Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering urinal farts, NBA penalty boxes, and more.
What do you think the biggest secret in the world is? Like, something that isn't generally known, but would be game-changing if it were known. A few friends and I were talking about this at the bar tonight. I went with aliens, but it's probably something more pedestrian, like an affordable car that doesn't use gas.
It's not aliens, because there is already a great deal of scientific evidence that it is physically impossible for an alien species to travel far enough, fast enough to come here and give us a rectal exam. This sucks, by the way, because I keep praying for aliens to arrive here and BLOW MY SKULL with kickass spaceships and futuristic weaponry. Goddamn scientists ruin everything. Is there no room left for magic in this world?
And some kind of great technological suppression probably isn't it, because it would require the folks at BIG (insert industry here) to have the foresight to recognize a threat to their business model, and most of those people are too dumb to see it. You didn't see execs at BIG CASSETTE conspiring to prevent the release of compact discs, because those people were stupid.
My guess is that the biggest secret in history involves either A) Jesus, B) Someone being murdered (like Amelia Earhart) or a murderer (like Gandhi. What the fuck, Gandhi?), or C) a highly ridiculed theory being proven correct. In the case of Jesus, maybe there was no Jesus at all. Maybe the Vatican library hosts a secret compartment that proves Jesus was just a fictional character created by a 0th century Judean playwright. Or what if he existed, but he wasn't such a good guy? What if he was a serial killer? You think the Pope doesn't have a vested interest in making sure that Jesus's string of brutal murders isn't made part of the public record? I DEMAND DNA SAMPLES OF HIS VICTIMS.
In the case of conspiracy theories, sometimes I fear, deep down, that some of the nutjob ideas I've joined with the crowd in happily dismissing are perfectly legit. What if the moon landing WAS a sham? What if Kennedy WAS murdered by a consortium of Communists and industrial special interest groups? What if 9/11 WAS planned by the GUBMINT? I know all of these ideas are insane. But sometimes, I wonder if I've gotten it all wrong. I mean, I don't really know anything. I CAN'T know anything. I'm just counting on other people to verify it for me. I trust that the history I've been shown is somewhat reliable, even though many significant world events have been filtered through a series of interpretations from other people, and no two people interpret one event in the exact same way. It's easier to go with the crowd and not be thought of as a whack job than it is to openly speculate that Yoplait is actually made from unused sperm bank ejaculate.
I hope one day that I get all these questions answered. I hope there's a heaven and that it allows me to know everything I've ever wanted to know. Do you how embarrassing it will be to find out that Obama really WAS born in Kenya? God, that would be annoying.
What do you think is the weirdest thing somebody has used as a makeshift condom? A sock? Saran wrap?
You know those metal tubes that cigars come in? One of those. I know they're usually quite small, but think about what a 15-year-old boy would resort to if he knew he might be getting lucky and had no rubbers around. He'd try anything. Plus, ROBOT DICK.
My 19-year-old son was home from college this weekend. Being my son he left his laptop at the site he was jerking off to. Surprisingly, he was hitting all MILF sites. Is this appropriate? Aren't the MILF sites for old timers like me who find it creepy to be fapping over teenagers? Is my son an outlier or is this all part of sexuality's rich pageant?
I can't speak for all 19-year-olds, but I don't think your son is an anomaly. After all, the whole idea of a MILF is centered around having sex with the mom of your friend or classmate. I don't know who first came up with the term, but Wiktionary says, "In its proper use, MILF refers to a woman that is old enough to be the speaker's mother. The term originated with pubescent males commenting on the sexual desirability of each other's mother... Accordingly, a man age 30, cannot properly refer to a 35-year-old mother as a MILF." You see? A MILF in your case should just be known as a "woman," which is STRANGE AND EXOTIC. I can't believe you have a woman fetish.
When I was a kid, I had MILF fantasies ALL THE TIME: teachers, nurses, babysitters, driver's ed teachers... Every grown woman out there was a potential sexual mentor. That's the whole allure of a MILF when you're a teenager—a mature, endowed Latvian neighbor who will show you how it's done so that you can get out there and CRUSH as much sweet poon as humanly possible. I also had the illusion that MILFs were more accessible to me than girls my age, which is insane because no right-thinking 35-year-old woman is gonna offer a free handie to an obese 13-year-old boy. WHAT A WORLD THAT WOULD BE! I could make love to them with my cigar tube condom.
I reasoned that women who had had sex before were much less discerning about who they have sex with. I still kinda think that's true. To a 17-year-old, sex is EVERYTHING. It has to be perfect and magical and take place in an open meadow with some fucking horrible Mumford & Sons playing in the background. Anything less would be a crushing disappointment. To a 35-year-old, it's more like, "Oh hey, you want to jam a cucumber up my butt? Sure, what the hell. Make it snappy. I have a dermatologist appointment at nine."
Frankly, you should be glad your kid is attracted to women. I wake up every day glad I'm attracted to fully grown women who are capable of making their own decisions, and not babies or horses or methheads or people bound in latex slave outfits. Because honestly, you never know what kind of fucked-up fetishes God is gonna hand down to you. He's a dick like that.
So now that we all know about the bullshit rule that you can nullify an automatic challenge by throwing the red flag, the NFL will get rid of the rule by the end of the year. What's stopping a coach this year from exploiting this to his favor? If he knows The Patriots will get a touchdown called back during an automatic review, can't you see Belichick throwing the red flag to stop it from happening?
Rich Eisen brought this up over the weekend, and Florio responded by saying, "While it's the logical extension of an illogical rule, the rule would never be interpreted that way... the officials won't allow use of the red flag by a coach who would benefit from the absence of a replay review." Ah, but that's just an assumption now, isn't it? Before the rule gets changed (and it should be changed right now), I hope some enterprising dickhead like Belichick or a Harbaugh tests it out to see what happens. Somehow, I bet the Ginger Hammer would prevent it, probably by issuing a formal order while cutting to a 200-second commercial about the NFL curing cancer with proper hitting techniques.
How many sex partners do you think an escort has in a lifetime? I'm guessing 500. You have to figure they get out of it at sooner or later. Usually by death, I assume.
I read somewhere that the average hooker can sleep with 20-30 clients per week, but I assume a lot of that depends on seasonality. I have to think your business on a Friday night during Spring Break is gonna be better than a Monday night in August. Then again, I've never accepted money for sex. YET. And what about the random regular client who falls in love with you and buys up blocks of your time? He rents you for a full week and brings you out to Palm Springs and you think this is it, finally I'll be rescued from this life of destitution, and then it turns out he's a sadistic asshole with serious rage issues? WHY ARE THE BEST CLIENTS ALWAYS THE WORST ONES? Anyway, I think the average probably gets skewed by people who try hooking once or twice only to go running from the business. It's not for everyone, after all. Call it an even hundred. LET'S ASK ROVELL!
I think the coach of the Colts deserves Coach of the Year honors, but do they award it to Chuck Pagano or Bruce Arians?
It would go to Pagano, since Pagano is still technically the team's head coach. And then Pagano would do the diplomatic thing and share the award with Arians, and they'd have a very nice joint photo op with the award. It's not like Pagano would turn heel and be like, "If it weren't for my diseased blood, Bruce Arians would be NOTHING!" That would be over the line.
By the way, coaches are notorious copycats, so if the Colts win the Super Bowl this year (just kidding, they won't), I fully expect Belichick to come down with acute Hodgkin's in Week 9 of the 2013 season. And he won't even be faking it. He will inject pure radium right into his wrist.
My friend is visiting Nicaragua and last week this spider was on his bed. I told him the only option at that point was setting the house on fire. And leaving the country.
Okay! That's horrifying. Can we please bomb that country to that its devil spiders can't migrate here?
I want to lose a bunch of weight, but still be able to drink like an alcoholic. Is that possible? And, if so, what do I need to make my drink of choice?
You can still live like an alcoholic, you just can't eat. Which is fine! Who needs all that pesky food getting between you and killing yourself?
Seriously though, in order to lose weight, you have to burn off more calories than you take in. And since all booze has calories (even a shot of clear vodka has upwards of 100 calories), you're gonna have to make even greater sacrifices when it comes to food in order to keep on drankin'. Beer, as you might have guessed, is the worst drink of the bunch. Unless you drink Michelob Ultra, in which case HAHA YOU DRINK MICHELOB ULTRA WHAT A FUCKING DOUCHE. Wine isn't much better for you, although you'll FEEL like it's much better for you. Being the dipshit that I am, I stick to rum and Diet Cokes. A friend of mine made fun of me for this, but fuck him. He's just crazy jealous of my sexy FILF body.
If go out eating and drinking regularly, you'll never take weight off. The best thing to do is eat dinner at home, where you (in theory) have more control over what you're eating (in reality: box of Swiss Cake Rolls down in three minutes), and THEN go out drinking. And then you'll have to will yourself from stepping out at 2am to go have some banana pancakes while shitfaced. God, eating while you're shitfaced is the best. One time I got loaded and had pizza and pancakes and fries with gravy and it was HEAVEN. God, getting drunk and eating horrible food is the best. Anyway, you're doomed to fatness. We all are.
If all of sudden you were magically in the body of a professional athlete, and without any of that person's requisite skill or talent, you had to perform in front of millions of people, what would the most terrifying situation? My short list in no order:
• 1st tee at the Masters, only to drop a 21 on the 1st hole, killing a few spectators with my drives. What makes this horrible is that it would go on for HOURS. ESPN would cut in, watching this "professional" golfer shoot a 195 on the front
• 2 seconds before the bell before a MMA or boxing match
• MLB Catcher
• Ski jump, fuck fuck fuck would that be scary
• Olympic pole vaulter, because I would most likely impale myself with the pole
As someone who once went along on a test drive around a NASCAR track (link has NSFW ads), I would probably vote for having to drive in the Daytona 500 or some other kind of auto race. It's fucking terrifying. The Masters wouldn't be that much fun, but at least I would live, and at least Jim Nantz would spend four hours talking about how brave I am. But any life-threatening situation like a car race or a heavyweight boxing match would be much worse.
I also agree with being thrown into the fire as a catcher. I'm terrified of baseballs. Even the equipment would offer little in the way of comfort. Every pitch would be unbearably tense. I would throw up inside my mask.
A couple more:
• Skateboard half-pipe. I'm a horrible skateboarder. The physics of it don't compute in my brain. How do people go skateboarding without falling 57,000 times? I take one step onto a skateboard and I break my tailbone. Now you're telling me I have to plunge down a vertical wall on one? GAHHHHHHHHHHH!
• Offensive left tackle in football. Take it from someone who played the position poorly. It's not pleasant, especially if Aldon Smith is facing you, about to tear your fucking head off.
• Jockey. NONONONONONONONO. Horses are terrifying. All they have to do is buck once and you're crippled for life. Even though you'd be inside the body of a very tiny Venezuelan child jockey, the horse would KNOW that you were an interloper. It would sense your fear. It would buck you off and 20 other 4,000-pound animals would crush you like a fucking grape.
• Olympic downhill. You're basically skiing down a cliff made of ice. Every time I watch an Olympic downhill race, it looks as if every skier's femur is about to spontaneously rupture into a million pieces. You can see their thighs quiver as they hold on for dear life. I would take a dive right at the starting gate, then slide down on my butt to the chalet for hot cocoa. I would not be ashamed.
• Any marathon/Tour de France. If you can't quit, this would be horrible. Even if they doped you up real good, you still have to ride a bike 6,000 miles. Think about how traumatic that would be, the toll it take on both you and your psyche. It would break you. Forever.
• Hockey goalie. Like being a catcher. Only the ball is smaller and harder and faster. So that's fun!
Recently a friend of mine who used to send nudes to me passed away. I should say tragically and at a young age. Do I delete the nudes in solidarity? Do I hold on to them as secret remembrance? It's a really weird situation.
Wait, was it a friend, or someone you had sex with? It must be someone you had sex with. Friends don't just casually swap naked pictures of each other. "Hey Bob, here's me full frontal." This is all so confusing. Anyway, delete the photos, and then gratify yourself to the mental image of them. It's the classy thing to do.
Say you work in an office building, seventh story or higher, and your company takes up a whole floor. Let's say it is a standard accounting or advertising company with a standard amount of employees for that much office space. One day, the elevator opens and out comes a full-sized grizzly bear. A voice gets on your company's phone system and tells you that your floor is sealed off and only one species, bear or man, is leaving.
It's gonna be the bear, right?
NOT IF I CAN HELP IT.
/locks self in bathroom
/fashions crude bear trap out of a toilet seat and boxer elastic
/tears lead pipe out of the wall to use as a blunt weapon
/listens to Songs For The Deaf to get self psyched up for bear war
/gets eaten immediately
Who inherits my iTunes purchases if I die? I never would put that in a will, but will my wife be able to access the Beck album I bought in college to comfort her after my accident? More importantly, what happens if we get divorced? Is that something you can fight for? I don't even like The Closer but dammit if I'm not going to fight for every episode.
The legality of inheriting an iTunes library is still somewhat murky, but obviously it's easy to leave your password to a loved one that allows them to access your account and take what they want. You could also do this with your email account if you're a crazy person. Two seconds before I die, I'm deleting the fuck out of my email account. Ain't nobody seeing that death threat I sent to Jim Caple.
Divorce is a bit trickier, because there are some iTunes purchases that you make as a couple. Your wife may be the driving force behind buying an entire season of The Closer, but secretly you love Kyra Sedgwick's honeyed Southern drawl just as much as she! I can't even imagine having to sit there with a lawyer or a divorce moderator and cull through a whole goddamn library of shit. This is why you should just steal everything.
By the way, there's no more perfect first world problem than having to put all your shit onto a new iPod or iPhone. If you just throw everything onto it, the iPhone will shuffle to your least favorite song every seven seconds. If you meticulously curate the library so that there are no duds like "Bugs" by Pearl Jam, it takes forever and you want to hang yourself by the end of it. WHY IS THIS MIRACLE TECHNOLOGY SO HARD, YOU GUYS?
So there I am, at home mincing garlic. God I hate mincing garlic. I then ask myself "What happens if the aliens attack right now?" I hear explosions, walk outside and realize I spent what will be the last few moments of my life mincing fucking garlic. Tell me there is a worse way to spend the last few minutes before the earth is wiped out. Doing taxes? Finding out you have cancer?
Syncing your iTunes library.
Ever mince garlic and then accidentally lick your fingers? OH GOD IT BURNS. THE BURNING WON'T STOP.
It's a shitty picture, but this demon cockroach was fucking huge. Halfway through brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror only to see the spawn of fuck-all staring over my shoulder from the opposite wall. I flipped the hell out, obviously, and wadded up a handful of TP. Pitifully naive on my part.
As I made my approach, Beezlebub Roach JUMPED ONTO MY SHIRT. I swatted it off, narrowly avoiding acid pincer death, and proceeded to chase it into my bedroom. Tore the room apart looking for the fucker, TP still in hand and toothpaste froth everywhere. Thirty minutes of adrenaline-frenzied clothes digging later, I cornered Satan's cumshot and, having decided a size 12-dress shoe would be more fitting, beat the ever-living shit out of it. VICTORY.
But what if it made babies? That's the problem with roaches. Where there's one, there are a MILLION. God, they're horrible. Why do they exist?
I work at a hotel in downtown Chicago and every member of the ESPN MNF crew was staying there in advance of the Bears/Lions game. I'm talking Gruden, Tirico, Steve Young, Trent Dilfer, Stu Scott, even Rick Reilly was there. I witnessed Rick Reilly being denied a ride to a restaurant from a co-worker who was going to the same place. He had to walk there in the rain. I thought that was funny.
By the way, here's something I never knew about hotel rooms: "Drinking glasses are not washed with soap and water, but shined up with furniture polish to make them sparkle like new." Christ, how much furniture polish have I consumed over the years? No wonder drinking water from a hotel room tap tastes like shit. I'm bringing my Vikings pint glass with me everywhere I go from now on.
What if the NBA implemented a penalty box system to replace free throws? Instead of heading to the line, the ball is inbounded at half court while the guilty player awaits in the penalty box (more likely a penalty zone) for the duration of the possession (which I will define as an attempted shot, turnover, or a shot clock/3 second violation). The zone would be placed on the baseline to eliminate the benefit of cherry picking. Think about how much more quickly the last couple minutes of the game would go!
Yeah, but you have to remember that the NBA is shady as fuck, so imagine a playoff game in which the Heat get to play five-on-two for 60 percent of the game. Because that's what would happen.
They should implement this during the all-star game. I just wanna see how long it takes someone like Zach Randolph to break out of the box and club the referee to death. All Pro Bowls and all-star games should serve as test labs for insane new rules and point bonuses. Why am I watching just a regular-ass basketball game? BORING.
What is the policy for farting in a public restroom while taking a piss? I realize men are defecating a foot over in the next stall. But it still seems like a social stigma to rip a big wet fart at the urinal.
Yeah, but what control do you have over it? I mean, we've all let one or two escape while at the urinal. It can't be helped. Anyone who gives you the stinkeye for it can drown in piss, far as I'm concerned.
Email of the week time.
My brother and I were in kindergarten and 1st grade, respectively. We were playing in our front yard while our dad was digging up random shit and doing yard work when we hear a rustling in the hedges right in front of our door.
We part the hedge and see something that looks fucking horrifying. It's an armadillo. Seriously, have you ever actually seen an armadillo? Scary shit. We start screaming about how there's a monster and finally our dad comes over with the shovel in an attempt to allay our fears. But when he spreads the bushes, he sees the beast and shouts, "What the FUCK?!" and begins to hack at the poor armadillo with the shovel.
My brother and I were crying but couldn't pull our eyes away while he destroyed the nightmare.
Worst part? My old man made us put on work gloves and dispose of the murder scene while we were still crying.
That's great parenting!