Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering clone baseball, throne toilets, and more. Image by Sam Woolley.
Pranksters are ALWAYS horrible people, yes? Practical jokers are just seething with barely-contained hostility and sociopathic urges, right?
Yep! All you need to know is that Mel Gibson is supposedly infamous for pranking people on movie sets to know this is true. Someone carved a swastika into the craft service table pineapple! OH, MEL. Like, it's one thing for teenagers to do it to one another because teenagers are the worst. But if you're a 40-year-old man stuffing dead fish into your assistant's suitcase, you're basically a serial killer.
There are two kinds of practical jokes out there. The first kind preys on another person's fears. Oh my god, Bob! You killed that taxi driver! You better hope they take you to jail before his family avenges the killing! JK WE HIRED AN ACTOR AND PUT BLAST CAPS UNDER HIS SHIRT LULZ. The other kind of practical joke preys on a person's hopes. Oh my God, Bob! You just won the lottery! You can finally afford that new kidney! JK YOU'RE STILL BROKE AND NEED DIALYSIS. So either you're making someone sick with worry or you're crushing their dreams, which is fun if you're an asshole!
It's one thing to exploit those hopes and fears a little bit, like if you take Bob's jacket and move it five hooks over and then he gets all mad because he can't find it. HAHAHA WHAT A LOSER. That's fine between friends on occasion. But if you're the kind of nutjob who's willing to sustain a lie over the course of HOURS just so you can watch a friend or co-worker tear their own hair out, you're probably getting suspended by the Dolphins. Only Justin Bieber still finds Punk'd to be entertaining. That shit has an age limit, and practical jokes have REALLY been beaten to death in the age of the Internet, where people post stupid hoaxes every five seconds. I don't need all this jokey joking in my life. I just want that picture of a squirrel fucking a monkey to be REAL.
I also hate the fear of escalation involved with this shit. I worked in an office a while back and my officemate and I had a couch. As a "joke," two co-workers stole that couch and put it in their office. So then we stole it back. Then they stole it back again and took a pencil too. By the third round of the prank cycle, I was like you know what? How about you stop stealing our goddamn couch? I couldn't even enjoy the couch when we had it because I feared walking in the next day to find it missing. THEY GOT IN MY HEAD. Getting in my head is a cock move! I'm too old to be sitting there trying to negotiate a fucking prank truce.
Bringing back the not-too-fresh anymore PAT fight: How about Quidditch style hoops? There could be just one, or up to 3, with the varying levels of difficulty of each hoop worth different amount of points (although I admit this one is probably too far fetched). A circular goal to kick into would not only force the kicker to contend with the height as well as heightening the other factors (wind) to near amazing levels.
I'd be fine with that, but I'm sure the competition committee would dismiss it as a "novelty," which is the word people use when something is just too fun for them to tolerate. DURRR THIS AIN'T NO SKEEBALL GAME THIS FOOTBAW DURRRR. Football is a sport that takes itself very seriously, so anything that feels sort of goofy or silly is not welcome, with the apparent exception of Frank Caliendo.
There are now so many viable alternatives to the idea of the PAT that I fear the NFL will be unable to choose one. As a fanbase, we need to settle on one to push onto the Ginger Hammer so that he doesn't get confused and then decide with his big dumb brain to keep things the way they are. That's why I'm firmly on board with the "a touchdown is worth seven but you can go for it from the two to make it eight points but if you fail it goes down to six" proposal.
Also, if we had kicking hoops, Jimmy Graham would dunk on them and tear them down five times a season.
If humans reached their physical and mental prime and then never aged after that, but they would still live the average human lifespan (around 85 years), would people live their lives completely different or would we still try to follow the blueprint of going to college, getting a job, getting married, and having kids and a house as soon as possible?
I think that people would probably choose to get married and have kids a little bit later than they already do, but they'd still do it. The biological drive to poop out kids would still be there, and women would still have a limited number of eggs to fertilize and, I assume, would still face the usual dangers of having children past the age of 35 or so. (Congrats! You win eight months of bedrest!) One of the cruel disconnects between men and women is that a healthy man is basically fertile for life and a healthy woman is not. If it weren't a matter of urgency for women, most men would wait until age 89 to start having kids, Anthony Quinn-style.
And we still get married and have kids in 2014 despite the fact that A) we live much longer than we did centuries ago, B) thanks to rhinoplasty and boob jobs, we look far better at an older age than we did centuries ago, and C) we're all far more repulsively self-involved then we were centuries ago. So having your age frozen at 26 or whenever you look your grooviest probably wouldn't stop you from settling into your socially conditioned family rut. GOODY!
The only thing is that you would see a lot more marriages and hookups between really old people and really young people. Some world-wise 78-year-old dude could really clean up with your local sorority house. Why, he'd leave nothing for you! Ooooh, Mr. Franklin has traveled to so many exotic lands! What a creepy old asshole.
What percentage of American men do you estimate know where a woman pees from? My boyfriend is in his late 20s, has had sex with more than five women, is above average intelligence, and until last night thought women peed out of their buttholes. He literally yelled NOOOOOOOOOO when I informed him that us ladies pee from the front, just like you gentlemen. I am truly astounded at his ignorance, but he insists that many, if not most, men would be utterly shocked to learn this about the female anatomy.
That can't be true, can it? Did that man never see an issue of Penthouse during its piss fetish heyday? Everything I know about female urination I learned from Penthouse. I totally know women don't pee out the butt, so gold star for me!
I would estimate that a relatively low percentage of grown men share your boyfriend's ignorance. I think they're much more apt to believe that women pee out the vagina. I know that's what I thought: that women were vagidexterous. But no! Turns out there's a whole other faucet. Seems inefficient. I say that 40% of men know about the extra hole thing. Textbook diagrams are useless because a cross section diagram of the female reproductive system looks like a blueprint of Luke Skywalker's uncle's house.
Given all of the reports about the amount of casual sex that happens in the Olympic village, and the fact that this isn't anything new at all, do you think that there's currently an Olympic athlete that is the product of an Olympic village hookup? And if not, how has that not happened?! For decades, world-class athletes have been having sex with each other, and that hasn't produced ONE amazingly athletic love child? Do you think that, maybe some have been conceived, but because the mom was probably such a dedicated athlete and devoted her entire life to training and competing (and obviously had no intentions of getting pregnant) she had the potential Olympic baby aborted? I just find it hard to believe that there hasn't been some Olympic love child born, and if so, how there hasn't been at least one that ended up being a phenomenal Olympic athlete him or herself.
Oh, I'm sure it's happened at some point. Yao Ming is famously the product of government-mandated athlete breeding, and who the fuck knows how many East Germans were forced to mate just before the steroids kicked in and they grew a penis on each hip. There's an Olympic superbaby in there somewhere, although perhaps having two Olympic parents becomes too much of a burden for the child. Maybe Junior goes walking through the house resenting all of Mommy's gold medals. Maybe he HATES bobsled practice and is only doing it to make Daddy happy. Maybe he turns to brown heroin as a release valve for all the unbearably high expectations, and then gets kicked out of the house when he pawns Daddy's silver medal for handjob money. That's probably what would happen.
The way that the U.S. Media tallies medals is dumb (looking at the guys in Bristol specifically, but they all do it). Today the U.S. is in 4th with 9, but 5 of those are bronze with only 3 gold. They have the Germans two spots below us with 8, but they have 6 GOLD! I would much rather have 6 gold then 5 bronze and 3 gold (silver is a wash AND the first loser).
It should be a weighted system, I propose: 12 points for gold, 6 for silver and 2 for bronze. By that math, the U.S. has 52 points and the Germans have 80, they are kicking our asses!
Not only that, but medal counts are inflated depending upon the sport. If you win the gold medal in ice hockey, that counts as ONE medal in the standings, which is complete horseshit. Some cross-country dipshit from Norway can have triple the impact if he wins one of his sport's 9,000 different medal heats: the 1000m, the 2000m, the 3569m, and so on. If you win the ice hockey gold, that should count as a medal for each dude on the team. It would be the Golden Snitch of the medal count.
What is the average time for a man to take a dump? My entire life I've taken an average of 20-30 minutes for each episode. My wife and daughter are in and out in 2 minutes flat. I do read/play on the phone during these episodes but it genuinely takes a decent amount of time to complete the act. Am I a freak?
It shouldn't take you that long if you have a healthy butt. Obviously, now that we have phones, men are milking their shitter time for all its worth. I bet the rate of bathroom use in a America has increased threefold since the turn of the century. I'll do Twitter on the shitter until my calves have fully atrophied.
But if you're not lollygagging, you should be able to complete a bowel movement in relatively short order. Taking 20 minutes basically means you're constipated, probably because you ate a nine-pound burger last night and are still waiting for all the rectal vinegar to dribble out of your body. Nothing worse than a slow case of aggressive diarrhea.
If each state in the US had to compete individually in the Olympics and not as the collective Team 'Murica, what states would win the most/least medals? I haven't checked, but I'm assuming inbreeding isn't a recognized sport so Alabama, Mississippi, Missouri, and Arkansas aren't winning jack.
There's actually a map of this, and it won't shock you to learn that California is far and away the winner, because California is the most populous state and because Californians are so irritatingly active. Well, all we do is surf and ski and press our own orange juice! Shut up, California. You are one giant humblebrag of a state.
Cali has double the number of medals of second place New York, and color me shocked that New York has produced so many Olympians given that New Yorkers spent most of their lives waiting for a 4 train that will never arrive. Illinois, Ohio, and Texas round out the top 5, with Florida all the way down at a shocking 14th place. I thought Florida churned out as many Olympic athletes as methheads, but I was wrong!
Three states have never won a medal of any sort: North Dakota, Delaware, and Rhode Island. These are not elite states. We should cut them off and annex Scandinavia to boost our medal totals.
How many consecutive passes would a previously elite(!) quarterback (of the Manning/Brady/Brees ilk) need to have intercepted before he is out of the league? I can't see it getting higher than 30 or so.
I believe it took six straight pick-six games for Matt Schaub to fall off the face of the Earth, but Schaub was a barely above-average QB prior to that. When you reach the exalted status of Tom Brady or Peyton Manning, announcers will happily cover your ass for you. The receiver ran a bad route! This o-line has to keep Manning protected! The coach is dumb! I greatly resent any NFL player who gets his own Excuse Panel.
Anyway, I think if we're talking about Drew Brees, I think he would get a pass for the first game. Just a bad day at the office, guys! Then by the second game he would probably get pulled, then start the next week, throw a few more picks, and then get pulled for good. I think that would take roughly 15 passes. Then he would get a chance to start the NEXT season because it's Drew Brees and you'd feel like an idiot if you didn't try to revive his career. Then he would get cut, picked up by one other team, throw a few picks for them, get cut again, and then be out of football. No higher than 20 picks or so, because once teams start wondering if you're finished, you usually already are.
Has no one ever pointed out that doing a girl doggy style with wide hips and a skinny body resembles a penis?
Only if the girl is bald.
What non-pornographic image has been fapped to the most? Would it be something old like the Birth of Venus painting because it's been around forever or something more recent like a swimsuit/lingerie/anything picture of Kate Upton due to massive distribution and easy access?
I'm gonna go with a tie between the iconic shot of Marilyn Monroe standing over a subway grate and the Farrah Fawcett poster that supposedly every kid in the '70s painted with semen. People have such easy access to so many photos of attractive people now that I have hard believing any future image will beat those two.
I also think that the rest of the top 25 is probably dominated by the SI swimsuit issue photographs: Christie Brinkley, Cheryl Tiegs, the Tyra Banks cover, and pretty much any Kathy Ireland shot of your choice. SHE HAD SUCH GORGEOUS EYES.
By the way, the swimsuit issue is out again and I stand by my demand for a thong picture index. If it's not a thong or a translucent, wet breast covering, I'm not interested.
My wife and I got caught by our 6 yr old last night. The lights were off and he was half asleep but got the feeling that something was up. I took him back downstairs after deftly getting some pajama pants over my raging hard on and he proceeded to ask me what mommy was doing when he opened the door.
Showing some uncharacteristically quick thinking I told him that his mother had just gotten out of the bathtub and thought she heard a noise and jumped on me to wake me up. He bought it and while eating his breakfast this morning apologized for scaring her. What is the over under on what age he comes home from school and tells us that we were in fact having sex when he walked in?
Fortunately for you, he'll probably take that to the grave. He'll either just delude himself as an adult and continue to buy your version of events, or he'll realize you were fucking and then do everything possible to quell the horror. He's not just gonna pop down the stairs one day and be like WAIT! YOU GUYS WERE SCREWING! I TOTALLY GET IT NOW! That won't happen.
The only time he'll ever bring it up is when he turns 12, because 12-year-olds are old enough to know about sex and still just stupid enough to talk openly about it. One time, when I was 12, I came downstairs and announced to the entire breakfast table that I had had a wet dream the night before. This was a lie, actually. I was just stroking in my bed, wide awake. But I thought if I blamed a wet dream, my mom wouldn't get mad about the sheets. Anyway, my dad took me aside and we had a brutal three-minute talk about sex ("You might start to notice women more!"), and then I never brought up sex with my folks again. Twelve-year-olds are idiots.
Is there anything worse than having too much lettuce in your container so that it doesn't all mix with the dressing? I'm shaking the shit out of the tupperware and the salad isn't moving at all. Eating plain lettuce is like eating grass.
You need to use a big container so that there's room for the salad shit to tumble around. If the Tupperware is packed, there's nowhere for the romaine to go. I know this is a hard thing to do because if I have any food vessel, I want to fill it all the way. I don't want to leave any air where more food could potentially be. But if you exert some willpower and leave room in the container, you will derive maximum joy from shaking the fuck out of that salad. I shake angry, like I'm dealing with a problem child. It's immensely gratifying. Look at the slivered almonds and croutons commingling!
If they made 8 replicas of you (or me or any reasonably, if unspectacularly athletic and coordinated person) and had all 9 of you play an entire MLB regular season, would you be able to muster up 1 run?
I don't think so. If I swung away, I would have to hope for a couple of fluke hits over the course of one half inning of play somewhere in there. That's unlikely. And if I ordered my clones not to swing at anything and just hope I luck my way into a series of walks and/or HBPs, I'm pretty sure the Blue Jays would catch onto it. I say I get shut out for a whole season and then die from embarrassment.
Email of the week time.
The Sochi double toilets got my reminiscing about the funniest sports poop I've ever witnessed. In 1997, I was a freshman in high school in middle Georgia and I was on the football team. I played on the freshman squad, but I dressed out for the varsity games. This meant I just stood around on the sideline in my pads and uniform (PLAYING GRABASS), but I got to travel with the team, eat a free meal, and run through that huge pre-game banner and feel super badass. I also got to hang around the varsity players in the locker room and learn how to play FOOTBAW like a grownass man.
My high school was in Warner Robins, Georgia, where football is bigger than Jesus. At the end of my senior season, 20,000 people showed up to our city championship game. But in 1997, we were just so-so. We made the playoffs, even won our first-round game, but had to travel south to Valdosta for the second round. Valdosta, in case you haven't heard, is the winningest high school football team in the nation (23 state titles and 6 national titles, which doesn't even make sense).
Valdosta's football tradition was rich, but their visiting locker room was not. Locker rooms at high schools in south Georgia are, let's just say, Spartan. Typically, there's just one big open room with a few benches. Quite often there were no actual lockers in the locker room. Showers were rare. Coaches had to BYOwhiteboard. Scrubs like freshman-me sat on the floor while the starters sat on the benches and got cussed out by the coaches for playing like shit. Sometimes the visiting team's locker room was adjacent to the home team's locker room, and post-game fights were common (often we weren't allowed to take our helmets off until we'd boarded the bus home).
Smelly bus rides and postgame scuffles weren't a big deal to us, but these locker rooms also had a complete lack of bathroom privacy. The typical "bathroom" was about 2 or 3 crappers, a couple of urinals or a trough, and a sink. MAYBE toilet paper. No stalls, no privacy walls, no doors, no nothing. Just a bunch of toilets along a wall, in plain view of the rest of the room. If you had to shit, you had to shit in front of the entire team.
Valdosta's visiting team locker room had a literal throne. It sat atop a set of stairs, with no walls around it. To poop, you had to climb the stoop, drop trou and conduct your business in plain view of everyone down below. (Disclaimer: I was 15 years old at the time, so my memory may have exaggerated the epic heights of this throne. I remember this toilet being atop an Aztec Temple. That's certainly not true. I looked for a picture, but couldn't find one. If you have one, please share).
Before long road trips the whole team would gather in our school's cafeteria and eat lunchlady spaghetti, then hop on buses for the ride to the wherever the game was, in this case the game was a 2-hour ride into the football heart of south Georgia. Players were not allowed to talk at any point from mealtime until warmups. This included getting dressed in the locker room. Unless a coach was speaking to you, If you even whispered before the team hit the field for warmups, you'd be sentenced to death by grass drills the following Monday.
Whether it was the spaghetti lunch, the long ride, the stress of the post-season, whatever, our starting center, a swaggering hulk of a man, got a case of what we called "the bubble guts." In full pads, and in front of the entire team, he climbed the stairs, de-pantsed and claimed that throne like goddamn Robert Baratheon. The entire team sat below in stunned silence. To this day, the grin on his face as he fouled that locker room while we all had to sit in silence, pulling our jersey's up over our noses to both block the smell AND stifle laughter, is one of the funniest, most disgusting things I've ever witnessed.
We lost 45-7.