Last week, I went to the gym and went inside the locker room to change before I worked out (POWER LIFTING GRRR STRONG!), and when I went to pull my gym clothes out of the bag a pair of my kid's underwear went flying out of the bag onto the floor. They had gotten there by accident during laundry folding (I fold laundry with virtually no care or interest), but now I was completely freaked out because I'm a 34-year-old man and everyone just saw a six-year-old's panties go flying out of my bag. Sure, buddy. Sure, it just got "mixed up" in the laundry. Sure, you don't run to your car to go sniffing a child's underwear at the first available opportunity. FUCKING BABYRAPER!
So I grabbed that shit and stuffed it back in my bag. I thought about making an aside to the strangers around me, like, "Goddamn kid's shit gets everywhere, AMIRITE?!" But I didn't say anything because that would have just made it more suspicious. I just jammed it back in fast as I could and got the hell out of there. Then, when I came back to the locker room afterwards, I made sure the undies were under the towel in the bag and not in plain sight. The moral of the story is this: Before leaving your house, ALWAYS CHECK YOURSELF FOR CHILDREN'S UNDERPANTS. You don't want to be caught with them on you. Your letters:
I just watched that movie "The Box", where a person is told that someone will die every time they push a button. This got me thinking: what would happen if the NFL were told that someone would die if the Super Bowl were played? Would they still play the game? Would it take a certain number of people to die before the NFL would consider canceling the game? Would the NFL be more open-minded if it were just a Monday night game or the Pro Bowl instead of the Super Bowl?
I think Jerry Richardson would push the button regardless of whether or not it endangered the Super Bowl. I think he'd be the kind of fellow that enjoyed having a death button on hand at all times. Because when you're a billionaire, the thrill of normal things like money and love tends to wear off. After a while, you probably develop a taste for blood. FETCH THE BOX, CONCORD.
But seriously, if all of this were done in confidence, and someone asked Roger Goodell to do it to save the Super Bowl, and that he would be killed if he ever leaked it to the press, I think he probably pushes the button. I sure hope he pushes the button. I don't give a shit about some asshole dying. I want the Super Bowl to happen. If someone told me I could end the lockout simply by drinking a cup of urine that was not my own, I'd probably do it. That's how warped my priorities are. I would never donate a kidney to my cousin, but I'd drink pee to end the lockout.
Is Casey Anthony hot? Or is it just the bad girl image she has because she killed someone?
I don't think she's hot, but she definitely seems like she's a good time. Unless you're a helpless baby, in which case she's probably not as fun to hang out with.
I was not well-versed in the Casey Anthony trail when the verdict came down. The name kept popping up on Twitter every now and then and I was like, "What the fuck is that?" Then the verdict came down and everyone went batshit, so then I had to go back and retroactively build up my outrage for the case, which is annoying. I'd much prefer to come about my anger organically.
Found in the cafeteria of a hospital.
CHICKEN TENDER DONG! I'd still eat it. Greedily.
Simple question, which musical act, if resurrected in their primes, with all the original members, would fetch the most money if they went on tour today? In my mind, there is only one real answer: Elvis.
It can't be anyone else, not the Beatles, not Zeppelin, not anyone. No person still has that fanatical a following after they have been dead for over 30 years. They could charge $1000 for the cheapest tickets, and people would kill each other to buy them, including me. But that's not my dream scenario for a resurrected musical act; that would have to either be AC/DC with Bon Scott as the lead singer, or Queen with Freddie Mercury at the height of his powers. What would be your dream, resurrected band scenario?
I think Michael Jackson would probably be able to rival Elvis in terms of what he could command from concertgoers if he came back to life and went out on tour. I mean, you've seen Michael Jackson fans. They're all batshit nuts. I think Frank Sinatra would also command a huge ticket price. Then you can go back in time and dig up older musical figures like Mozart. Or you could venture into hip hop and pick Biggie Smalls or whoever. And don't forget Kurt Cobain. All of those artists have a following devoted enough to charge whatever they deem fit, and then you'd have Ticketmaster tacking on a 43% resurrection fee even though they didn't help at all in the reanimation process. I fucking hate Ticketmaster. But yeah, Elvis seems like the best bet for highest price, with the Beatles close behind.
As for me, if they found a way to bring Cliff Burton back and threw him on tour with Metallica, you couldn't drain my bank account fast enough. If the evil suits at Ticketmaster went up to me and were like, "We're gonna bring Cliff Burton back from the dead, but to do it, you have to pay us $4,000 and give Ian O'Connor a handjob" (and that's precisely what they would ask), well then gimme Ian's dick this instant. I got some heavy petting to do.
Several months back I was in need of a wifi connection in a restaurant to download a work file. There happened to be an apartment building next door and little did I know the worst person in the world inhabited it as evidenced by the name of their router.
JEEZUS! THASS RAYCESS! He didn't even have to password-protect his network, he knew you'd never click on it with a name that ghastly.
I do get a sordid thrill out of piggybacking onto a complete stranger's wifi signal. Most of them are protected now, but once in a while you'll be in some friend's apartment or something and you'll get a signal you can use, and God, I feel like the most powerful hacker in Norway when I do that. They don't know I'm in there, BUT I AM! And I'm lookin' at boobs! HOT DOG!
Just once, I'd like to guess a stranger's wifi password and get it right. I'd feel like Theo in Die Hard.
So I'm not even sure how the conversation came up, but I recently got into a discussion about pooping and pissing at the same time. I'm not talking about having explosive diarrhea where anything is possible, but just a normal, relaxing, solid-poo bathroom visit. I've always been able to do both at once and just assumed this was normal. The person I was talking to acted like I was a freak. Do I have a special ability to evacuate from both sides at once or is my friend the weird one? I guess he takes turns?
I don't think there's any set biological rule. I too can evacuate both my bladder and my bowels simultaneously (boy, talking about that makes me hungry!). I both cases, you're bearing down in the pelvic floor region, so there's no reason you can't do both at the same time, unless you have very fat thighs which restrict the flow of urine while you're in a seated position (I know the feeling, I assure you). There's no wrong way to go about it.
I served four years in the US Air Force and every few months we'd get a call from our Chief Master Sergeant's office to report to the Armory for a drug test. There would be around 200 Airmen all crammed in a room waiting to use the latrine, and Air Force policy was that someone had to witness the urine entering the container. Rather than subjecting their own to this, the government would hire 5 dudes to stand in the stall and verify the test. There was something like 5,000 Airmen assigned to our base and they rotated these drug tests so that everyone was tested every few months - 200 or so at a time. My math says that's about 20,000 dicks in a one year period...this has to be the worst job ever right?
Could be worse. You could be forced to look at people's feet. All dicks are pretty much the same, but people's feet can vary in all sorts of new and horrifying ways.
By the way, how does anyone piss while that's going on? That's a whole world of stagefright right there. Not only do you have a bunch of rowdy soldiers outside waiting for you to finish up so that they can go and get on with their lives, but then you've got the monitor staring straight at your dick, and you've got to worry about failing the test (even if you're clean, which would be the cruelest trick of all) and you're envisioning getting kicked out of the Air Force for doing the yamyam… How the fuck do you piss with that going on? I can barely piss at an airport. If I had to do that, the urine would rush up to my brain and I'd die of a fucking stroke. Our men and women of the armed forces are brave in ways you don't even think about!
I work nights and my wife works a normal schedule, so I spend a lot of time during the day with my one and a half year old daughter. Since I do most of the shopping I have to take my daughter along with me to the store, usually big box retail and grocery stores. Mid way through one of our recent trips, I found myself having to drop a deuce. Now the urgency this time wasn't so pressing that I couldn't comfortably make it home, however, it really got me thinking.
What if I found myself in the middle of a store with my daughter sitting there in the shopping cart and I really had to take a dump? I'm talking no waiting, walking funny, bubble guts kind of dump where making it home is totally off the table. What could I do? Obviously, the shopping cart isn't coming in the stall with me and my daughter runs around like crazy when taken out of cart. She is still too young to have any grasp on simple commands such as "No, don't touch that, stay put, don't belly crawl into the adjacent stall while daddy shits out his soul."
Have you ever formulated a viable contingency plan for such a difficult situation?
I've had to do it before. It's horrible. You have to take the kid out of the cart and bring them into the bathroom with you. Then you have to spend the entire shit begging your kid to not touch anything or pull out the entire TP roll, and they never listen to either command. Sometimes, you have to forcefully hold the kid's hand, and they're trying to squirm away from your grip while you sit there trying to push out a big brown koala bear and if you let go of their hand they'll go flying back into the wall because they don't understand the principles of inertia yet. It's a terrible way to spend what ought to be a peaceful, pleasant part of your day. And it's even worse once multiple kids get involved. I mean, they're always one second away from drinking out of the toilet and getting Hep C.
I get mad at my bowels now if I have to shit at inopportune times. Like, a shit will well up inside the Giant store, and I'll yell out, "God dammit," and no one knows I'm yelling at my own rectum but that's precisely what I'm doing. No one should ever have to shit angry. But that's parenting. It's just year after year of angry shitting.
Kids will also pull this trick too: It's morning in the house and everything is quiet. They're playing quietly or watching TV or whatever, and you think to yourself, "Hey, this would be a good time to poop! So then you go sit down to poop and the SECOND the poop is halfway out of your asshole, one of the kids screams. Every. Fucking. Time. It's like magic. If you ever need your child's attention, just start shitting. They'll come running.
I ride a bus to and from work every day. I, of course, see a wide spectrum of human life on this bus but the one that appalls me the most is the white, hippy looking dude with dreads and big ass gauges in his ears. What the hell would possess someone to stretch out his ear lobes so a truck can drive through them.
I don't know. I find ear gauges terrifying to behold. I look at one and I get phantom pain in my earlobes. It's even worse when you go to the dentist's office there's a copy of National Geographic in there and there's some guy on the cover with gauges fifty times the size of a hipsters. I'm talking about a dude who put a fucking ping pong paddle inside his bottom lip. I can't handle it. How did he stretch it out that far? Was it gradual process? Did he expand the hole year after year? Does the ever take the gauge out and go jump-roping with his own lip? I don't care if someone elects to do it to themselves. Live free and all that. But it HURTS to look at. It really does.
This was truly horrifying. I was driving along on the interstate and suddenly there is blood on my windshield. Not bug blood but red, human blood. Took me a while to realize it had come from the jackass in front of me with his window down. But I guess it isn't all bad, I at least have the comfort of knowing he will probably succumb to whatever head cancer/ebola virus/AIDS that is causing him to spit bloody loogies out his window.
When you're jacking it to the thought of banging two chicks at once, do you ever stumble over the fact that the girls don't know each other? For whatever reason, when I tried picturing a three-way among me, a chick I know from work, and a chick I knew in school, it just wouldn't work. I kept thinking, "They don't even know each other, why would they double up on me?"
In short: Does masturbation fantasy require plausibility, or should the girl-on-girl action have been enough?
I know I do suffer from a similar imaginary threesome anxiety wherein I have a hard time picturing what to do to ensure both girls are happy while I'm doing my thing. Is everyone taken care of here? Are everyone's needs being met? Do we need to switch out every thrust? Could one of you orally pleasure the other so that the daisy chain is complete? I think people who actually do have threesomes are far too cool to worry about any of these things, which is why I've never had one and never will. My other question about a threesome is… where does everyone sleep afterwards? Someone's gotta leave that bed. In fact, everyone should really go their separate ways after that. Has anyone ever had a threesome and then had to spend the night in the same bed with the two other people? That would be horrible.
Anyway, the second part of Cal's question is a whole other animal. No masturbation fantasy requires plausibility. But, as a seasoned masturbator, I have found that the closer the fantasy is to being reality, the better the jerk session. For example, let's say there's a girl in class that you really like and therefore would like to masturbate to. If she doesn't know who you are, you're still gonna masturbate to her. Ah, but if she FLIRTS with you one day, and suddenly the whole idea of having real live person sex with her goes from a nonstarter to a legit possibility, well then that's a special time you get to have with your penis. In many ways, actually hooking up with her will RUIN the goodness of that jerk. In the real hookup, she never takes out a horse crop midway through. Total letdown.
When I was a kid, I was allergic to milk. Not deathly allergic, but enough to where I didn't drink it. Instead of milk, I grew up putting orange juice in my Golden Grahams, Lucky Charms, Fruity Pebbles, etc. This wasn't a big deal at home, but whenever I had a friend stay over or ate breakfast somewhere else, I would get these horrified looks like I was pouring pure leprosy into my morning bowl. Nobody would ever try it, saying that it looks completely disgusting.
Now I can only enjoy cereal if I have orange juice in it. The milk just doesn't cut it. The question still lingers, though: Would a normal milk-drinker think a bowl of cereal with orange juice is at least palatable?
There have been a handful of occasions where I have been absent-minded and poured the wrong liquid into my cereal instead of the cup it was originally destined for. I've done it with water and with orange juice. Both times, I wondered if maybe I had stumbled onto an entirely new way to enjoy cereal and tried one bite. The waterlogged cereal was predictably horrible. But the orange juice cereal was halfway decent. I think I had it with Honey Nut Cheerios. I didn't mind it, but I was so used to milk with my cereal that my brain instinctively resisted the change. THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? So I stopped after a bite or two and went back to milk, because I preferred it that way.
It's odd what we consider proper food combinations and meal occasions. A Pop Tart, if you think about it, is just as legitimate as a dessert after dinner as it is a breakfast choice. In fact, it's probably more appropriate as a dessert. But no one eats Pop Tarts for dessert (except very smart obese people) because it doesn't seem like the right time to eat one. You eat muffins for breakfast. You eat cupcakes for dessert. Why? What difference does it make? All my life I've been repulsed by people who eat cold pizza for breakfast only because I am prejudiced against pizza's ability to be a breakfast food, when really it's no better or worse a food for that occasion than an Egg McMuffin. I am like a breakfast racist.
Have you ever watched the show Chopped?
Oh, God yes. Scott Conant… what an asshole. Since when are red onions the placenta of Satan? Anyway, go on.
I was wondering how you think you would do on a cooking show like that. My friends and I all think we would be screwed if they pulled out any kind of that rare crap that no one has even heard of because we already can't really cook. I think I could do fairly well though if I got a basket of normal food even if it all was really random. I would probably just use a ton of butter or bacon to ensure that my concoction tastes good. I think I could do fairly well on Chopped if it was against normal men who don't really know how to cook.
I think I'd cut myself at least nine times with the kitchen knife. That happens all the time on the show, when a chef cuts themselves, then doesn't put on a glove and bleeds all over the goddamn food and expects the judges to eat and the judges are like, "Fuck that. I'm not eating your herpes burger."
I watch that show all the time. In case you aren't familiar, "Chopped" gives its contests between 20 and 30 minutes (which is nothing) to make a gourmet dish out of four surprise ingredients, and the ingredients are almost always something weird and, in the case of dessert, completely repulsive for dessert (brie, soy sauce, celery, etc.). And it's impossible to watch the show without instantly formulating a plan in your own mind for a dish (A NAPOLEON! OF COURSE!) and then yelling at the chefs for not making the dish you envisioned. I also wonder how I'd do with the time constraints, and there's just no fucking way I'd be able to put actual food on the plate within that time frame. I cook dinner for my family pretty much every night, and dinner always ends up being served late because I fail to RESPECT THE CLOCK. Who knew short ribs took longer the three minutes to braise? NOT I.
Also, and apologies for dwelling on this show, but Aaron Sanchez is a real prick when it comes to people mispronouncing Mexican ingredients. "It hurts me when you mispronounce toe-mah-tee-yos, for Latin cuisine is so close to my heart." Relax, dickhead. You're not President of Mexico. You'll fucking live.
Then move to Cali you d-bag.
Has anyone ever pooped in the Stanley Cup?
A simple Google search show that Kris Draper's daughter pooped in the Cup (1 girl 1 cup), which is bit different from a grown person getting loaded and taking a full on growler into the thing, but still. Pooping in the Cup is pooping in the cup. I'm sure it's been masturbated into and people have been bent over it and assfucked. It's the Stanley Cup. It's meant to be enjoyed.
Time for your email of the week.
I used to work in a hospital as a clerk (ordering bloodwork, organizing charts) but I always ended up getting snaked into patient care. This included 'delivering' patients to the morgue after they passed as a favor. Which was more anti-climactic than it sounds. (Disclaimer: We always took great care of the patients post-mortem).
I usually went down alone with the body and the morgue tech would help me get him/her into the fridge. So one time I was bringing someone's grandma down. The elevator rides with dead bodies are the tits. I wouldn't talk to them or anything. But I imagined them awakening and me lighting their zombified corpse on fire. I shit-talked them on the way. As a warning.
Anyway, I got down there, and the morgue tech was being a dick and wouldn't help me load the body into the fridge. It's not easy doing this alone because you have to pull out the 'tray' and transfer the body from the stretcher to the tray. And a minimum of 2 people is usually required. I called my supervisor and they told me it would be an hour before they sent someone down. Fuck that noise.
I went to go do it myself. I cradled someone else's grandma, slipped on some unidentified substance, and dropped her on the floor. She BROKE. A lot. I picked her up awkwardly and got her onto the tray and slammed the fridge. I always wondered if the funeral director who picked her up asked "Jesus, did she get hit by a bus?" Oh well. Just remember: There is a time after your elderly loved ones have passed and before they head to the funeral home that someone brings them to the hospital morgue. This is one of those stories.
Remind me to never die.