French Fry Shapes, RankedS

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering hit and runs, caramel apples, old fogey sex, and more.

Your letters:

David:

Why do unseasoned fries even exist? Has anyone in the history of the world ever selected regular fries over seasoned fries when given the chance?

Children. Children are the reason that regular fries remain an option on the average takeout menu. I took my kid to Five Guys once and the cajun seasoning nearly made him tear his own eyes out in rage. WHY IS THIS HERE? WHAT KIND OF TREACHERY HAVE YOU DRAWN ME INTO?! Hell, he was pissed the fries still had SKIN on them. He also removed a great number of fries that he deemed to be too crunchy. By the time he had gone through the whole bag, he had found about six fries that suited him. Kids are fucking insane.

Without any kids around to ruin the meal, I always take the seasoned fries over the regular ones. At joints like Popeye's, they don't even bother telling you the fries are seasoned because they know the fries are awesome and you're an asshole if you don't like them. I get VERY excited, unreasonably so, when I order fries and I discover that they've included some kind of bonus seasoning and/or shape. Whoa hey, these are zesty waffle fries! BRING ME ALL OF THE KETCHUPS.

With that in mind, let's go ahead and rank all fry shapes right now, just to start a fight in the comments:

1. Standard

2. Curly

3. Waffle

4. Shoestrings

5. Crinkle cut

6. Tater Tot

7. Steak fries

8. Potato wedges

I usually want as much fried surface area as possible. The inside of a potato wedge is basically a baked potato with nothing on it. Seems like a waste.

Hank:

A few days ago, I witnessed a hit-and-run accident where the vehicle at fault took off. It was a real "Is this actually happening?" moment, so I followed the guy, called the cops, gave them the plate number/vehicle description, and stayed behind him until he turned into a private drive. He turned in, I went straight by and down the road a bit, then doubled back.

After sharing this with some co-workers and friends, the majority says I shouldn't have gotten involved. I say fuck that. That guy might be a serial killer or something. Or worse, that asshole is the reason my insurance rates keep going up. What say you?

Hickey says find the fucker and kill him. I don't see anything wrong with reporting the guy. That doesn't make you a snitch in need of stitches. You saw a crime committed and you reported it. Seems like you went above and beyond the call of duty. Most people would drive by the accident in shock, get home, feel kinda bad about not doing anything, and then go on about their lives.

Because it's easier to do nothing. The idea of following the guy and writing his plate number down and then testifying against him in court and talking to insurance carriers about it... Christ. There's so much red tape in life now that I think it actively discourages people from doing the right thing. I saw an accident the other week. I saw a dude blow through a stoplight and a woman plowed into him, then I saw them pull over and I just kept on driving right by. I did nothing useful, like pull over and ask if everyone was okay, or give my account to the police if it was needed. I was like OH WOW THAT'S AWFUL I HOPE THEY'RE OKAY I'M SURE THEY'LL FIGURE IT OUT NOW I BETTER GO TO THE STORE AND GET THOSE PORK RINDS. And that's because I suck. I couldn't take three fucking minutes out of my day to possibly help. I also worried that I would look like some kind of nosy jerk butting in on other people's bidness.

I can't even be bothered if I'm the one who's been in the dustup. I went on a business trip a few weeks back and rented a car after my flight, and as I was pulling out of the rental car joint at around midnight, the shuttle bus came in and started turning directly into me. And I was screaming WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! as it was just about to hit me. So, in a panic, I shifted into reverse and bumped another rental car right behind me. The shuttle bus drove past and into the lot. And the dude I hit and I got out of our cars, looked at our fenders, and both agreed that we were too tired to give a shit. We got in our cars and drove off. I couldn't even be bothered to walk ten feet to the counter, find the driver, and lodge a formal complaint. I left it all unresolved. Weeks later, I still give that shuttle driver an imaginary piece of my mind. LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, YOU FUCK. I'm a hopeless coward.

Matt:

Candy apple or a caramel apple. What's better?

The caramel apple, even though both are flawed products. I don't REALLY give a shit about the apple. It's just an awkward delivery vehicle for the sweet, sweet caramel. Any time you eat a caramel apple you inevitably nose-bang it while taking the first bite. Once I've devoured the covering of the apple and there's a repulsive apple meteorite left on the stick, I throw that shit away.

When I was a kid, we used to make caramel apples by buying these round caramel discs from the store. You peeled them off the wax paper and then shaped them around the apple, and they bunched up at the bottom and I ate the bottom first because it had the maximum caramel density. Or I would forgo the apple altogether and just wad up the caramel and stuff in my fat little face. MEMORIES.

By the way, eating any apple without cutting it is an awkward affair. You have to figure out the first place to take a bite out of it, then work your way around the center, then nibble the ends, and then find a place to put the core while you're parallel parking. Any time I eat an apple, my hand turns into a fly trap after about four seconds. Bits of apple brain go flying everywhere. I look like a goddamn animal. You gotta cut the thing before you eat it to stand a chance.

Kyle:

Why do we not have a full body Airblade yet? The blades could be mounted onto the walls of the shower so when you're done, you start it up and slowly turn in it until dry. That would be the greatest feeling ever.

Wouldn't that be cold as shit? There is no colder time in the human experience than the moment between finishing your shower and wrapping your towel around you like it's some kind of blanket to shield you from radioactive fallout. If there's any delay in getting the towel onto my skin, I immediately begin shivering like I'm trapped naked on a polar ice cap. MY GOD SO VERY COLD. So the idea of standing there and letting a 90 MPH blast of air run up and down my body sounds like a recipe for instant pneumonia. Even if the air were heated, I would still feel cold. I'd be so cold and naked and exposed to hurricane-force winds. It wouldn't feel right, even the half-second blowjob portion of the drying phase (face it, you just want one so it can blow you).

Also, even though air dryers work, I still have a mental crutch which demands I wipe my hands on something before I feel truly dry. The Airblade could get my hands bone dry and I would still wipe my hands on my jeans afterward. There is, in fact, a full body air dryer for your shower called a Tornado. It costs $2,000. No one has reviewed it yet because everyone who has bought it broke it after trying to dry hump it.

Brent:

A co-worker offered me some M&Ms out of a huge bag. I poured a lot into my hand, and got a death glare from the co-worker. Is there a correct amount that you should take from the bag? Is it not your fault since the person with the M&Ms gave you control of the bag?

You're not a child. If they offered you control of the bag, you should be able to take what you want. Gifts shouldn't come with unspoken expectations (except in the case of a child, in which case every gift must come with a 6,000-word warning about proper handling and care). It's not like you tipped the bag into your mouth and poured the candy directly down your throat. Fuck that co-worker. They're M&Ms. They are designed for gluttony.

Steve:

What percentage of people tie their shoelaces the bunny ear method? As a child, I couldn't learn the one-loop method, and my parents resorted to teaching me the two-loop method. Fast forward 25 years, and I still have never bothered to learn another way. Am I in the minority? How much so?

I couldn't find any hard evidence that you're in the minority, but you probably are. But fear not: you're still well ahead of the majority of today's youth, who can't be bothered to tie their shoes at all. Velcro straps and luxurious slip-ons are turning our children into slothful french fry dumpsters who will spend the entirety of their adulthood wearing Crocsiders.

I tried to teach my kid the "rabbit goes around the loop" (is that the name for it?) method and I realized that I suck at explaining basic things. I had no way of teaching her other than, "Look at me doing it. Now do it. WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT?!" Needless to say, she is now also stuck on the two-loop method, and likely will be for life.

Andy:

Which “perfect” perfect game would you be more impressed with: The pitcher strikes out every batter with just 3 pitches each (i.e. 27 Ks/81 pitches), or the pitcher retires each and every batter on a single-pitch out (i.e. 0 Ks, 27 pitches)?

The strikeout game, because that means the pitcher has thrown an astonishing 81 strikes in a row. Shockingly, there's no official MLB record for consecutive strikes thrown, but Bartolo Colon threw a remarkable 38 consecutive strikes back in 2012 (FACT: Colon celebrated each strike with a pizza bagel). A perfect, all-strikeout game would more than double Colon's streak, so that's in the realm of the superhuman. Also, I think the pitching community would revere the all-strikeout game more than 27-pitch game because pitchers have a real boner for strikeouts. It's like DURRRR I STRUCK YOU OUT I'M A BETTER MAN THAN YEW NOW LET'S GO LISTEN TO JASON ALDEAN DURRRRR. That's my impression of a baseball player.

HALFTIME!

William:

If you were to create a 3-5 minute highlight reel of ANY events in human history, what would you include? Assume everything is available on tape.

A good highlight package manages to tell you the story of the game in a relatively short amount of time (SportsCenter never does this anymore; they just show three big plays and then they put up a score graphic before throwing it to Herm Edwards in a rainbow wig). So you'd want the package to tell you the story of mankind from its beginning up until now. I'd probably want Eisen doing the voiceover, like so...

"We take you to the primordial soup, and this civilization got off to something of a sluggish start, Prime. Took over four billion years for this thing to get going. You can see this volcanic microbe barely move an inch here. But then LOOK! We've got a four-legged amphibian crawling out of the sea. And then we've got a couple of cavemen tracking down a wild boar and clubbing it to death. And then—and this had to make God over on the sideline happy—we've got pyramids! So now this is getting interesting. Look at the old veteran Moses part the Red Sea for the Jews. Keep this play in mind because it'll have big ramifications at the end. We also got our first look at Jesus in action, and oh my goodness what a talent, Prime. Bit of a scary moment for him later on though, as he goes down with a crucifixion and has to be carted up the Heavens. Now here's Columbus trying to find the New World and heeeeeeeee GOT IT. Or does he?"

I'd also include the moon landing, Hitler doing bad things, trains, cars, and the invention of the spork. Really important shit.

Zack:

There's a guy on Louisville radio named Jason Bourne that does the traffic updates each day. Each time he says his name I automatically picture Jason Bourne the movie character calmly doing the traffic while fighting off other secret agents trying to kill him. What would be the best movie character name to have in real life and what would be the best regular guy job for him to have?

Initially, I thought James Bond would be the best name to have (bonus points if your job is Bail Bondsman), but I'm sure there are plenty of real James Bonds out there that get the line thrown their way every fucking day, and they must be sick to death of it. Bourne is good because there's no immediate quote from the movies that comes to mind (because Bourne barely talks because he's awesome) for people to harass you with. But if I had the choice of any movie character name, I'm going right for motherfuckin' Drexl Spivey...

My name would be Drexl Spivey and I would be a pro golfer.

R:

Could any PGA golfer save all the wear and tear on his back by squatting to pick up his ball from the hole rather than doing the whole 'one-legged lean' to retrieve it? We're talking full-on two-legged squat.

I'm sure some golfers do that, especially given that so many of them have serious back problems. Proper lifting is the first thing that doctors and physical therapists tell you to do to avoid back pain, and yet virtually every patient disregards it because squatting is hard and you look like you're about to poop on the ground. They also tell you to use a stool to reach things instead of grabbing for them, but I never do that because I don't need no stinkin' stool. LOOGIT HOW TALL I AM YOU GUYS. It's amazing, frankly, how often patients will flagrantly disregard good medical advice out of laziness and/or fear of embarrassment. No wonder doctors always look annoyed. Their patients are imbeciles.

On a barely related note: When I was a kid, I watched this episode of "Married With Children" where Kelly Bundy is trying to impress this fitness dude who's visiting the Bundy household. So she purposely drops something and then bends over—in a tight skirt— to pick it up. But the fitness dude is too dumb to notice she's coming on to him and lectures her about the proper technique for picking shit up off the ground. Anyway, I masturbated to that scene a lot.

Sydney:

My friend and I agree that when we go to the bathroom (number 1 or 2 since we are both ladies that sit down) that it is customary to pull your pants down so the waist line rests just above the knees. It would be absurd to pull our pants down to our ankles.

The men in our lives, however, (friends and partners alike), strongly disagree. They say pants ALWAYS drop to the ankles when sitting on the commode. Is this a boy/girl preference sort of thing? Do ALL guys drop their pants to the floor?

I drop my pants all the way to the floor, which is kind of stupid because bathroom floors are disgusting and it seems unwise to let your belt buckle go dragging through a puddle of old urine. But I crave the freedom. If you leave your pants above the knee, then you're constricted. You can't spread your knees all the way, and most men like being able to spread their knees into "different time zones" (to paraphrase the late Richard Jeni). That way, your cock and balls can really get a breath of fresh air. If they didn't need tending to, I could probably get away with keeping my pants above my knees, but that's not really an option. As it stands now, I drop and spread for all its worth.

Jay:

I tried to create a fantasy football team on ESPN's site, called the U. Florida God & Guns. The name was refused due to "profanity." My question: which part do you think triggered that? I'm going with U. Florida.

I say "guns," because they probably want to leave threatening language out of the game. You know what that means: ESPN WANTS TO COME TAKE YOUR GUNS.

Anon:

I'm about 90% sure my parents haven't had sex in the last decade or so. And not just in the "ew no way my parents have sex, gross" way. I really believe it. There is absolutely no physical contact in the relationship. I've seen them hug maybe 10 times in my life and definitely never anything romantic.

I'm 23 and I have a younger brother who is 18 and I would be honestly surprised if those weren't the only 2 times they've had sex in the last 23 years. I think he might watch some porn because I've seen him scramble with headphones a couple of times when I walked in his office, but you can't go 20 years on just porn right? And there's definitely no mistress or anything because he's always home. Is this even possible? And if so, what do you think is the percentage for marriages that are just completely sexless?

It's more than possible. Plenty of married couples end up silently deciding that sex isn't worth the bother. Shit, many sleep in separate beds because they get more rest that way. Not to make it a constant reference, but I watched a lot of "Married With Children" when I was a kid and one of the running gags was that Peggy always wanted to have sex and Al always refused, and I was always like HOW COULD HE DO THAT?! WHAT GUY TURNS DOWN A CHANCE TO CRUSH PUSSY?! It seems inconceivable to a young man with an insatiable libido that you could go that long without getting laid and just accept it.

But a decreased libido is an inevitable part of the aging process. You get old. You have kids. You work all day. Your back hurts. There's not as much testosterone raging through your system. By nightfall, you just want a glass of bourbon and eight hours of sleep. There have been nights where I'm like, "Eh, I don't really wanna do anything," and then I fucking HATE myself for not being the same deranged sexnut that I was when I was, like, 22. Sex is ALL that matters to men that age. It's part of your identity. So when that lessens a bit, you feel like you've failed somehow.

I think that plenty of couple go through a sexual dry spell as they're raising kids. Then the kids grow up, leave the house, and the old couple either A) Just stay sexless, B) Cheat on each other, or C) Stock up on erotic massage tapes and boner pills and have a second age of sexual awakening. WHY IT'S AS IF THEY'VE BEEN TOUCHED FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME. You should be glad your folks didn't choose option C, because that would be way gross.

Email of the week!

Matt:

When I was a teenager in the mid-eighties, another boy told a group of us about finding a wood tick on his penis after running around in a field naked (why we, his friends, had no questions about how that outdoor nudity came about is a fair point but irrelevant here). Anyway, I believed his story at the time, but as an adult figured it was just an adolescent tall tale meant to shock a group of his friends.

Then it happened to me. Flash forward about 25 years to last summer. I went out of town for work, and upon reaching the hotel decided to take a shower and go to bed. In the shower, I noticed what I thought was a scab on the top of my penis, but the lighting was bad and I waited until I got out to examine it. Upon closer inspection, the scab proved to be a wood tick. I grew up in a rural area and have picked them off dogs, myself, and other people, so I am not especially grossed out by wood ticks, but this was beyond anything I'd ever encountered and I wasn't sure how to proceed. I didn't even know how it got there. It must have crawled up my pants leg while I was mowing, but why had it stopped at the penis? This surely must be a rare thing to have happened. I even shave my genitals (because I am sure you wanted to know that), so there wasn't even any hair there in which it could hide.

So what do I do? My heart racing as I tried to clear my head and think, I tugged gently on the tick, the elastic skin of my penis following the direction of my pull on the parasite. Oh fuck. It's firmly attached. It's disgusting, feeding head is buried in the skin of my penis, sucking my blood. I had no tweezers in my toiletry kit, so I basically had two options: try to remove it with my fingers and risk breaking it off under the skin; or put my clothes on and go out and try to find a Wal-Mart where I could buy a pair of tweezers.

I couldn't stand the thought of putting my clothes on with that beast still attached, so I decided to pull it off with just my fingers. And of course the head broke off under the skin. Flushing the body of the tick down the toilet, I looked at my poor penis and attempted to scrape the head out from under the skin with my fingernail. I could see it there, like a blackhead, but it was too deep to scrape out. I'd probably need a needle to remove it like a splinter. I didn't have a needle either.

So I picked at it until the skin was red and inflamed, but I could still see the tick's head buried in my skin, probably still alive and burrowing deeper. This is the one and only time in my life where I've thought about doing violence to my penis. If I'd had a pocket knife, I'd probably have tried to cut it out.

Finally, giving up, I put my underwear on and went to bed. I had planned a great jerk-off session for my first night in the hotel room, too, and now I couldn't even bring myself to do that. Talk about a mood spoiler. I didn't jerk off for the entirety of my trip. Instead, I monitored the wound on my penis over the course of my business trip to see if the tick head went away, or became infected. After some initial redness, probably caused by my scraping at it with my nails, it did go away, presumably dissolved into my body's system.

I've never told anyone this story. Not even my wife. She'd probably have banned me from putting my penis inside her for at least a month. And other people would judge me, don't you think? "How'd he get a wood tick on his penis if he wasn't naked outdoors doing something pervy?" And not sexy pervy. Just pervy. Alternately, my other question for you is what would you have done? Would you have dressed and went out to buy tweezers, or would you have opted to remove the parasite immediately?

I would have gone to the hospital. I think. Christ, I hope I would be that motivated. Probably not. WHAT IF THE HEAD GREW ITS BODY BACK AND IT'S STILL INSIDE YOUR DONG?!

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com. You can also buy Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.

Art by Sam Woolley