Two and a half years ago, I was laid off from my day job in advertising. And since I had to find a way to make enough money to support my family (blogging didn't quite make up the difference), I knew I had to do something productive with all of the newfound free time I had. Something big. I don't know if this is true of every dad, but when I had my first kid, some kind of Ambition Gene got triggered in my brain. I saw the new baby and my first thought, apart from "Does its head stay that shape?", was OH SWEET JESUS FUCK I GOTTA MAKE SOME MONEY. A lot of money. So much money that I didn't even bother putting a specific dollar amount on it, because kids require a lifetime of earnings so mountainous that to try and comprehend it will cause you to have a nervous breakdown. I knew I had to do something really ambitious, and I had to bust my nuts doing it.
So I started writing The Postmortal, which comes out today (you can buy it through here. I wrote it in the summer of 2009 and spent the next two years rewriting it and editing it until it was fit for your consumption. People so far really like it, (NOTE: Many of the reviews contain spoilers) but you'll get to be the final judge of whether or not I succeeded. All I can tell you is that I put everything I had into it. I left everything on the field. I'm really lucky to be able to crack stupid poop jokes with you folks here every week, and the truth is that this novel never would have been published without you. Eighteen editors passed on the book before it was rescued by a lone editor who also happened to be a Funbag reader. So it's with a whole lot of gratitude that I bring to you today's LIVEASS FUNBAG. I'll be here until 3PM answering as many Funbag questions as I can. Send them via email, hit me up on Twitter or leave them in the comment section (I can see them all). Refresh the page at your leisure. Let's get to it.
NOTE (3:27PM): Annnndddd that's all. Any questions I didn't get to will go right in the Funbag queue for next week. Come to tomorrow night DC reading if you're in town (7PM, Politics & Prose). See you there. You guys are the best.
Why should I buy your shitty book when I can already get it at the library for free?
Because only old people and the jobless hangout at libraries. You wouldn't want to be associated with such human filth, would you?
I haven't washed my car in 2 years and think I can go another 3 before I cave. Am I the laziest person alive?
Hell no. I never washed my car when I was single. My attitude was always, "Hey, it rained! That works!" Wives don't go for that.
By the way, every time I've plunked down ten or fifteen bucks for car wash, it's rained five minutes later. BULLSHIT.
Danger Guerrero (3:19PM):
Most disgusting sound in the world? It's an old person eating a peach, right?
I can't think of anything worse right now, no.
Is there anything more amazing about the human body than it's ability to separate poop from fart and send an unspoken message to the brain that the pressure in your bowels is one or the other. Seriously, think of all the times you cut one loose with the volume and tone of a tuba with no concern for a rogue turd getting loose.
It's true. You feel pressure in your rectum and you know instinctively whether it's a real shit or just gas to pass. And sometimes, if you're really good, you can be somewhere where you have to shit, but you can't do it for whatever reason, and then FART to relive the pressure on your bowels without any poop coming out. I swear this can be done, and it's a wonder of human engineering. You talk about Intelligent Design!
What is the most satisfying part of your body to scratch when it itches? For me, it's either the bottom of your foot, because it is so gratifying to take your shoe and sock off to get to it after you've spent 10 minutes looking like a weirdo in front of people grinding your foot into the bottom of the floor. Or it's your scratching your balls. One, because there is no dignified way to do it and two, it just is so god damn relieving.
Between the pinky toe and the... uh... toe next to the pinky toe. The ring toe. There's gold to be had in there, I tell you!
If you had to play a price is right game for your family's lives, which would you pick?
Golden Road. Just because I like to live dangerously. I'm putting for your life, Timmy! (CORRECTION: I meant "Hole in One Or Two")
Which current NFL head coach would you most want to get high with? I'm talking geeked out, 11th grade gravity bong ripped. I would go with Lovie Smith but he'd eat the entirety of my fridge's contents. So I'm thinking Belichick.
REX RYAN REX RYAN REX RYAN REX RYAN. Rex Ryan. I think Belichick would be depressing. He'd start talking to you about death and how love is just a chemical imbalance and then your whole high would be ruined. Failing Rex, I'd go with some lifelong assistant like Dick LeBeau, who'd probably get ripped out of his mind and tell you every awesome story you ever wanted to hear. ONE TIME, CHARLES HALEY BROKE INTO OUR FACILITY AND JERKED OFF IN ART ROONEY'S EYE!
When you start a new job what is the proper amount of time to let go by before you start carelessly surfing the internet during down time? I say a week.
I think a week used to be the standard. Now I think it's about half a day. I remember when I first got an office job and I was like GOLLY GEE WHIZ THIS IS SUPER! I'M GONNA TRY REAL HARD! And then you spend a couple years in the working world and you realize how fucking stupid that is. You go from innocent to jaded in about three seconds. Now if someone hired me for an office job I'd be checking Tumblr within ten minutes of sitting down. It's probably why our economy is dying.
When is it acceptable to turn off the air conditioning? I'm not even talking about in your home - I live in the northeast and don't even have a/c at home, but here at work it's off already, before we're even in September! This is surely wrong. I always used the rule of thumb that you had to wait until the temperature outside was lower than the a/c - so 70 here at work (no way are they springing to make us actually comfortable at 68). I also feel like a douche for complaining but if you want me to sit in this faux leather chair all day you could at least spring for air.
It is NEVER acceptable to turn off the air con. Even if it's 60 degrees outside, you can still be in a place that's 75 degrees indoors. And once that happens, the pit sweat comes out and everything goes to shit. My wife turned off the air con TODAY, during this chat. I swear I'm ten minutes away from dying of heat stroke, and it's probably 73 in here. I can't stand it. I am a horrible person.
I took my kid to school for the first time yesterday and the school was jam packed with kids. they lined them up outside the classroom and waited for the bell to ring, and the hallway got unbearably hot. So hot that I started to get pangs of guilt. Like, this was a special day, but in the back of my mind, I just wanted the fucking class to open so I could go outside and stop breathing child fumes. Schools are hotter than death. Never teach in one.
NOTE: Fuck it, let's go till 3:30.
Over the years, how much more or less would you have jerked off if every time you came, it was the amount of liquid of a regular piss? It would feel awesome, but the cleanup with be TERRIBLE.
You'd never jerk off lying down again. It would always be a toilet jerk. If you're me, that doesn't change your life much. For me, jerking off while lying down is an insane luxury. I may as well feed myself caviar while doing it, it's so hard to pull off in a crowded house.
And if you think it would suck for YOU, think about how a woman would feel being stuffed with a goddamn quart of fluid every time you skeeted. She'd never have sex again after feeling all that shit slide out the first time. It would be horrible. They'd have to invent some kind of vaginal sealant.
You and your wife pass away, and you have to decide who is going to raise your child the rest of the way: Colin Cowherd or Skip Bayless?
Bayless. I know enough to know that Cowherd is a pompous ass even when he's off the air, so I'll take my chances with Skippy. By the way, Skip's Wiki page says he's a professional troll, and no one has edited it. That's great. I think Wikipedia should forgo editors altogether now that no one wants to do it. Just let it become the haven of insults and lies it was born to be.
Held Over (2:42PM):
Wife wants to know: if guys get dad strength, what do women get? She says they should get strength for carrying the damn baby.
They do! They get mom strength. Mom strength is no bullshit. Moms can carry a baby, three shopping bags, and a purse all with one arm. And they can discipline two more children with another arm. It's like they become octopi. They can keep children and objects within a manageable radius of their person at all times. It's incredible. It's liek physical strength AND telekenesis. I saw a mom walking to the bus stop yesterday with four kids, and all four kids stayed within smacking distance of her because she had that Mom ESP. Those kids were trapped in her mental forcefield. It was a marvel to behold.
NOTE: Wife to me just now: "You've got a big booger hanging out. Are you gonna do something about it or just flick it? Cause flicking it would be (sarcastic) AWESOME."
NOTE 2: I flicked it. NO TIME FOR TISSUES!
Have you ever tried synthetic marijuana? I won't BS you and suggest it's as good as the real stuff, but I almost prefer it now for the convenience of being able to go into just about any head shop or gas station and ask for 5 grams of the house special. It feels so rewarding, like It's a glimpse into the future where weed is legal everywhere - or it's just like a visit to California I suppose. Not too many places are testing for it, at least not yet.
Wait, what? This is a real thing you can buy at a gas station? Christ, I'm fucking old. I can live in neither the present nor the past!
So I recently noticed that in 4 years it is going to be the same amount of time between how far Marty went back in time in Back to the Future and how long it has been since that movie has been released. I don't see much changing in the next four years. You watch the first movie and he goes back in time and is a badass on a skateboard, mindfucks his dad to asking his mom out wearing a nuke suit, and shreds on guitar like no one ever heard before. All we really got is the internet and better graphics on our video games. If we went back in time I can't think of anything we could do on Marty's level that shows off our future ass kicking skills. Does this annoy you too?
It does, now that you mention it. In fact, kids back in 1985 were probably less sentient than people today, which means they'd be more active and probably fitter and happier. All I'd do if I went back to 1985 would be bitch about no WiFi access and ask where I could find a decent Peruvian chicken joint, only to be met with blank stares. It would be awful until I started gambling and amassing a goddamn fortune like Rob Corddry did in Hot Tub Time Machine.
I was at the urinal at the gym when a little indian guy came up beside me wearing mesh shorts. He proceeds to the next urinal, but instead of pulling it over his shorts, he reaches down, pulls up the leg of the shorts, and pees out the bottom. This was just too weird. I would almost prefer the old days at amusement parks when the weirdos would drop trow all the way to the ankles for no apparent reason. That was less weird than this, no?
Um... Uh... Okay, I'll confess. I've pulled that move at the gym, especially if I'm wearing shorts that are really baggy. I have no clue why I do it. I think it's because I'm in a hurry and, in my mind, it's easier to not take my dick out over my waistband. I also think it might prevent drippage, but I know that's probably untrue.
By the way, I dribble in my gym shorts after peeing all the time, and there's no grace period with some gym shorts when you've dribbled in them. That pee stain shows up right away. So if you're ever at my gym and you see me walking around with a copy of "Entertainment Weekly" over my dick, it's because I kinda peed myself. DON'T JUDGE.
You could: Live until 90 but you're not allowed to drink any alcohol, use any tobacco, eat meat of any kind, smoke pot (or any drugs for that matter) or listen to any musical act associated with David Grohl (Nirvana, Motorhead, Queens of the Stone Age, Probot, Them Crooked Vultures).
Die at age 50 and can do all of those things.
I'd like to say die at 50, because that would be the obvious and manly choice, but that's a lie. I don't want to die 16 years from now. That would be horrible. I'd just have to adjust. That's what life is about, really. Shit happens and you adjust. You have a kid and you adjust. People you love die and you adjust. Life is constantly tossing all this shit at you and you just have to deal with it best you can. So I could live without meat and weed and QOTSA, but I'd find a way to survive. You find new outlets. You discover new shit to get you off. And I can still jack off under your guidelines, so bring it on.
Which sister pair would be the most fun in the bedroom: The Deschanels, the Mowrys, the Olsens, or feel free to suggest your own sister actress pair (kardashians dont count)?
The Middleton sisters are #1. I'd also add the Williams sisters to your list, but you might not have a penis left by the time they were finished with you.
So first date tonight with guy I met online. Do I sleep with him if I like him? Does that seal the deal or ruin any chance I have to date him? What is the etiquette here.
Sleep with him! HAVE A HEART.
Assume your mother and a supermodel switched bodies (we're talking a Freaky Friday type of situation here). Would you bang the supermodel's body with your mom's "soul" inside, or your mom's body with the supermodel inside?
Holy shit, that's the worst question ever. That's even worse than the "two hookers who ages add up to 20" question from a few months ago. There's no right answer, man. There is NO right answer. That's like when your friend sidles up to you and asks you, "Would you rather blow your dad, or eat your mom's pussy?" THERE'S NO WAY OF GAUGING WHICH IS BETTER. At all. They both are awful. The supermodel one sucks because you'd be banging your mom and LIKING it, and the mom one sucks because it looks like your MOM. Goddamn you. Goddamn you to Hell.
James Harrison earned himself $125,000 in fines from the NFL last year. If I ran any sort of company, I would be first in line to offer him a new kind of endorsement deal: every time he gets fined, we pay him the exact amount of the fine times two (or three or whatever). This way, not only is the fine negated, he EARNS money for laying vicious hits on "defenseless" WRs. It would be the greatest value in advertising history: for the only $250K (if you double the fine amount), you would get unparalleled exposure. Plus, it would be the greatest Fuck You to Goodell ever conceived? Could it work?
I'm sure The Ginger Hammer would find a way to put an end to it, probably by having a court find the practice "illegal". Pfft. Whatever. PUSSIES. Though I do have to imagine that places like Lloyd's of London do offer insurance for fines and suspensions. I'd buy it.
Do you think we are lucky to have missed the YouTube and cell phone video era? On one hand I would have a lot more pictures and fun memories of partying back in college. But we also did a ton of stupid shit that could have been posted all over the damn world for our offspring to eventually come across. I'm torn on this one but I have to say lucky.
I guess I have to agree because if I had had web porn back then I would have become a full fledged porn addict, like our Gentle Path correspeondent, with the all-night jerk sessions and the mangled cock and the total lack of self-worth. I have a son and I'm terrified about the idea, frankly. Ever see World Greatest Dad, that movie Bob Goldthwait made about Robin Williams and his porn addict kid who dies choking himself and jacking himself off? I didn't see it either, but the plot description is harrowing enough. Our kids are gonna have virtually unlimited access to the most grotesque shit imaginable and, at a certain point, there's not much you can do about it except pray that you parented them well enough to not WANT that for themselves. It's fucking scary, man. It really is. OOOH SOMEONE SENT NAKED LUCY LINDER PICS!
If you could survive one which would you choose: Lightening strike OR fall off of a 100 ft cliff?
Gotta be lightning, right? Because what if the lightning gave you electric powers, like Electro?
/looks up image of Electro
Never mind. Electro is gay. I'll take the cliff fall.
A while back, I went on the computer of my wife's friend's husband. Anyway, whilst using this computer, I stumble upon fairly convincing evidence that "Max" is hiring prostitutes. He travels a lot for work, and I think he's using escort services wherever he goes.
I'm not thinking I should tell his wife, but maybe I should tell my wife so at least she knows. (Max and Dina have two kids, btw.)
I'm leaning no, but it's kind of tough to keep this one inside.
If he's failing to empty his Autofill history so that any asshole (that would be you) can easily ascertain that he's been calling sizzle Escorts every week, the wife is gonna find out about it at some point anyway. You keep your fat trap shut, or else everyone will misplace their anger and direct it at YOU even though you didn't do anything. Trust me, people never react to that kind of thing the way you expect them to. The guy's wife is never like, "Oh thank you! Thank you for showing me my marriage was a sham! Let me bake you some blondies!" That never happens. Though it SHOULD.
At my job people are issued company badges with a large picture on it. People usually wear them off a belt loop. Occasionally, when I'm using the toilet at work, someone will let their pants hang low enough around their ankles that their badge is glaring at you from under the next stall while you are doing your business. This is particularly jarring if they are having a particularly bad bowel movement, in that now the shroud of poop anonymity is gone. Next time you see them walking down the hall? First thing that comes to mind is their happy picture glaring at you while they were taking a ferocious shit.
Please use your soapbox to encourage people to tuck their badge in their pocket when they take a dump at work.
BAHAHAHAHAHA. That's the greatest thing ever. You could almost devise a match game that lines up faces of your co-workers in one column and poop smell descriptors in the other column. Which co-worker has a poop that smell faintly of buttered popcorn and dried shrimp? It's Bob!
How much money would it take for you to cut off your pinkie finger with kitchen shears? Doctor would be on hand to stich you up
So you get the finger back? Fully operational? Million bucks. I think the market place for any body part removal should always be a million, and ten million for all non-penile permanent removal.
Mike G. (1:40PM)
So let's say you're both immortal and immune to pain: which natural disaster would be the most fun to live through? You could spew up through the top of a volcano and surf the lava like a wave, or ride a comet like a cowboy from space into the Earth's crust, get picked up and tossed by a tornado... basically if you went to a theme park where all the rides were natural disasters, which would you ride first?
Oh, the tornado. No doubt. When I was kid, I was DYING for a tornado to come blitzing through my neighborhood. Because when you're a kid, the idea of one killing you doesn't feel real. And you don't stop to consider the existence of DEBRIS, of flying house parts that will come and rip your goddamn head off. I'd love to ride a twister and then land and sit through a 9.0 Earthquake that feature me jumping across nascent opening in the Earth's crust. That's the best earthquake dream, where you do a little Evel Kneivel across an opening chasm.
Dana J (1:34PM):
Would you rather be stuck with a runny nose your entire life or a sore throat?
How sore? Like BAD sore throat, or morning sore throat? Ever get a sore throat in the morning that goes away after an hour of being awake? Those are fun.
/drinks too much
I'll take the runny nose. My nose runs all winter anyway. May as well make it an annual thing. At least I wouldn't have to buy glue anymore.
Can you tell the folks at home why The Postmortal is different/better than Andrew Niccol's In Time? In Time has Olivia Wilde.
So did Cowboys & Aliens, but you didn't see anyone flocking to that piece of shit now, did you? You bastard.
They're different because, storywise, In Time is about a society that has already found a (bad) solution to the problem, whereas this book is more about the transformation that occurs once the cure has been invented. When I found out about the existence of both that film and the new "Torchwood" show, I wanted to nuke the entire West Coast.
What judge would you rather punch in the face Chris Santos or Scott Conant?
I think, despite my first instincts, I'd choose Santos. I just hate that he's always introduced as a "rock n roll" chef. that's the least rock n roll thing ever. Conant is a penis, but at least he OWNS his penisness. Also, I'd love to mash a red onion into his eyes.
I've had the same Brita pitcher for the past 2-2.5 years. Being a cheap asshole, I still have the same filter that came with it upon purchase. The filter gauge on top of the pitcher has been blinking that it needs to be changed for over two years now. I have two questions; Is this gross? But more importantly, how the fuck is that gauge still blinking?
I, personally, don't think it's gross. But that's the kind of stat that would horrify any wife and cause her to stand up for worldwide male genocide. I don't even blink when the filter leaks those little charcoal bits into my water glass. I drink that shit right up. It tastes okay to me. Lightly smoky.
By the way, ever change the air filter in a house? It's terrifying. I feel like my lungs are full of lint and chiggers whenever I change one.
How do you put on a t-shirt? I roll it up to and put my neck through first while my roommate slides his arms in then his neck. He insists that I am a retard for doing it the way I do.
I double-checked just now because it's one of those things I don't even think about anymore. I do arms first. Right arm first, to be specific. Then the left arm, then the headhole. I tried it your way just now and it took me five minutes to get the shirt on properly. I did not like it.
What is the best age to relish in enjoyment of your favorite team winning a championship? The plausibility of choosing the time your favorite team to win is ridiculous, but the concept of the "best" or "most enjoyable" from a fan perspective has always intrigued me. Is it childhood? You have no responsibility and can hold on to that memory for the rest of your life. Is it teenage/college? You can talk shit to everyone and drink your face off. Is it middle age? You can enjoy the moment with your kids and family. Or is it old age when you can do whatever the fuck you want and people will give you a pass.
I think it's college or your early 20's, because you have the free time AND the drinking stamina for it. Winning a championship at my age would be bullshit, because you'd still have to look after your kids for the next week instead of getting high and streaking across the state, which is what I'd really like to do. I saw the Twins win World titles in 1987 and 1991, and the both of those titles were just before I really became a full-fledged drinker and barnacle on society. I wish I could have moved those titles up by five years each. The Vikings almost made the Super Bowl when I was 23, and to paraphrase Bob Mould, I could have fucked a Coke machine if they had won at that age.
Have you ever met Bill Simmons in person?
No. Craggs met him once. AJ went out drinking with him once. I used to email with him a couple times until the ESPN horndoggery stuff that AJ posted. After that, Simmons never emailed AJ or I again. Here's one email exchange we had, about Tyree's catch in the Super Bowl, a play he always bitched about as "lucky".
ME: For the record, Jeffrey Maier stealing the ball and gifting the Yankees a home run? That's a fluky play. A random wideout summoning the strength he never knew he had to trap a ball against his head and keep it there despite getting jacked? That would be the opposite of fluky.
SIMMONS: What would you call it then? The guy had 4 catches that year and none since. He was a special teamer. It was like DJ Mbenga making a 25 footer while getting knocked into the scorer's table to save Game 7 of the Finals. We deserved to lose and they were better that day. But that catch still kills me. That entire play could be a 1-hour documentary. I always wanted to know why Tyree was 30 yards downfield on 3rd and 5.
ME: Because when Eli is your QB, it's ALWAYS sound policy to go 25 yards beyond the spot where he's trying to throw the ball.
CORRECTION: I have met Simmons twice. We emailed quite often even after ESPN horndoggery. We stopped emailing after the whole Grantland/Craggs fiasco. I don't think he has any use for me anymore at this point. This is A.J., by the way.
My friend just alerted me to the fact that one of this season's hurricanes has the same name as me. Am I a bad person for hoping that this future hurricane does unimaginable destruction just because I don't want all my friends to call me a giant pussy?
It's a fair request. BEWARE! HURRICANE STEWBEEF IS TEARING UP THE EASTERN SEABOARD! I'd like someone to keep track of all the babies named Irene nine months from now.
I wish I was immune to weatherman hype, but I failed to resist during Irene. I sat there in bed on Saturday night and I heard the wind blow and every time the gusts picked up I was like THIS IS IT. WE'RE BEING TAKEN TO OZ. Then I'd get up and take a piss and look out the window and see all the trees shaking, jostled around like big florets of broccoli. And I was just standing there, waiting for all of them to snap and crush the house and pin my kids against their beds, and then I'd have to saw them out and give them CPR and all of this horrible shit. I didn't sleep a wink all night. Then I woke up in the morning and five leaves were on the ground. And if no one had told me this was a hurricane, I would have slept like a baby. Trees rustle like that all the goddamn time. Instead I gave in and nearly had a panic attack. Fucking weathermen.
Why in the Christ has your book been gayly re-christened The End Specialist for the UK audience?
The book was originally titled "The Cure For Death" before my agent asked me to change it, so I changed it to "The End Specialist" (which makes sense if you read the book but sounds like a book about a butt doctor without any context, which is actually fine by me since I find butts funny). That's how it was submitted to publishers. The US publisher didn't like the title and asked me to change it again, so I did. But the UK publisher (not the same publisher) wanted to keep it, so they did. And there you have it. I got paid either way, so they could have named the book FLUNKY AND THE ASSCHUGGERS and I'd have been fine with it.
Would you rather eat a log of your own crap like a snickers bar or drink a cup of spit that got filled by 30 strangers?
The spit cup. You could hold your nose and take down the spit all in one gulp. But the shit log you'd have to CHEW, and chew again, which would make you retch all over the place. Gotta go with the spit.
Today I was eating some gum and on the container it said "go to this website for your chance to win $100,000." I immediately started imagining myself winning the 100 grand and standing up and screaming I JUST WON 100 GRAND FUCK THIS JOB I'M OUTTA HERE! But then I started thinking that $100,000 isn't enough for me to stand up and quit my job in that manner, in fact I would probably keep my job and buy something awesome with the 100 grand I just won. My question for you is what is the bear minimum amount you could win in a sweepstakes that would allow you to stand up and punch your boss in the face? I think mine would be a million dollars.
Mine would be more, because if the Kid Factor. Each kid alone is probably a drain of about a million bucks when you factor in college and all that. It's a completely unreasonable number. So mine would be $10 million. $10 million would be enough for me to burn bridges and rub my balls on Daulerio's forehead. I watch "Chopped" a lot, and I always think it's bullshit that the prize is a measly $10,000. They can give out more than that. People are cutting themselves and spilling fucking boiling water all over themselves on that show. You can't just give them enough money to repay 1/12th of their CIA student loans. They need more. And they should be paid in cheramoya seeds.
You have to eliminate either cake or pie from your life forever: Which do you choose? And where does cheesecake fall?
I'd eliminate pie, because I can still have crisps, brown betties, cobblers, and buckles. So I don't know that I'd need pie much after that. And I could have Indian pudding (THASS RAYCESS!) at Thanksgiving instead of pumpkin pie and still be happy. I know a lot of people like pie more than cake, but I've been brainwashed by eating 45 Safeway cakes at kiddie birthday parties and eaten my fair share of molten chocolate cakes. You know those chocolate cakes that are liquid in the center? That's my Jesus. Cheesecake is a cake, like its name implies.
Hey Dickhead! Why does your book cost $.36 more for the e-edition? I'm not made of money, ya know?
I have no idea. I really don't. Find me at a reading and I'll refund you the difference.
Marvelous Marv (12:42PM):
What is the etiquette in terms of conversation you like to have with a stripper (who you are getting a lap dance from)? I always wonder if I should just hold a normal conversation with them ("So how about that weather these last few days?") while their breasts are in my face, or if I should just ogle them creepily while they do what I'm paying them for, or if I should just tell them how much I love them. I'm sure they've had variations of all of the above, I just often wonder what they prefer?
I have no idea what they prefer. When I used to go to titty bars, I usually did my best to not say anything during the lap dance, which was actually all I could do because I was often rendered speechless by the writhing body in front of me. I get very quiet around any naked woman, because I'm so terrified of saying something retarded and fucking the whole thing up. But you'd be surprised how often strippers will actually initiate the conversation, I think out of boredom, or because they know "establishing a rapport" can help land them extra money and dances. I had stripper hiss in my ear once. Like, literally hissing like a snake. I had no idea how to respond. This was in Waterbury, CT. Don't go to a strip club in Waterbury, CT.
Snoop a Loop (12:23PM):
I just did mini-surgery on my 4 year old kid last night, namely attempt to remove two splinters from the heel of his hand. He screamed like he was in a Saw movie. But I totally felt like I was Richard Kimble, minus the murdering. Isn't home surgery on your kids fun, and don't you feel like a bad-ass, even if you fail to follow normal medical procedure such as sterilizing the needle before you dig into his hand?
Sterilizing the needle is the best part! My kid got splinters this summer and I made sure to torch the needle in front of her, to let her know shit was about to get real. Then I dug in and got the splinter out quickly and she was like, "That wasn't that bad!" And I was like, GODDAMN RIGHT IT WASN'T. I AM DREW MAGARY, MD. I felt Baldwin in Malice. You ask me if I have a God complex? I AM GOD.
You're up on the tee box of a beautiful par 3. You have a choice of a hitting a normal shot or you hit a hole-in-one but as soon as you make contact with the ball you diarrhea all over the inside of your pants. Everyone on the golf course will see or hear what happened, what do you do?
I actually DID shit my pants on a golf course once. I've also hit a hole-in-one (I have no proof, you'll just have to believe me), though those two events did not happen at once. So I feel like I'm somewhat qualified to answer this, and the answer is taking the hole-in-one and diarrheaing all over myself. Hitting a hole-in-one is a blast. I jumped up and down and screamed for at least five minutes. You would have thought I won the goddamn lottery. I told everyone I saw that day. It would be well worth shitting my pants on the course, because shitting my pants on the course was actually kind of fun, too. Who hasn't wanted to desecrated some fucking country club with their own filth? I might do it again just to do it again.
If you had to bang one, would you rather bang the manliest girl or the girliest man?
The former. Secretly, I kinda liked the bodybuilder scene in Skin Deep. A-Rod and I have more in common than I care to admit.
Are we cocksuckers for caring more about Arian Foster's stats than his person, or is he a cocksucker for pulling his hammy?
The latter. It's a hamstring injury. He's not gonna fucking DIE. Players who bitch about fantasy football fail to understand that fantasy football is the reason they get paid fucking BANK. That fucker should kiss your boots!
I sit next to someone who brings carrot sticks for lunch EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. She eats each carrot stick with anywhere from 9 to 15 bites, and chews with her mouth wide open. Justifiable homicide, or am I prissy dick?
Does she dip it in anything? Like hummus or Greek yogurt dip? Because if she doesn't, that's crazy talk. I bet she weighs 70 pounds and has bulimic cheek fur.
I have a problem in that I always bite my lip when I eat. This is because I get so excited for my food that I take way too big of a bite really fucking fast and end up chomping down on my lower lip every time as a result. And when this happens, I chew with my mouth open for the rest of the meal, which disgusts Mrs. Drew to the point where she has to leave the table and accuses me of ruining the meal. But I don't want to eat in fear. I think that's a totally reasonable way to avoid eating your own face. What else am I supposed to do, eat slowly? That's bullshit.
I applied for a job at Toys R Us the other day. They made me do 55 (seriously, 55) multiple choice questions in the middle of it. It was absolutely brutal. I finish the application (it was online) at 3:55 PM, and at 4:15 PM they've already sent me an email saying "fuck you, you don't get the job."
Ever had a worse application process than that?
I don't think so. I remember the first real job interview I had was at a place where I had interned the previous summer, and I thought the job was in the bag (because I was young and stupid). Then the guy started asking me REAL questions, like, "How do you plan on making this company money?" He may as well have asked me if I ever fucked a peach (I have). I spent the whole night cursing him out for daring to ask me ACTUAL questions, instead of talking about sports with me. Come on, Dennis! IT'S ME! THE DREWSTER! WE HAVE HISTORY!
Devil's Threeway with Brad Pitt and superhot girl of choice, or threeway with less hot (but still pretty hot) girl and Roseanne?
Pitt and the hot chick. I'm not gay, but it's not like I'd object to having a naked Brad Pitt in the room. He's perfectly acceptable looking. Plus I'd be able to sell my stroy to Denton for $14.67.
Is it more important to be there for the first few rounds of a fantasy draft or the last few rounds?
You need to be there for the whole fucking thing. If you miss the first part, Yahoo will autodraft someone like Steven Jackson for you in Round 2 without your permission. And if you just let it autodraft after round 10, you'll end up with four kickers and two guys with season ending knee injuries.
Walking into the bathroom at work, I get creeped out when I see shoes pointing towards the toilet in one of the stalls. I start to do my work at the urinal when I notice that there is no noise coming from the stall at all. And the feet aren't moving. At this point, I begin to narrow it down to one of two things; either this guy has a serious prostate problem or I walked in on him rubbing one out at work. Which do you think is the more likely scenario?
What if he died? What if there's a cadaver on that shitter and you didn't even know it? Every time I walk into the shitter at Barnes & Noble, I always think I'm going to stumble upon the corpse of a homeless person who OD'ed on heroin and Drano. I keep thinking about how quickly I'd turn around and find someone to report it to, and if I'd sound WAY too excited about my discovery, like I was Vern in Stand By Me. OH MY GOD YOU GUYS WANNA SEE A DEAD HOBO? I FOUND A DEAD HOBO! I GOT DIBS ON HIS WALLET!
Also, why would foot movement be an indicator of someone having a BM? I don't move me feet when shitting. Am I supposed to be rehearsing dance steps?
UPDATE: Ah, his feet are pointing AT the toilet. Oh, he be jerkin.
Will there ever be anything as great as the OJ chase on TV again? How cool was that? Was I the only jerk secretly hoping that would end with a celebrity shootout on live TV?
Of course you weren't the only one. The second Al Cowlings said OJ had a gun to his head, I was already daydreaming of OJ running out of the car and blowing his brains out onto the pavement. When Jarvaris Crittenton went on the lam this weekend, I thought maybe we'd get TV footage of him being hunted down by the authorities. I was also secretly dismayed (and this makes me a horrible person) that it wasn't a bigger NBA star accused of murder. I mean, we only get a sports-related murder every so often. And it always seems to be a marginal player like Crittenton or Rae Carruth. I'd like someone with a little bit higher Q rating, especially with the NBA locked out until 2018. A good high profile murder involving someone like Kobe Bryant would really help pass the time.
You have two options. Option 1: You're given a cure for aging that keeps you looking and feeling 34 years old. But when you get to age 90, BOOM! You get a bullet to the head. Option 2: You live out your life as normal. Which do you take?
I'll take Option 2, as much as it would SUCK. I already have serious back problems and I haven't even gotten to old age yet, so my existence as a senior citizen will be long and agonizing. But I don't think I could spend the next 54 years knowing someone was going to put two in my fucking dome at the end of it all, and on a specific dayl. I'd have nightmares. I'd spend all day thinking about what it would be like to get shot. Because I really do think that, in the microsecond between the bullet hitting you and you dying, it REALLY hurts. Like, a lot. And I'd prefer to not experience that.
Plus, if I live long enough, maybe computers will find a way to solve my back pain and invent a type of heroin that has no side effects and then I'd feel like a zillion bucks. Imagine taking that bullet deal now, only to find out once you're 90 that you didn't need to take it. You'd be LIVID. I couldn't deal with that. It would be like leaving the grocery store and realizing they charged me for two items, only it's too late to go back and get a refund. I'd be so, so mad.