Time for your Thursday edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Today, we're covering child abuse, wedding registries, butt dust, showers, canker sores, and more.
I have a four-year-old, and having a four-year-old means you spend 80% of your time restraining yourself from beating the shit out of the kid. Four-year-olds do not listen. They throw shit. They punch and slap. They laugh in your face when you yell at them. It's practically as if they're daring you to throw them out the window. And oooh, how I would love to do that.
I read parenting books and magazines (because my wife forces me to) to figure out the best way to deal with these problems in a rational manner. All of these books tell you that yelling and getting mad at the kid is counterproductive, because it just means the kid got the attention he or she craved and learns from you that they can yell and shit. This makes sense. So the books list all these strategies for solving the problem: diverting the kid's attention, acknowledging the kid's feelings, offering the kid choices, etc. Then there'll be some testimonial from another parent that like, "I tried this, and little Johnny is a totally different kid!"
Oh yeah? Well, these people must have been blessed with little magical elf kids, because NONE OF THIS SHIT WORKS on my kid. None of it. In fact, she'll just go right ahead and devise some new, elaborate way of pissing me off. And that just makes me angrier, because all this "up with people" shit failed.
I know getting pissed at a kid doesn't work. But here's the thing: I WANT it to work. I want it to work desperately, and it makes me more pissed that it doesn't. It should work. It should strike black fear into the child's soul and leave them shivering in the corner. But it doesn't work. Nothing works. Except scotch. Oh, scotch. You make the crying go away. Joliet Jake can buy my children any day.
Now, to the funbag:
When my girlfriend and I fight, two things immediately happen. 1) I turn into a dick, and 2) when I yank my chain, I think about the people who would piss her off the most. Am I a bad person for doing this?
You jerk off to her dad? ZING!
In all seriousness though, a revenge jerk session? YOU'RE OUT OF ORDER, SIR! I have a policy when it comes to marital bickering, one most other couples have: Never go to bed angry. But I have a second sister policy for all my self-gratification sessions: Never jerk angry. Oh, hate-jerking may sound all cathartic and shit. But who is it REALLY hurting? I'll tell you: Little Mister Stanley down there. You're taking out all that aggression on your poor dick, and you may be liable to strip the skin clean off! And where would that leave you? Huh? You're just degrees away from self-rape! And no one likes self-rape, except people who read Henry Rollins' poems.
Jerking is not an angry time. It is meant to be relaxing. Soothing. Not unlike a housewife enjoying her daily treat of Yoplait Whipps. That's your time for you. Be good to yourself.
(NOTE: Just kidding. I masturbate like it's war.)
I wipe front to back while sitting. Invariably, minuscule shreds of tp with remnants of poo find their way to the back of the lid. I refer to this as "butt dust." As the commode is shared by all members of the household as well as guests, I feel obligated to wipe them away, albeit in disgust. Is this normal? Am I doing something wrong? I'm open to your thoughts and suggestions.
I have had the butt dust problem once in a blue moon, and I'm always curious as to how the poop ended up there. I don't recall sitting any further back on the seat than usual. Did it fly off the paper while I was wiping? Did I wipe up, drag poop further up my crack, and then rest back down on the bowl, allowing the wiped-up poop to touch the rim? How far up my crack did the poop go? Is there poop on my lower back right now, as we speak?
I've gotten a lot of "do you wipe up or down?" emails in the funbag over the months. It's a volatile issue, not unlike standing vs. sitting. Here is where I stand: I go front to back. BUT, on the second pass (with a new set of fresh paper or wipes), I go from the top of the crack DOWN and then back up again, but only up to the butthole. So I end my wipe AT THE STARFISH. Specifically to prevent butt dust. And I have had no butt dust incidents of late. Doesn't mean they're gone for good though. Never fun to wipe that off the lid with wet toilet paper. You know damn well there's some of it still left there, invisible and poopy.
I worked at a small aircraft company, we were attempting to make 6-8 passenger jets. Long story short, company is on the way to bankruptcy and they fire all but about 30 of us lucky souls. One of the things we had to do was to clean out several of our massive hangars where the company did assembly and such. Since the company was going out of business, there wasn't much use for several completed and obsolete aircraft. The FAA mandates that you must render any pieces from old aircraft unusable for any dumbass who may come around and try to put it on their plane. Anyway, a few of us gladly volunteered and got to spend 2 weeks driving forklifts through fuselages, throwing large objects from great heights into even larger objects and all around smashing shit up. You haven't lived until you've taken a 1" steel tube and thrown it 20 yards into the tail of an airplane.
Holy shit! That's awesome! I also like that this wanton destruction was something you got paid for AND something that was mandated by a government body. That's the real kicker. YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO KICK THE SHIT OUT OF THIS PLANE. There are so many things in an aircraft I would like to destroy. Namely, the bathroom smoke detector. Oh, how I would love to rip that off the wall and stomp it to death. NO ONE WILL FINE ME! Then I'd rip out the tray tables and put a sledgehammer to the beverage cart. I could take out all my parental aggression on some piece of shit Cessna. Oh, what joy.
After driving along side this guy, it became evident that he most likely received his doctorate in 1969 and was oblivious to the hilarity of his decision. However, I like to think that he's just a random octogenarian who still likes doin' the do.
I enjoy Haribo Gummy Bears more than I like some members of my family. They are the Cristal of Gummy products.
Indeed they are. And they have so many varieties! Like the little Coke bottles! So cute! The fact that they're called HAPPY COLA makes them double German. They also have sour spaghetti, those little phony raspberries with the hard circles on top, worms, bears, fish, tropical fruits, cherries, sour grapefruit wedges, frogs, fruity pasta… It's astonishing. Oh. Gummi Venus de Milo…
/will have no teeth ten years from now
I Party With Smoot:
Have you ever just stood underneath the showerhead with your head tilted down, felt the water cascading off of your scalp and watched as it runs down your chest? I do this every time I'm in the shower, and I always imagine that I'm a character in a movie who just did something horrible. Like I just murdered my best friend because I found out he was sleeping with my girlfriend and now I'm trying to wash the guilt away. I feel like that's how all of those dramatic movie scenes play out.
Make sure you put your hands on the tile wall. Then take your hand and wipe away the water from your face, as if you're trying to wipe away the memory of what you've done. SOME THINGS CAN NEVER BE WASHED AWAY. Sometimes, I don't tilt my head downward. I keep it up and let the spray get right on my forehead, so that I can feel the water drizzling down my face. Then I breathe heavily and pretend I'm Riggs being electrocuted in the first Lethal Weapon movie.
This is also a good move during any heat wave. You let the shower bukkake right on your face so you can have that feeling like I AM REFRESHED. I feel like I'm in a Zest ad when I do that. AAAAHHHHHHH!
How many times per week do you pour something in a glass almost to (or past) the point of overflowing because of your desire to finish off the bottle/carton? Nothing worse than leaving well less than a cup of any drinkable fluid in the fridge/coffee pot and I'll be god damned if I'm going to throw it away before it's done.
I've taken to just filling the glass and then chugging the tablespoon or two left right from the carton. Because there have been too many times where I've gambled and been like, "This wine will fit in this glass," only to watch in horror as the wine goes above the brim, then bubbles just over the brim, then the surface tension breaks and the precious booze goes spilling down the side of the glass. It's an awful feeling to see alcohol wasted like that. Then I'll bend down and drink from the glass without picking it up, to get the level down to something manageable. Then I may or may not lick the sides, stem and bottom of the glass. And the counter. THAT WINE COST ME EIGHT BUCKS!
Same with beer. Sometimes I'll buy those big fucking bottle of Ommegang, and pray I don't overflow the pint glass when I pour it in. Then I'll tilt the glass, make the pour, and watch with the same horror as the foam rises up swiftly and makes a break for the top. Then I get down and hoover up that foam as quickly as I can.
You can't leave a tiny amount in any carton, because the next person that grabs the carton will want to brain you to death with it. So I chug the rest. It's sound policy.
Isn't getting a well-placed canker sore in your mouth literally the most painful thing? It is something I did not mean to have happen to me, I just brushed too hard, or cut my gums when biting a nail, and then boom, sheer agony for the next week and a half. I can't eat spicy foods or eat/drink citrus when I have one, without fear of crying in front of my wife/kids. And they are always in the worst place, like on the tip of your tongue, or at the bottom of your lip, when you can't avoid not irritating it. If someone has a miracle cure for these little bastards I would love to hear it because over the counter medicine and slushing salt water in your mouth does nothing except make it hurt more.
I suggest Peroxyl. It's a canker sore mouthwash you can buy at CVS (stocked with Plax and ACT and all that other shit) and it works the best for me, because I get canker sores all the goddamn time (HERPES HERPES HERPES BO BERPES BANANA FANNA FO FERPES HERPES! OH!). I get canker sores, and then I just go around opening my mouth in the mirror and staring at it, and then telling everyone how much it hurts. I get them right on the tip of my tongue. You ever get those little ingrown taste buds? One taste bud decides to become a canker sore and just ruin your fucking day? That's what I get.
About the only fun part about having the canker sore is looking in the mirror and seeing how big it gets. For posterity, you know. I love staring at the inside of my mouth in the mirror. It fascinates me. When I have a canker sore, or there's a little raspberry seed embedded between molars, or whatever. I wish I had one of those mirrors dentists use. The one on a metal rod they use to pick at your teeth. I'd stare at my crevices of my teeth all the time.
I had my wisdom teeth out ages ago, and one of the reasons I had it done is because impacted wisdom teeth can cause cheek bites, which then become giant fucking canker sores. They're fucking agony. So yeah, Peroxyl if you haven't tried it.
Late lunches rule. I try and eat lunch at work as late as possible as it totally slays the afternoon. I eat a granola bar or the like around 11:30 so I don't get the shakes until after 2. By the time I do eat, nobody wants to bother me because they think I've been working all day like a Japanese beaver and could only sneak away for a sandwich this late. I'm now sitting back in the soporific afterglow and it's 3:30. I just finished lunch and the day's as good as done! I sit across from a guy who is done with lunch before noon and it kills me. His afternoon must be the Bataan Death March.
I could never hold out that long. I've tried, and I fail miserably. I commend you on your ability to wait it out, but my urge to eat lunch kicks in right at 9:50AM. I ate lunch today at 11:30, which is insanely dumb. I had no choice. My stomach was holding me at gunpoint for matzo ball soup.
I have had days where, due to work reasons or whatever, lunch got pushed way back to the 1 or 2PM range. And, like Jim says, it's nice. Because it means you've gotten yourself a little afternoon break AND deftly closed the gap between lunch and dinner. Dinner isn't that far away now! Thank God!
Have you ever used a machete? Not on a human or anything, but just to do some menial yard work or chop down shrubbery in your woods. If you haven't, go get one and do it. Those things slice through anything, and you start to create a Bruce Lee battle with the small trees and bushes you annihilate. I seriously felt like I was a Judo master; jumping around and chopping the shit out of everything.
/buys machete immediately, leaves it lying around four-year-old just to see what happens
Have you ever had to hug a woman wearing a shawl? Fucking weird and goddamn impossible. It is akin to hugging the fragile skeleton of a creepy old lady.
It also feels very formal, like you're greeting your aunt for Easter dinner. I'd much rather hug a woman wearing a tube top and belly chain. I don't trust women in shawls. What are you hiding, missy?
I don't know why this is such a big deal for me because I am usually pretty punctual and even early when it comes to most meetings, but if I am meeting someone in a public place, most notably at a restaurant I almost go out of my way to be late or at least the second person to arrive.
I hate being late, but even more so, I hate arriving at a restaurant when I am meeting people and having to sit at the table and/or bar waiting for everyone else to show up. The entire time that I am there, waiting, I feel like everyone else in the restaurant is looking at me and thinking, "that poor guy has no friends. Couldn't he at least find someone to grab some dinner with him?"
I'm not really a nervous person, but in this circumstance I will read a paper or play on my BlackBerry or anything that I can do to keep my mind off the fact that I am sitting there alone. Am I a complete tool for feeling this way and intentionally showing up late to avoid this circumstance?
No, I think it's reasonable. I too will get to a bar early and then immediately whip out my phone and text message people as a way of announcing to the crowd I AM NOT ALONE. I HAVE MANY GLAMOROUS AND ATTRACTIVE FRIENDS WHO WILL BE ARRIVING SHORTLY. This is why bartenders come in handy. I can kill that alone time by ordering a drink and/or asking the bartender if Team X won or lost a game. This way, I can appear to be socializing. I AM NOT A WALLFLOWER! YOU SEE! EDDIE THE BARTENDER AND I HAVE A NATURAL RAPPORT! Or I ask for a menu and eyefuck the shit out of the menu until someone arrives.
It's even worse when you're the first to show up at some house party, and you don't know the hosts that well, so you have to sit there and talk with them until your REAL friends arrive. Or worse, you get to the house or bar and the only person there is someone you don't like at all. So you have to shoot the shit with Fuckhead McDickface until someone else shows up and saves your ass.
I've had to eat alone in restaurants on occasion. Usually while away on a business trip of some kind. It's freeing, in a way. You can read the paper with impunity. And you don't have to share a goddamn thing with anyone else at the table. I see why old people eat alone a lot. It's not so bad. Also, they're old and no one likes them.
Am I the only one who sees how far away they can get from the urinal before the piss arch just doesn't have enough power to make it in?
No. I've pissed on floors all around this great country testing my piss range. I usually start flush with the urinal, then walk back as I'm pissing, then walk back in as the arch fades. It's tons of fun to piss while walking. You feel like you're walking into gunfight. Also, standing far from the urinal reduces splashback. I've walked back from the urinal in a public bathroom, then heard the door open, then hurried back closer to the urinal, watching my dick wiggle and spray piss all over the fucking place. Special times.
I've tried starting far from the urinal, to see if I can make it in. But the initial push always means the first drops of piss will go right to the floor, which is uncouth.
Stephen B Awesome:
I had begrudgingly allowed myself and my wife to be talked into putting fancy place settings and china on our wedding registry. We've used it twice, in five years. That stuff is pricey, and I knew they would be useless. Is this common? What would you have wanted to register for instead, given the same budget as the place settings you no doubt registered for?
I would have registered for money. Lots and lots of fucking money. Everything else is worthless. People who attend Italian and Greek weddings know this best. That's why Italian and Greek couples usually make out with a shitload of cash after they get married. Smart cultures. Nothing but envelopes of cash in a fucking hat. My wife registered for both margarita and martini glasses for our wedding. A dozen each. They are fucking worthless. All we do is move them and break them while moving them. Get money and buy regular glasses and table settings. Everything else is shit.
Masturbating while your wife is in the shower: sick and gross or excellent time management?
I say the latter. What's odd is that I've been married for seven years and I still keep those moments to myself. No man says to his wife, "Hey, I have to go jack it now!" Because you don't want her thinking about the fact that you're doing it while you're doing it, because that completely fucks with your concentration. So you have to steal away moments, like when she's in the shower, to do it discreetly. This gives you both the fear and the thrill that you're doing something wrong by doing it in secret. And you're not! You're just getting done what you need to get done! And yet, WHAT SUBURBAN ANGST LAY BENEATH?!
Time for a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY. Reader Craig submits this story he calls THE POOPETRATOR:
I grew up in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and for years worked as a lifeguard at one of the two community pools. My best friend growing up rose through the lifeguarding ranks to eventually become the manager of one of them. This was May of 2008. By mid summer, they had a major problem on their hands: a patron of some sort was regularly crapping in the adult pool. I don't mean a baby pooping and having some of it slip past the water diaper, but adult turds floating by. Normally poop in the water is a non-issue and has been misrepresented in popular culture. Contrary to Caddyshack lore, poop poses little threat. We used to just grab a snorkel and a net, jump in and fish the sucker out, then dump a pound of powdered chlorine for show and make the kids sit out for a half-hour. It was actually a welcome break during a busy summer day. The chemicals in public pools are purposefully so strong as to prevent ANYTHING from spreading — especially poop germs.
Now, after a few regular poops were discovered, the local media started to get wind of parents complaining. They called for change. They called for order. And someone had to put a stop to it. My buddy the manager had to review surveillance tapes and establish new anti-pooping rules for the pool. And then it happened. The news gave the perpetrator a name:
I kid you not. Here's the link to the article as written in the local paper.
The paper describes six total craps, with witnesses claiming eight, in a matter of weeks. And I have never seen or heard of a more appropriate name for a pooping offender. He was never caught and is probably traveling across the country, biding his time until he is ready to attack again. Or at least I'd like to think so. He's a silent crapper, a watchful dumper. A Poopetrator.
See you next week, kids.