Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering weekends, power boners, and more.
I spent spring break at my sister's house last week and one night when I was there I was on the couch, watching the tourney and picking at my feet. I tore off this flap of skin that had really bugged me all day, and when I tore it off, BLOOD EVERYWHERE. My big toe was hemorrhaging plasma. I ran on my heels to get a paper towel to soak it all up, and then my sister came downstairs and looked at me tending to my toe, which now appeared to have been amputated, and she's like MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FOOT?!
I'll have you know there's no good answer to this question. I started bleeding like a grenade victim all because I was picking at my feet in a home that was not my own, which makes me a fucking awful person. I said to her, "Oh, I just started playing with my feet and it got to bleeding," which sounded fucking retarded. I could actually SEE how dumb I sounded. I'm shocked my sister didn't boot me from the house immediately. I would have. So don't go picking your feet in a stranger's home.
Now, your letters:
I am sure we have all played the children's game in which two participants throw a ball back and forth with the intent of ensuring the third participant, located between the other two players, does not intercept the pass. I grew up in Canada; Ontario more specifically, and we called this game "monkey in the middle". But speaking with friends in all 10 provinces I have been able to uncover that British Colombia and Alberta call this game "piggy in the middle" and from Saskatchewan eastwards it is called "monkey in the middle". Casting aside that "piggy in the middle" makes no fucking sense as a pig would have absolutely no chance on intercepting the ball, I am curious to test my findings with a larger audience. Does this geographical divide continue through to the US?
I have never heard anyone here call it "Piggy in the Middle," although that would add to the stigma of being the poor asshole stuck in the middle trying to catch the ball. That game has ruined more children's self-confidence than every game of dodgeball ever played. It's the diametric opposite of Smear the Queer, an '80s-era game in which a fat kid could at least have a few moments of pleasure taking part in a homophobic mob. Because when you're a fat kid playing Monkey in the Middle, you are ALWAYS the monkey in the middle. In perpetuity. I don't think I ever got out of the middle once. It was horrible. Even when I caught the ball, the other kids would be like, "Yeah you caught the ball. But you're still the monkey, you fat fuck. HAHAHA!" Hate that game.
I played Monkey in the Middle over spring break with my kid and my nephew and, for their sake, I stayed in the middle most of the time. I pretended to be all mad that they wouldn't give me the ball. And oh, how they laughed. How they delighted in the idea of torturing me so. THE LITTLE BASTARDS. If they only knew that I could bring the fucking thunder down on them at any moment! Once in a while, I stopped pretending and caught the fuck out of that ball. DAD ISN'T PLAYING GAMES ANYMORE, PEOPLE.
So I live in a pretty rural area. This morning on my way to work I saw a lady jogging all alone out along an orange grove, and I thought to myself "I could totally kill this person and get away with it." Now, obviously I never would, because I am a good person. But I could. This led me to wonder. How many active serial killers do you suppose there are in these United States? Not like the movie kind where they leave their "calling card", or fit some textbook profile. Just people who take advantage of opportunities like these, a jogger here, a truck stop hooker there. I bet there are at least 15 or 20, wouldn't you think?
According to this article, the estimate is actually higher, between 35 and 50, possibly more. THE BROWN RIVER KILLER STRIKES AGAIN! There are over 6,000 unsolved murders in the United States every year, and over 180,000 unsolved murders in the country since 1980. Who's to say they aren't the handiwork of, like, four guys? And who's to say one of those guys isn't Jay Bilas?
So yes, there could potentially be a serial killer hanging out in your neighborhood. I always worry that someone I meet who seems outwardly pleasant actually has a kidnapped 17-year-old strapped to a surgical table in his basement. If you wear glasses, my suspicion of you increases by 60 percent or more. Add thinning hair and a short-sleeved button-down and now I'm pretty much ready to alert local authorities.
That said, I'm always amazed at how LITTLE killing occurs in modern-day America. Like Josh, I have the occasional rogue thought. I'll see some guy on an escalator and think to myself, "What if I pushed that guy down the escalator and he ends up smashing his jaw on the razor-sharp edges and dies? That would be really fucked up." I would NEVER do this in a million years, of course. But I always wonder about the mechanism in my brain that holds me, and millions of other people, back. Sometimes it feels as if there's a very thin barrier separating civility from barbarism. And I don't know what causes that barrier to rupture, or what little miracle allows it to exist in the first place.
There's a book out that says one in 25 Americans are sociopaths: people with no conscience. No remorse. People who do things strictly for their own pleasure and are incapable of caring about other people. People who could, conceivably, run into an orange grove and murder a jogger without giving it much thought. Obviously, this is a terrifying idea. I may bitch about other people all the time. But in general, people are relatively decent. We all tend to follow the rules and avoid killing each other. The idea that there are people out there who happily subvert this kind of shared trust between all of us scares the shit out of me. Read Helter Skelter and you'll essentially become a different person. An unhappy one.
The only solace I take is that we live in a society where, in general, it's NEVER in your self-interest to murder someone. That wasn't always the case. Back in the Old West, killin' folk got you lots of free cattle and made you look real badass. Being a murderer, shockingly, hasn't always carried a social stigma. But now, committing murder is so wildly detrimental to your pursuit of happiness that even a sociopath—someone with no conscience—sees the lack of upside in committing it. There's jail. There's the legal fee. There's cutting up the body and disposing of it. There's your mother-in-law bitching you out for killing her daughter. It's a real pain in the ass. It's not worth the hassle.
What would somebody have to accomplish in order to get their own national holiday? Perhaps cure cancer? Or maybe save the world from an asteroid like Bruce Willis in Armageddon?
I think Obama will eventually get his. I know there are people who hate him, but decades from now, after he's passed away, I have to think that he'll get a memorial and a maybe a holiday to go with it (except in Arizona, where the amendment for Obama Day will be soundly defeated). I can't imagine a more obvious future candidate.
But if Obama doesn't make it then I doubt anyone will, because, as it stands now, the holiday calendar is pretty much full. Martin Luther King slipped in under the wire. The people at BIG WORK don't take too kindly to having another day of productivity wiped away from the American calendar. You could become the first black president AND cure cancer AND make first contact with aliens AND release the first Kate Middleton/Kate Beckinsale sex tape, and corporate interests would still lobby against the addition of a new federal holiday. "Why, we can't sacrifice yet another Monday to our employees here are GlaxoSmithKlineBeechumKool!"
And you know what? As a parent, I'm fine with that. I don't need these kids to have yet another goddamn day off from school. They get days off for everything: holidays, elections, teacher conferences (where the teachers all get shitfaced and play Boggle on school grounds!). Sometimes my kid will get a random Tuesday off in the middle of April and I'm like, "Why are you home? This is lunacy." Enough with the days off and the ENDLESS excuses to eat a bucket full of fucking candy. I want FEWER holidays. I want Labor Day stricken from the record. How much goddamn summer do these kids need?
With all the help needed for blood donations these days, the Red Cross has not yet taken advantage of an untapped resource. That's right, I'm suggesting we have a Period Blood Drive. I feel like this would be a pretty simple process for the ladies. Swing by your local donation center, wring out your tampon or pad into a Tupperware container, send it through a filter (to filter out all that weird non-blood stuff in there), and it's good to go.
I KNOW! SO SIMPLE! All you need is a KitchenAid standalone Afterbirth Processor and you're larfin'! BLOOD FOR ALL.
Obviously, any number of women will happily refute Bob's idea down below in the bowels of Kinja. You can't "wring" out a maxipad. The pad is designed to hold the blood in. And one of the unfortunate characteristics of blood is that it dries quickly (unfortunate from an aesthetic standpoint only, of course), which means you only get a few moments to marvel at how red that shit is before it turns to rusty cottage cheese. I'd like to spend a lot more quality time with my blood before this happens, but nature doesn't allow it. I bet that's one of the real letdowns of being a serial killer.
Besides, the blood would have to be sterile, and blood that has been sitting inside a tampon for eight hours doesn't exactly qualify. To collect period blood for donation (and who even knows if it's suitable blood for transfusions anyway), you would have install some kind of vaginal tap and collect the blood, like the woman is a goddamn maple tree. They would be not amenable to this. Except for your sister. I hear she's down with it.
Have you noticed Lebron's neck stubble? Is it possible that he could grow a 360-degree beard?
So a turtleneck made of hair, essentially? That would be terrifying. All the goodwill he's built up over the past few months would be erased if he were to show up rocking a hair collar. I bet it could be done, though.
I had a very disturbing experience this morning. I went into the office bathroom, which is shared between other companies on the same floor. The bathroom smelled like really really good breakfast tacos. Aither A) Some guy brought in breakfast tacos for his office and stopped by the bathroom beforehand. Or B) There were never tacos in the bathroom to begin with, and my sense of smell is changing and I actually think poop smells like breakfast tacos...
Great. Now I want breakfast tacos. Every breakfast item is improved a thousand times over the second it's tucked inside a warm tortilla.
Anyway, poop comes in variety of different shapes, colors, textures, and smells. There's really no rhyme or reason as to how it's gonna come out of you. There are, in my experience, three distinct "food odors" that happen with poop:
2. Chicken soup
3. Chinese food
None of these odors will arise as a result of you eating one of the above items. Eating eggs will not make your shit smell like eggs. You'll eat 50 pounds of spare ribs and for some reason your shit will end up smelling like lo mein. I have no idea why. The chemistry is beyond me. And when the smell first hits, my reaction is always the same. First I think: "Hey, that smells kind of good." And then the sensible portion of my brain says: "POOP! IT'S FUCKING POOP YOU IDIOT! EWWWW GROSS!" But right before that common sense kicks in, I do wonder: Does it TASTE like that? It can't, right? There's never been instance in human history in which someone defecated something delicious. I refuse to believe that's ever happened.
So, given that eggs are on the odor list, I think it's more than likely that the breakfast tacos you smelled were a terrifying mirage. It's better that way, frankly. Can you imagine a worse food item to eat while shitting than a taco? I mean, that takes boldness.
I tried to have a sneaky fap session in the shower the other day using only my imagination (ambitious, I know) but had to give up after 15 minutes of slapping my flaccid dong. I couldn't muster up any visuals. My spank bank has run dry! I'm 38, married, 3 kids and I can't jack it without Internet porn. Pathetic or pretty common these days?
I think anti-porn advocates cite examples like this to rail against porn's existence. They will tell you that porn not only is immoral, but that it will drain you of your EROTIC IMAGINATION. And I think there's some truth to that. If you rely on porn almost exclusively to fuel your libido, you're probably not exercising your spank bank enough to keep it in fighting shape. You may even end up having trouble having REAL sex with people, which is alarming. At the end of Carnal Knowledge, Jack Nicholson can't get off unless a hooker is blowing him. He can't have sex with normal people or else he'll go limp (Note: I assume the real Jack Nicholson is also this way). I think that's a danger for ALL men. Guys like to treat porn as a kind of harmless hobby without acknowledging the real havoc it can wreak on your psyche. I have two sons and I have deep, terrible fears about what watching shitloads of Internet porn by age 12 will do to them. Because they'll see it. All the firewalls on Earth won't stop a horny young boy.
So heed the warnings of the Gentle Path guy. Get out more. Meet new people. Watch strangers walk around in tight outfits. TAKE A TRIP TO RIO. It's good for you, medically speaking. If you don't act now, your mind will atrophy to the point where you won't even know what a penis is for.