed the idea that there's a reason that Paterno never reported Sandusky to police, because he thought Sandusky had plenty of shit on Paterno: illegal contact with recruits, shady connections with agents, etc. Now that Paterno is dead, we can pretty much toss around any conspiracy idea we like, because dead people can't sue for libel. Therefore, I think Paterno bit down on a cyanide capsule because he knows that Sandusky once saw him diddling Joe Posnanski in a closet back in '82. THAT'S A FACT.

By the way, one of the great lies spewed forth by college coach hagiographers is the idea that college coaches personally change the lives of their players for the better. Take it from someone who rode the bench in Division III: After being recruited, college football players almost NEVER spend any time hanging out one-on-one with the head coach. The head coach is the CEO of the operation. He has a million things to do: plan practices, review tape, gladhand boosters, bang a local waitress, etc. The last thing any head coach wants is to be bogged down for an hour listening to little Johnny ask him for advice on what to do after knocking up his girlfriend. I guarantee you that the average Alabama starter has never been in a room alone with Nick Saban at any time since enrolling in school. Not a fucking chance. Head coaches don't make a difference in players' lives. That falls to position coaches. Position coaches are the ones that players actually spend time with on a regular basis. The idea that there's ever been a head coach who has successfully won games and acted as a close father figure to every single player on the team is one of the great lies of modern sportswriting. Poor Posnanski is learning that shit the hard way.

Matt:

Do you think it's possible for an NFL duo of quarterback and wide receiver to execute a 10-yard crossing route at game speed in pitch black? There would be no defense, just a center, QB and wideout. The play would be conducted as though it were a real game (i.e. full speed route running, full speed on the QB drop). My one friend thinks this is impossible. I say they could do it once in 25 attempts and only with a QB/receiver who have been playing together for a number of years. Thoughts?

Many receiver routes run in the NFL are timing patterns. The wideout takes a precise number of steps before turning, and the quarterback ticks off on an internal clock, knowing the wideout will be at a certain place on the field at a certain time. Because the quarterback is already, in a sense, working in the dark. He may be looking to the other side of the field to throw off the defense, and therefore he has to know where the opposite receiver will be without actually seeing him. So if you've got a seasoned quarterback and wideout—Drew Brees and Marques Colston, for instance—I think that they would already have a great deal of the timing worked out.

The darkness complicates things because, obviously, the QB isn't allowed to see precisely where he's throwing (even Drew Brees doesn't perform no look passes very often), and the receiver—most critically—can't see the ball arriving. For the pass to work in the dark, the QB has to have a brilliant mechanical memory that allows him to throw the pass to the right spot with his eyes closed (feasible), and the wideout has to have his hands out and ready, knowing the ball will arrive at a precise time. Both of those things, I think, are feasible, especially if you're dealing with All-Pros. I think they could definitely connect on 1 in 25 attempts. Unless we're talking about throwing Mark Sanchez into this discussion. Then it's 0-for-6,000 attempts. I would really like this to be a Gatorade commercial.

Adam:

Wrong way to get your point across.

This Week In Insane Joe Paterno Conspiracy Theories

I for one would like to end the practice of showering with people's voting rights.

Mark:

Yesterday I was at the local ice cream shop getting my 22-month-old a much needed sugar rush right before bedtime, and as she's spilling piles of her ice cream all over herself, the chair, the table, and the floor, I get up and get more napkins.

Why the fuck are the napkins the smallest fucking piece of paper ever? Why can't ice cream shops have normal sized napkins?

I have no good answer for this. They're very small, and almost preposterously thin. It's like trying to clean up a flood with an onion skin. I long ago gave up on the idea that my kids will emerge from a trip to the ice cream shop unscathed. In the beginning, I used to wipe their mouths periodically, to get rid of the ice cream dirty sanchez on their faces and prevent any from dribbling down onto their clothes. I don't bother with that anymore. If it gets on their shirt, fine. If it gets all over their hands, fine. I'm not fighting that battle anymore. I have come to enjoy the unmitigated disaster. The only thing I still do is I periodically yank the cone away from the child to "clean it up," to give the cone a thorough rimjob to get rid of all ice cream dripping down the side. And then I take an extra lick off the top for good measure. I really wish the kids wouldn't order sprinkles. They get everywhere.

I have still yet to figure out whether it's smarter to give a child an ice cream cone or ice cream in a cup. You would think the cup would be cleaner, but kids have a way of fucking it all up. They'll dig in the spoon, fail to grasp the bottom of the cup firmly, and BOOM. The cup goes right into their lap. Then they start crying and shit and you're like WE'RE NOT GETTING YOU ANOTHER! YOU HAVE TO LEARN! And then they cry even harder, and then people stare and then you're like DON'T JUDGE ME.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com.

By the way, nothing's more fun than coveting your child's ice cream. Even if I have an ice cream of my own, I still eyebang my kid's ice cream, waiting for them to declare themselves finished so that I can swoop in for the kill. And they don't even order cool flavors. They get boringass chocolate or vanilla every time. No matter. I WANT IT.

I think we can all agree that it's bad form to ask for a lick of someone else's cone, and then take the first bite of the cone itself. That's really rude. I spent a lot of time making sure that the little ridges in the cake cone are fully saturated with melty goodness before taking that first bite of it, so I'll be damned if some freeloader is gonna come along and bust my cone's hymen. So that's a big no-no. HOWEVAH, have you ever breached this rule with your kid's cone? Oh man, they get PISSED. It's almost worth it to see how pissed they get. It's the ultimate troll parent move.

One last thing: You ever go to the ice cream shop and see those huge waffle cones that have been dipped in chocolate and coated with 5,000 M&M's? Every time I see a parent who buys that kind of cone for their kid, I think they're the worst parent in the world. SHOW SOME MODESTY FOR YOUR LITTLE FATTY.

Chris:

I'm eating a delicious sandwich right now, and it looks like the last bite isn't going to have any meat on it. Will I be a complete slob if I eat the last bite with only the various and sundry remaining toppings tucked in between the two mangled pieces of bread? The same goes for a hot dog. Do you take down a chili and mustard soaked bun if the hot dog is all gone? Btw, I just ate the last bite, so I'm possibly a shameful slob.

There's no shame in that. If you have a meatless last bite (and that's a tragedy), you have to dunk it down into the topping runoff on your plate. You can't just give up the last bite. I'd never let a good sandwich go without a fight. I always jam the end down into the plate, hoping everything will stick to it, then everything falls right back off and I just scoop it up with my hands and lick it off my fingers. I'm a gross person.

Adam:

This was in front of me in Tennessee.

This Week In Insane Joe Paterno Conspiracy Theories

That's a big A for a big M.

Jon:

How often do US planes fly over our country carrying a thermonuclear warhead? What kind of shitstorm would that spark if a major malfunction allowed the bomb to be dropped on its own country?

You'd never know it was a governmental mishap until we blamed it on China, began World War III, saw thirty million of our finest citizens killed in action, and then slowly began to rebuild after bringing the world to the brink of a nuclear holocaust. Then, and only then, would there be some critical New Yorker article that quoted an anonymous US official as saying, "Whoops! Our bad." That's how the world works now. People prize covering their asses over virtually everything else.

Jon:

I recently started wearing slim fit trousers, because they look better on me. Today I noticed that if my penis is hanging to the side, as it often is, you can clearly see the outline through my pants. This leaves me with a dilemma. Do I continue to wear these pants and risk my coworkers being able to see my wang everytime I go to the water cooler? Would anyone even have the balls to call me out on that? If female coworkers can show off a little bit of cleavage shouldn't I be able to show off my god-given endowment?

I think you're fine to wear them as is. A penis naturally protrudes. Even in the loosest pants, a man standing still has a visible package. Not much of one, but it's a package nonetheless. It's not as if people expect there to be puppies and gingersnaps down there. That's where the penis goes. It's bound to stick out a little.

I wear mesh shorts around the house all the time, and whenever I'm about to go outside, my wife demands that I changes out of them into normal pants. She claims that everyone can see my donger through my shorts like that, which I think is overblown. As if I'm some kind of half-exhibitionist simply for wearing comfy shorts. Men always get pigeonholed like this. Oh, you're wearing pants with thin material? YOU MUST BE A PERVY PERV. Such bullshit. Why are people even looking down there? Maybe they WANT to see what kind of heat I've got. Anyway, I think penile outlines shouldn't deter you from wearing the pants of your choice.

HALFTIME!

Bram:

I just graduated college and am now working full-time at an office. Other than lunch, is there anything more exciting than watching an argument you're not apart of unfold?

Certainly not. I worked in an office once and I saw our creative director throw a phone at the wall. Not a cell phone, but one of those big landline phones with the six million speed dial buttons that they have in offices. He picked it up and threw it clear across the room and it smashed into a hundred pieces. I was aghast. I wanted to stick around just to see if he'd break more shit, but then I got scared that he'd be mad at me watching him, so I fled.

Watching people throw tantrums and argue in the office is great because you never know when it will lead to physical blows, be it against another co-worker or against a phone. So long as I'm not in the middle of the argument myself, it's quite something to behold. I also liked walking by people's offices and overhearing them fighting with their loved ones on the phone. We had one girl in the office who spent four hours a day fighting with her on-again, off-again boyfriend on the phone. She was in tears ALL THE TIME. When she wasn't fighting with him she was asking people in the office for advice on what to do about her fights with him. It was an almost artistic display of non-productivity. I think she thought she was in the "Real World" house and not an office.

Katie:

Say you had the chance to literally be a "fly on the wall" for one day, anywhere you wanted to be. Which wall would you choose?

Let's go ahead and put aside manly choices like "Beyonce's dressing room" or "USC Song Girls locker room," because that's an obvious way to go. If we're talking strictly about real eavesdropping, then I'd probably choose the Oval Office or Lincoln Bedroom, only to grow increasingly frustrated that the President and his confidantes were talking about boring policy shit that went way over my head. I would deeply regret not choosing smarter options like Tom Cruise's hotel room (I can't get enough of how fucked up Scientology is) or Britney Spears's therapist's office. In general, it's hard to go wrong with a therapist's office or a session room at some celebrity sex rehab clinic.

Shane:

How many clones of you (or me, any average to above average adult male) would it take to defeat the average team of first graders in teeball?

I think you need at least 2, one to field the ball and one to cover first base. We'll need a guy roaming the outfield for when a little McGwire Jr. steps up once every 3 innings. To be safe, let's have a guy play second base as well, so our first baseman can focus solely on covering the bag. Four on nine? Sounds about right.

Possibly, but imagine whiffing at the tee against those little kids. And you know you'd whiff at the tee at least once. Probably a couple times. I'd die if that happened.

Shane:

Let's say the IOC institutes Dodgeball as an Olympic sport, effective immediately. If you have your choice of any athlete in America, who's your Team USA starting five? I've got Vick and Cam Newton as mortal locks for the top two spots.

Why would you want Vick? He ranked 19th in passing accuracy last season. Every snowfight and dodgeball match features one bigass kid who can throw the ball a zillion miles an hour but can't actually hit anyone. If you're gonna take a QB, you have to take Brees (71 percent accuracy) or Aaron Rodgers (68 percent). And even then, I'd still probably take an elite group of major league pitchers instead: Strasburg (provided the Nats don't hold him to a plunk count), Cliff Lee, etc. I know pitchers aren't used to throwing on the run the way outfielders and quarterbacks are, but they'd make up for it with accuracy and, most important, the ability to maim and/or injure athletes from the other country. That's really what you'd want, right? You want to win the gold medal AND put all the Norwegians in the hospital. I think four pitchers and a QB (tossed in for name value) would be the best option for making that shit happen.

Clinton:

I believe the difference between men and women's salaries is equal to the amount of money women save, just by being women. For example; the money they save on buying drinks, dinners, movie tickets, etc.. Do you think this theory is worth further investigation, or should I let it die, before being persecuted as a sexist pig?

The problem is that you're overlooking the fact that there are things that women have to pay for that men don't. They have to pay for tampons. They have to pay for highlights. They have to pay for birth control. They have to pay for bridesmaid dresses, and women rightfully despise having to pay for bridesmaid dresses. And you know that outfit that your lady wore on your date that made you want to throw her down on the table and ravish her in front of the entire restaurant? That shit cost $500 at Anthropologie. I can virtually guarantee you that it costs more to be a woman than it does to be a man. If you're a man, all you need is three shirts and a pair of pants and you're good. Everything else is disposable income. Women probably deserve to make MORE than you.

TK:

What would happen if Superman decided to eat McDonalds everyday? I would think his super powers would make him impervious to any weight gain.

I believe they do. If you're gifted with super strength, then I don't think you should have to work out every day at the Y just to maintain it. However, I do believe that kryptonite would render him powerless and therefore more vulnerable to earthly ailments, such as obesity, influenza, and Tebowmania. I remember watching Superman II as a child and being so, so distraught that Superman went powerless for a spell and got his ass handed to him in that diner. That was horrible. To this day, I have a strong dislike of movie plotlines where the superhero goes powerless for 40 minutes, only to come back and kick some ass later on. If I were Superman, I would NEVER stop being Superman. Only an asshole stops being Superman.

Randy:

What ride at Disney World, all four parks, has been masturbated on the most? I'm thinking Spaceship Earth inside the Epcot ball, what do you got?

It would have to be a ride that's slow, long, and offers relative darkness. This means I'm NEVER going on Pirates of the Caribbean again.

Jeff:

Friends and I were driving by M&T Bank Stadium when the question came up: In the 16 years that the Ravens Stadium has existed, how many people have masturbated on stadium grounds (stadium, bathrooms, official parking, etc.)? Someone's initial guess was 100,000 but that comes out to about 17 people EVERY DAY. Though no consensus could be made, everyone agreed it's definitely greater than zero. What stadium has the highest masturbation rate in the NFL? Raiders? Steelers?

Well, think about all the places your local stadium offers for fapping purposes: team offices, bathroom stalls, luxury suites (It's my belief that rich people do absolutely vile things inside luxury suites, and I wish I had video proof), on-site restaurant bathrooms, parking lots, team locker rooms, team showers—that's a LOT of territory. My guess is that the majority of on-grounds fapping is done by people who work at the stadium regularly: execs, players, janitors who simply can't help themselves when a cheerleader walks by, etc. I think the contribution by fans is probably minimal in comparison, but I will say this: On any given night, at any given moment, there is at least ONE American man doing his business in a stadium stall during a major sporting event. The stall offers enough cover. As always, "the bank is worth the risk, brother."

EK:

Drew – since the invention of email, has there been any other more awesome instances of correspondence from it than messages from grandma?

For instance, my wife received this doozy last night from hers:

I wanted to send each of you a message to tell you that Grandpa and I took some meat in to your folks yesterday. You can divide it up according to types of the cuts. I told your Mother to take some too, but she said that she still had some. Grandpa really doesn't care that much for beef any more so, I'm buying him some pork which doesn't take much as we don't eat much. I order beef when we eat out. Grandpa saw the doctor yesterday. He doesn't have to take that medicine any more. The Doctor does want him to go twice a week for 8 weeks to the hospital in town for a respiratory clinic. sure hope you enjoy the meat. Some of it can go on your grill Eric. Do you have a grill Steve? Whatever enjoy. Grandma

I love everything about that. The only thing it's missing is some mention of a recent news item. "The Doctor does want him to go twice a week for 8 weeks to the hospital in town. So I guess that Tebow fella is really making some noise down in New York, eh? Love to you all." I think it's great when your parents or grandparents try to cram every possible discussion topic into a single email. I just wanna run home and hug them.

When I was a kid, my mom used to send me news clippings when I was away at summer camp. She knew I was really looking forward to seeing Spaceballs and Dragnet, so she would clip out the reviews and mail them to me, underlining what she deemed to be the crucial parts of the review. She still does it sometimes, and I kinda love it. MY MOMMY THOUGHT OF ME.

Email of the week time:

Dave:

A couple of months ago I was playing ping pong in a buddy's basement. Now, I don't do a whole lot of things completely sober, but this was absolutely one of them. I actually had dinner plans that I was mere minutes from leaving for. One more quick game of ping pong, I thought. "Why sure, what could go wrong?"

A couple of minutes in, as I was returning a point, I brought my arm back to forehand what was sure to be another debilitating point scored by me (I was up like 6-1 at this point) when I came straight down with my elbow on something incredibly fucking sharp. Instantly, BLOOD EVERYWHERE.

Streaming down my arm, pooled up on the nearby table, spreading across the ground. I hit the deck. Apparently (I don't really remember) I kept repeating, "Who the fuck put that there?!" over and over again. So, what did I hit? A long stemmed wine glass..sitting on a nearby pub table. Where was the glass now? DISINTEGRATED...into 1,000 fucking little pieces of death. Seriously, there was nothing left except maybe the base of the glass.

So, after all the pools of blood had been soaked up, and the calm relatively restored, my arm was wrapped up in a big beach towel and I was hauled off to the ER. It took an hour by the doc to remove an estimated 25 pieces of glass from my elbow (side note: I actually noticed one piece that was missed about a week ago...in the shape of a little triangle..hovering just below my skin). This was then followed by 20+ stitches, a pound of bandages, and then 2 weeks in a sling. The moral? WE'RE NOT SAFE ANYWHERE.

[Click here for disgusting image.]

GAHHHHHHHHHHH!