Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering anorexia, sperm counts, Kate Upton's brother, and more.
I was at the grocery store the other day and I saw the most anorexic woman that I’ve ever seen in my life. We’re talking P.O.W.-thin. Her cheeks were grafted to her skull. She wore size–0 pants that hung off of her. Her arms were no thicker than curtain rods. It was one of the most haunting things I’d ever seen. She had a kid in tow and I felt the urge to walk up to the woman and say, “Excuse ma’am, but you need to go to a hospital immediately. You’re going to die and your boy will grow up motherless.”
I didn’t do this, of course. I didn’t have all the evidence collected. Maybe she was deathly thin because she was already dying of cancer or something like that. After all, she was shopping for food. Hard to accuse someone of extreme anorexia in the middle of them picking out loaves of bread. There’s always that “I don’t want to cause a scene” feeling that keeps people like me from ever saying anything in that kind of situation. I really, truly don’t know what the appropriate thing to do in that situation is. That woman was dying. It was unmistakable. I went to a different aisle because I was terrified she would turn into ash in a matter of minutes.
If you could get a brand new organ (presume it's not coming from someone dead and you're perfectly healthy but just getting an upgrade), which organ would you pick? I'd go bladder. Also, don't forget to donate your organs.
Isn’t everyone gonna douche out and answer PENIS to this question? “Brahhhh I’d switch out for a dick that’s two inches bigger and then SLAY so much pussy HIGH FIVES FOREVS!”
Anyway, as someone who is content with his present manhood, can I get a full body MRI prior to making the choice so that I know exactly which organs have built up potentially fatal selenium deposits? No? Then either the heart or the liver. Oh, to have a fresh liver. Imagine all the ways you could inflict harm upon it. I know Mickey Mantle was a “recovering” alkie when he got his, but I’m certain that the second they hooked up every duct of that thing, the Mick went out and did shots off of Bob Costas’ head. That’s what the 11-year-old car crash victim who donated his liver to Mantle would have WANTED.
Here now are the most important organs in the male body:
8. Penis (on here twice on purpose)
Have you been to an airport that has a sufficient number of electrical outlets that are in accessible locations? I sure as hell haven't. An outlet tower with eight outlets is fine, but there is no place to sit and I'm not leaving a phone unattended. Currently, I'm at gate F1 and my flight departs from F7. While I can hear boarding announcements for most every other gate, my gate is (as always) manned from by the quiet voiced lady from the Police Academy movies. So now, I have a Sophie's choice of charging my phone or missing my flight. UPDATE: They changed the gate! I almost missed my flight!!
I like how the airport power outlet tower transforms ordinary business travelers into hippie commune folks who sit Indian style in a circle around the thing. I keep expecting them to hold hands and pray to their trickster god to make the juice flow from their postmodern totem pole into their laptops faster. They are the tower’s BITCH.
Obviously, they sell auxiliary battery power thingies that you can use in a pinch if, like me, you used up all your phone’s power playing CUT THE ROPE at 30,000 feet and are now unable to call the hospital to find out which room they’re keeping your cancer-stricken grandma in.
But those battery packs are expensive, and they don’t allow you to be DARING and push the limits of your computer or phone’s energy capacity, just like driving on an empty gas tank. Everybody loves to gamble that they can push through the “20% remaining!” and “10% remaining!” warnings and get to their house/hotel room jusssssst as the thing is about to shut itself down. WE LIVE FOR THE DANGER. I usually plug my shit into that wall socket at the airport, get antsy after five minutes of standing there, and then pull the plug hoping I added enough extra power to last me. My hopes usually go unfulfilled.
Most airports here were built prior to the cell phone boom, so they were never designed with shitloads of charging stations in mind. Those ports had to be wedged into a terminal that was never meant to accommodate them. Ideally, we would have re-designed airports with shitloads of outlets, personal TVs everywhere, dozens of Shake Shacks, and moving walkways that go fifty miles an hour. But that takes raising extra tax money and implementing governmental efficiency and we suck at both of those things in equal measure. So get used to the floor by Gate 32B. Bring a yoga mat.
What if heroin cured AIDS? Would the government allow people to become dope fiends and force them to endure rehab if it meant eradicating a terminal disease?
Finally, a good excuse for me to try heroin! And all I have to do is get AIDS!
It depends on how much heroin cures AIDS. If just one shot of heroin cures AIDS, then I think the drug is cleared for medical use in that capacity. But if it takes a daily regiment of opiates that last months, even years, then the cure is obviously worse than the disease. Plenty of people in this world already have both AIDS and a heroin addiction. No need for more of them.
Why do refrigerated apples taste infinitely better than room temperature apples? I always put an apple in the fridge when I step into work in the mornings and when I sometimes forget I end up kicking myself for missing out on the taste enhancement refrigerated cooling provides to an apple.
First of all, kudos to you for actually bringing fruit into a work environment. All I ever used to bring into work was a bag of Baked Cheetos and a supplemental bag of Baked Doritios (Baked because I was very health-conscious at the time!). There’s something about a work environment that makes me only want to eat the worst imaginable shit for you: boxed chocolates, terrible bagels, cookies the size of a dinner plate, etc.
Anyway, apples taste better cold for the same reason apple juice tastes better cold. Ever drink warm apple juice? You picture it as urine the entire time. Kids will drink warm juice anytime because they are junkies and don’t care how they get their fix. You and I know better. You and I know that all juices and fruits taste better cold: oranges, pineapple, melon, grapes... warm grapes are terrifying.
I was just talking to my sisters friend, who just became an overnight nurse in a hospital. She has been doing this for about 4 months and I asked her if she had seen anything crazy. She proceeded to tell me a tale about a man who almost died because he was vomiting too much. The part that stood out was when he ran out of stomach fluids to vomit, HE STARTED VOMITING SHIT!!!! Like diarrhea coming out of his face instead of his ass. What.The.Fuck? She said it was so bad you could smell it from 16 rooms away.
This happened to my son. When he was born, his intestines got all blocked up and nothing could pass through his digestive system. But all that digested material needs a place to go, so... yeah.
I was never told specifically that it was fecal matter coming out of my son’s mouth. It was greenish and not at all pleasant smelling, but whether or not it was true poop was a bit up in the air. When they did the fact-checking for Someone Could Get Hurt, the proofreader was like, “Are you SURE it was poop?” And I couldn’t give a definitive answer.
It made me think about where exactly, in the digestive process, does poop become poop? Is it poop once the small intestine is finished with it? Or can poop begin a little earlier? Or is it not a VIABLE bowel movement until it has left your body? And should you be allowed to get a late-term enema and KILL that poop so late in the process? I say that would make God cry.
By the way, spoiler alert: my son now barfs normal barf. So thank God for THAT!
/grabs roll of paper towels
Do you think someone has ever been addicted to shitting or another bodily function [aside from masturbation, of course]?
According to the Wikipedia list of episodes for TLC’s “My Strange Addiction” (a show that I am fascinated by but will never, ever actually watch), here are some body-related addictions real people have either had or adopted in order to land a spot on television:
- Thumb sucking
- Hair pulling (self)
- Scab picking
- Laxatives (which, taken to its logical end, is a shitting addiction)
- Ear picking
- Coffee enemas (again, kind of a shitting addiction?)
By the way, every title on that list sounds like the name of a Radiohead song. “The Lamb/Eats Deodorant,” etc.
So yes, if there is a function out there, someone out there has gotten hooked on it. There are seven billion people on this Earth. Every potential disgusting habit or animalistic act has been performed by at least one of them. Life’s rich pageant, etc. Every possible variation of freak and weirdo is out there, ready for you to gawk at. Thank God the Internet is around these days to catalog them.
How would the world be different if semen was potent and capable of producing offspring only in the first 1000 ejaculations? The idea being your countdown starts the first time you jerk off at like 12-years-old. How would society respond?
Frozen sperm. Soooooooo much frozen sperm. There would be a frozen sperm bank on every block, and one day you would walk into one by accident thinking it’s a frozen yogurt joint and have a scoop of iced manbatter by accident.
No man would conserve his sperm otherwise. A thousand ejaculations gives the average teenager two years of fapping and that’s it. There’s no sense in relying on these kids to have the willpower necessary to propagate the species. They would blow through that load without giving it a second thought. In order to get all that sperm before they go flushing it down the toilet, we would have to pay them (CAPITALISM!) to freeze it. And then BIG SPERM would flip that sperm for an obscene amount of money. Black market sperm would be a hot item. And counterfeit sperm made from gelatin and melted butter would become a constant thorn in the side of law enforcement.
That would be here, in America. In the Third World, where frozen sperm technology isn’t exactly proliferate, desperate government officials would likely harvest semen from young men BY FORCE, perhaps using a hatchet of some kind. Or they would arrange it for young men to impregnate women and girls by force as well. Teenage boys would be put out to stud and unwilling women would be forced to get pregnant at gunpoint. Also, this would be the new national anthem of every country...
What do you think the odds are that you have accidentally eaten human meat in any form in your lifetime? I'm thinking that someone could have lost a finger in a hot dog factory, or some disgruntled employee butchered up his murder victims at the Jennie-O factory (is human white meat, or red meat?). I would say that the odds are low because they would issue an immediate recall, but it seems like it’s possible it could happen without the meat packing company knowing.
This is assuming that every scrap of meat you or I have ever eaten has been processed by a factory that is overseen by the FDA. I wish that were true. But I ate at a kebab cart for breakfast today and I know damn well that the shit they carved off the gyro spit came from the floor of an Armenian prison. That’s what gives it such a distinct flavor. I MUST HAVE IT.
I don’t know that it’s a LOCK that you’ve eaten human meat as a result of careless food manufacturing. Obviously, we’ve all consumed blood. Any chef that cuts himself and ISN’T being watched by a “Chopped” camera will likely carry on as if nothing happened because chefs are repulsive people. You’ve probably consumed a pint of chef blood in your lifetime (Mmmmm... tastes like HPV-induced throat cancer), along with bits of skin, nails, and hair. But a real chunk of human flesh? I say maybe a trace amount. If there were an intact pinkie toe in your hot dog, I assure you the media would be alerted.
Who would win in a fight to the death: an MLB pitcher armed with nothing but a pile of baseballs, or an average person armed with nothing but a baseball bat? For the sake of argument, let's assume that the pitcher can't just rip the bat out of your hands and beat you with it. He has to take you out with a fastball to the skull before you can get a clean shot at him with the bat. So, who ya got?
Though we should factor in the distance between the two men at the start of the fight (it helps the pitcher if you both come out from corners that are 90 feet apart), I think the man with the bat prevails in pretty much any scenario. Even if you have to run to the pitcher from a distance, you can run at him in a zigzag pattern, like you’re avoiding an allitgator. Nuke LaLoosh will have a harder time nailing you if you’re a moving target and not a stationary batter. And once you get within striking distance, the fight is essentially over. The pitcher needs time to wind up and a certain distance from you to get the pitch off. That’s not happening with you an inch from him, beating him to death. I think this would make a fine drill for the St. Louis pitching staff.
What if alcohol had zero calories? Would people start drinking during every meal of the week? Creating a massive influx of alcoholism and liver disease?
Unlikely. People who like drinking now are usually undeterred by the caloric properties of Milwaukee’s Best. Because alcohol is overseen by the ATF and not the FDA, beer and wine and liquor don’t come with nutrition labels, which is a big help for those of us who like to binge drink but don’t want to think about the consequences of it. The only difference is that young women would be less cautious about booze fattening them up and drink even more liberally, leading to a whole new enjoyable run of Drunken Hookup Failures.
Did you realize Kate Upton has a brother? I didn't until I saw her mentioning him in tweets. Does he have it the worst of any celebrity sibling? You have to deal with just about everyone on the planet - man, woman, other - wanting to bang the shit out of your sister.
It’s true. And I would feel bad for David Upton, except that he might just possibly be a douchebag:
What grown man likes baths more than showers? This is not a fellow to be trusted. Perhaps being Kate Upton’s brother and spending the past few years having all your friends talk about how badly they want to nail your sister MAKES you a douche, or perhaps he was always a douche and deserves such taunts.
What does it say about me, that whenever I walk through a turnstile, I subconsciously raise my arms and vigorously thrust my pelvis to get through the thing? I do it every time.
It says that you are a HERO. Don’t you dare think otherwise.
I recently learned that Sir Isaac Newton died a virgin. This raises the question: would you rather be doomed to a life of mediocrity and anonymity, but be able to get it fairly regularly (we are assuming that the sex is of a reasonably good quality and frequency), or would you rather die a legend and be immortalized as one of the greatest mathematicians and physicists of all time, but NEVER have sex? I’m not talking about dying a virgin as a well-respected-but-little-known scientist, like a higher-up at CERN. I’m talking about a level of fame where 5th graders learn who you are 400 years after you die.
Yeah, but what good does it do your corpse if fifth graders are learning lessons from you after you’re dead? Unless you’re a GLORY BOY who thinks he’s gonna look down from heaven with a smug grin and see pictures of himself in a textbook, you probably don’t want to go through this life unsexed and, frankly, unloved. It’s a cliche to say it, but life is pretty pointless without finding people you care about and occasionally stick your penis inside of. That’s ALL that matters, really. The whole reason men work is to make money to impress women to have sex with those women. And the whole reason men like me work is to make the money that pays for the house that keeps the wife happy and pays for the college that ensures the kids don’t grow up stupid (but not so smart that they can’t get laid). All of it is in service of love. At least, that’s what I tell my old lady when I kick her out of the house during Vikings games. IT’S ALL FOR YOU.
When I was a fat teenager, I had an intense fear of dying a virgin. And there were, of course, superficial reasons for that. I didn’t want to die a loser, and I didn’t want to die never having known the PLEASURES OF A WOMAN. But I also didn’t want to die alone, without anyone giving a shit about me. And when you’re a sixteen-year-old virgin, you really feel as if that’s a distinct possibility. It seems so HARD to get laid, or to get a girl to even SMILE at you. I used to cry at night, I was so upset about it. Being hard up will make you an insane person.
Email of the week time!
I work in a research building that is home to several other companies, including a "Lifelong Learning Center" that offers classes for senior citizens. This means my office building is generally crawling with septuagenarians who take the closest parking spots, clog the hallways while they hold conversations, and infuse the building with their unique senior potpourri. This is all stuff I can tolerate, but the one thing I find abhorrent is their treatment of the bathroom.
When the old men get in our public restroom all bets are off. Those dudes are ruthless in there, peeing on the floor next to the urinals, not flushing the toilets, leaving a cloud of stench that lingers in the air and on your clothes the minute you walk in. Naturally, I try to avoid this area as much as possible, but I am not a camel, and occasionally I have to evacuate those three cups of coffee I need each morning to keep from falling asleep at my desk.
This morning I reached the point of no return and rushed off to the restroom. As I'm standing at the urinal an old man walks in whistling some tune (probably something by the Andrews Sisters) and pulls up next to me. As soon as he does this he stops whistling and emits a noise that will haunt me the rest of my life. The noise was not the low grunt I was expecting, but a high-pitched whine that sounded something like "Arrrrghoooeeeuhhhhhhhmph." Assuming the devil was coming out of his penis, I wrapped up my business and damn near sprinted to the sink to wash up. While I'm scrubbing, he finishes his business with another noise, this time deeper and with more of a growl to it. Being thoroughly frightened, I skipped the towels and dried my hands on my jeans as I raced toward the security of my office.
I want to know what the fuck that dude was doing that made such an awful noise. Is that what all men have to look forward to — a prostate so temperamental you need to summon demons in order to squeeze the piss from your bladder?
God, I can’t wait to get old. So much fun.
There’s a scene in The Green Mile where Tom Hanks is taking a leak and is in extreme pain, and he says, “I’m pissin’ razorblades.” Ever since seeing that scene, I’m scared that I too will end up pissing razorblades at some in life. I bet it happens at least once to old men. God, that’s terrifying. Maybe we should have separate bathrooms for old folks.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also buy Drew's new book, "Someone Could Get Hurt," in time for Father's Day through his homepage.