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I have a friend who recently joined Twitter. He's an attorney in his early 30s and also a big fan the Nebraska football team. He has begun using Twitter as a vehicle to send messages to his favorite Nebraska football players. All are complimentary....some are clever....has had a few "haha" replies and a few retweets from the guys who the tweets are directed toward.

But a few guys in our group of friends have called him out about sending fanboy tweets at college football players. He says he's just joking around and sees no problem with it. I went as far as calling it creepy. Is there anything weird about a 30-something man sending complimentary tweets to 21-year-old football players?


Twitter is a public platform, so you should always expect to get shit if you're posting something for all the world to see. If your friend is sending out breathless tweets to Taylor Martinez saying, "Great game today! You're shaping up into a fine young man, Taylor!" I see no reason why you can't goof on him for it.

That said, everyone has friends and relatives who aren't good at Facebook or Twitter (like me, if you ask my family and friends). Everyone has a friend or two who posts utterly vacuous status updates that make them look like horrible, shallow people. And you just want to shake the shit out of them and be like GOD DAMMIT, YOU RED CUNT! STOP TWEETING PICTURES OF THE DINNER YOU HAD IN MOROCCO. But I never call friends out on that, because there's no point. It would hurt their feelings and, more important, it wouldn't prevent them from sucking at Twitter or Facebook. I have a really good friend who STILL sends out Chuck Norris jokes on Facebook. But that's okay. I'd be a real dipshit if I expected the whole goddamn world to be up-to-speed on memes.


Few things are more frustrating than trying to spoon ice cream from the tub into the bowl. All that anticipation and excitement, frustrated by slowwwwness and ice cream on the knuckles. And since I have no patience, my usual solution is to force the spoon, which inevitably ends up bending it. Contrast that with using a strong metal scoop (not the kind with the thumb button, but the solid piece with slightly sharpened edges). Watching that plow through the ice cream and create perfect spheres of goodness is fantastic.


I have my freezer turned up too high, so I often find that even my ice cream scoop is repelled by the solid brick of Dulce de Leche wedged in the carton. Annoying. Scooping ice cream is hard, grueling labor, which is why my wife always demands that I scoop the ice cream and not her. I try microwaving it, and then the sides melt but the inside stays hard a goddamn rock. Then I see a chunk of Heath bar I really want to dig out and keep for myself and extracting it is like trying to remove a bullet from a cadaver.

You know when ice cream scoopability is at its peak? When you bring it back from the store. It's been sitting in the car for just the right amount of time, so you can pop off the lid and dig right in with the spoon. It tastes UNREAL. God, it's so good I just want to smear it all over my orifices. I often dig around in the pint for all the candy bits, eat them, and leave the rest of the plain ice cream for everyone else because I'm an awful human being.

By the way, I always regret buying ice cream by the gallon. I know it's a better value, but by the time I've had it two nights in a row, I desperately want a new flavor. It's like watching the same porn over and over again. TIME TO FRESHEN THINGS UP. So I just leave that shit until it has enough freezer burn on it to look like some giant frost caterpillar.



Do you think Kim Kardashian even let Kris Humphries bang her?

Not a chance.

Danger Guerrero:

Why do teams insist on calling a timeout when the play clock is running down? It's five yards. Who cares? I can see doing it if it was 3rd and 1 or something, but there are plays in the playbook designed specifically for situations where a team picked up some other penalty and now has a 1st and 15 or a 2nd & 11. Wouldn't you rather just deal with the penalty and save your timeouts in case you actually need them later to stop the game clock or discuss strategy? Especially with the new rules that have opened up the passing game and handcuffed defenses, it just seems like a far better use of a limited resource.


I think there are plenty of teams that also think it's a waste to call a timeout to avoid a delay of game penalty. But then you have Tony Romo doing it every five seconds and it seems like an epidemic. I don't think you should ever call a timeout to avoid a delay of game penalty, and I REALLY hate it when a team calls a timeout because the QB or coach "saw something he didn't like." Oh really? The defense threw you for a loop there? Then call an audible, asshole.


We've got two kids, but I apparently didn't get much in the way of Dad Strength. What I DID get, though, is a pretty healthy dose of Dad Speed. I'm almost certainly one of the five least athletic human beings on the planet, but since having kids, my hand-eye coordination is through the roof. I can suddenly catch sippy cups in mid-air, random blocks that are chucked at my head... last night I actually caught a glass salad dressing bottle as it fell out of the fridge. Is there, like, a Dad Justice League where we each get different abilities to use in our constant war on crime/child-raising?


Dad Speed is a shitload of fun. I probably can't break 6.5 in the 40. But if my kid is running full speed down a road and I'm thirty feet away, my closing speed is BLINDING. I am Usain Bolt with belly hair. I can turn on the motor and overtake that kid effortlessly. It's a great feeling, knowing your kids are so weak and slow that you can absolutely house them in a race. I let my kids beat me in races all the time. But once in a while, I decide to quit fucking around and I PLAY FOR KEEPS, and I smoke the little bastards. It lets them know that I'm still firmly in control of everything, even as they refuse to go to bed or take their underpants off their head.

I was downstairs with my son the other day and he was jumping on the couch and I let him because I'm a shitty parent. Anyway, I'm standing there thinking about football when I notice him out of the corner of my eye, beginning to fall off the couch. I sprang into action and caught him just before he landed. I felt like a GOD. I'm totally reminding him about when he's an ungrateful teenager. I SAVED YOU FROM A CONTUSION, YOU LITTLE SHIT.


How justifiably pissed can I be at a colleague who casually griped that he is on a "dry spell" because both his wife and his girlfriend are on their periods this week?


That's repugnant. Who openly humblebrags about having a mistress at work? You can only get away with that if you're Italian. Otherwise, slimy as shit.

By the way, have you ever been mild acquaintances with someone, only to find out from secondhand sources that they're fucked up? I'll give you this example. I used to work in an office, and from time to time a friend of my boss would come in to have lunch with him and shoot the shit, and I talked to him a few times. He seemed like a perfectly decent fellow. Anyway, one day after he leaves, my boss lets out a long sigh.

BOSS: Man, that guy is fucked.

ME: What's up?

BOSS: Eh, his wife's leaving him. Had to file a restraining order against him and everything.


ME: She did?

BOSS: Yeah. He's not right in the head. Slept around on her. Threatened her.

ME: (totally scandalized) JESUS CHRIST! AND YOU LET HIM IN HERE?

I'm a very sheltered white person. This shattered my innocence.


This was being driven in Scottsdale, AZ by a large black man and the headrests were embroidered with 49ers logos. Is it racist of me to thing he is possibly a former player? Probably. I assume the license plate works on women in this town...


But if you ARE easy, how do you let him know?


These past few weeks I've noticed a Christian priest on the sidelines of the Giants games, standing with the team, wearing a Giants hat. Who is this man? A Google search of "priest sidelines giants" and "giants team priest" return nothing. If he is the team priest, what are the chances that he is also an official exorcist?


I assume it's the team chaplain. A simple Google search turns up the name George McGovern, though the Giants team website doesn't list an official chaplain, or any other religious type of front office position. A lot of teams have chaplains, including the Packers (James Baraniak). I grew up contemptuous of all religious authority, but I always secretly wanted a team chaplain to bless the team before games, so that we had Jesusbolts to hurl at the opposition. I also would have loved to ask the chaplain if he had any good ideas to help score chicks. I was legitimately desperate enough to ask. I remember praying to God occasionally about it, even though I truly didn't believe in Him. I wish I had an audiotape of my prayers. You'd think I was the most pathetic human being to ever walk the face of the Earth. Imagine being God, sitting up there having to listen to some retarded 14-year-old white kid begging Him to get laid. At least I was honest about it.


Here's the deal: You're favourite team, college or pro, is guaranteed to win a game, but your kid has to stub his toe on Friday. No long term injury is sustained, but it is just the worst shock, mind blinding toe stubbing that hurts like fuck all. Your kid will never know you gave the green light for his agony. You also can't use the power to wager on the games in any fashion. This is just about your team winning a game versus your kid's temporary agony. Do you:

A) Never use it?

B) Use it sparingly in big game situations?

C) Have one Dream Season?

D) Everlasting Dynasty?

Everlasting dynasty. It's not even close. So the kid stubs his toe and goes crying for his mammy. Big deal. That happens fifty times a day in my house. The kid bashes his head into something, screams as if he's just witnessed a family member being murdered in front of him, runs for his mom, hugs her, and is back to normal within five seconds. I'd use it every week. In fact, I'd curse myself out if I ever FORGOT to use it. I'd be a pretty shitty fan if I didn't sacrifice my own child's comfort for the sake of my football team's success. Also, it might teach the kid a thing or two about resiliency. WALK IT OFF, DREW JR. DREWNIOR.




I just got back from a vacation that required a rental car. We rented from a company that allows you to "pick any car in the lot". This was quite a thrill for me. I must have spent 10 minutes inspecting all of the subcompact cars and finally settled on an ocean blue Toyota Yaris with 30 miles on the odometer. Still had the new car smell! The newer the rental call, the less likelihood of any bodily fluids on the seats!

How do you go about choosing a rental car?

I usually opt for the cheapest rental car, and so my options are almost always limited to a Chevy Aveo or a soapbox racer made out of discarded ham scraps. It's such a con. You get to "pick your car," but you don't get to pick any of the awesome cars. In fact, they parade you by all of the kickass cars on purpose before showing you the motorized equivalent of the GOP Presidential field. Here's an Escalade, and a convertible, and a retrofitted drag racer... and now here are YOUR cars. One car I rented last year had manual windows. I felt like I had time traveled to 1982. Manual windows are awful.



So I was at LAX last week and had about a four-hour wait before my flight home. I had been sitting in the departure area for about an hour, reading a book. There was a guy next to me who also seemed to be waiting, but instead of reading, he was drawing a sketch of the departure lounge in his sketchbook. After a while, he turns to me and asks, "Are you going to be here for a little while?" "Yes." "Great. I'm going to go get a cup of coffee. Can you keep an eye on my things?" I told him I'd be there, and that I was sorry but I couldn't take responsibility for his things. He was very offended, packed up all of his shit, and walked off in a huff.

Did I violate airport departure lounge protocol here? What if this guy doesn't come back and I have to go piss? How long am I supposed to wait? Or what if he was a very artistic terrorist, who has managed to slip some sort of miniaturized bomb into the back pocket of his Moleskine? I'm not taking responsibility for that. Right?


You should have watched his crap for him. He was going to go get a cup of coffee, man. He gave you a very specific idea of what he was going to be doing while he was away and how long it would take. He wasn't like, "Hey, can you watch my shit while I go see a movie?" It was a quick errand. Besides, I always enjoy being someone who looks trustworthy enough to watch over a stranger's crap. Look at me! I'm an upstanding white person who you can count on to guard your acrylics!

There are a few more reasons to help the guy out. First off, you can cash in that chit and have him watch YOUR crap when you need to go get a burrito. Also, while he's away, you can sit there and daydream about someone trying to steal the poor guy's sketchpad and then foiling his best laid plans. Thought these colored pencils weren't being guarded, did you? SURPRISE, BITCH. That'll teach you to fuck with a man's drawing charcoal.

So yeah, if someone at the airport asks you to guard their crap for two minutes, do it. It can be your act of random charity for a whole calendar year.



Do you ever practice the multiple lane change on the highway? I do it as much as I can because it makes me feel like a badass; the cutting across two or three lanes makes me feel like I'm in one of the Fast and the Furious movies.

Why, you reckless scoundrel! Any time I see another car swerve across multiple lanes on a highway, I always gasp in terror. MY GOD! THAT MAN IS A MENACE!


I try and avoid multiple lane changes when I can. But sometimes, you find yourself forced to because you merged onto the right side of a highway and need to get to an exit that all the way over on the left, and coming up fast. That's always a nerve-racking moment. I constantly expect an oil tanker that I didn't account for to come barreling into me when I have to pull that off. HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS, EVERYONE.

I have too many instances in my history where I've started to make a lane change, only to quickly realize there's another car in my blind spot, who honks at me as I slink back to my original lane. God, I feel like such a prick whenever I do that. There's no going back after that. The dude in the other car KNOWS you're a shitty driver, and there's no convincing him otherwise. I feel like such a failure.


So I was watching that show House Hunters and this couple were buying a home in Montana. My roommate and I came up with this question. Let's say you were to win the lottery and never have to worry about money or working again. Only under the condition that you can never leave the state of Montana. Would you take it? So far nobody has said yes.


I'd be tempted. I mean, Montana is pretty. It has mountains and streams and Brad Pitt going fly fishing and everything. Plus, Montana is safe from tsunamis and all kind of other horrible shit. Seems like a safe, bucolic place to live out the rest of your existence. There's a reason Sam Neill's character in Red October had such a hard-on for it.

But my wife would refuse. She'd be like, "I don't know anyone in Montana," and I'd be like, "Bitch, we can BUY friends," and she'd be like, "Who you calling bitch?" And I'd be like, "I'm so sorry baby. BUT COME ON. WE'RE TALKIN' BIG SKY COUNTRY." So ultimately, I'd be forced to turn it down. So annoying.


My college added a new lunch meat sandwich bar to the cafeteria this year. Now, this isn't just your normal crummy cafeteria lunch meat we're talking about, they have what amounts to an infinite supply of Boar's Head meats and cheeses. The sandwiches are entirely make-your-own, with a variety of breads to choose from, from white and wheat to croissants and bagels. I normally want to just go and pig out and make an amazing $20 sandwich or something but I always feel like their should be some etiquette against that. So is there anything stopping me from slapping a pound and a half of roast beef, a half pound of bacon, and 3 slices of pepper jack cheese on croissant and throwing it in a panini maker besides my impending death?


What college is this? You get your tuition's worth at THAT school. My college's cold cuts were nowhere close to being acceptable. The turkey was slimy as shit, like someone had bathed it in pond algae. Although you could get eggs cooked to order any time before 11, so that was nice.

But I digress. Sir, you will never again have consistent access to a "free" sandwich buffet of that kind. Soon, you'll have to plunk down your OWN money for a vacuum-pack of Dietz & Watson Soppressata that costs $5 and gives you four slices. Total bullshit. Eat with impunity.


Just experienced the rare case when my phone begins vibrating, indicating an incoming call, but it lags for a few seconds before displaying the caller ID. The excitement is closely related to receiving a call from a number you don't recognize. Inevitably, I postulate that the number must be either some super hot girl who went out of her way to find my number or a secret inteligence agency that chose ME to fulfill a confidential government operation. The excitement triples during job interview season. "Everybody shut up! This is it!"


I always assume it's some big-shot Hollywood producer, willing to pay me $30 million for the rights to some penis joke I made online. "Drew Margarty? Please hold for Mr. Spielberg." OH SHIT.


Who do you think is the last President of the United States to actually kill a person with his own hands - and not just order some random individual in a country ordered to be bombed? Who am I kidding? It was totally Nixon.


Well, Bush 41 was a fighter pilot in World War II and flew numerous bombing missions, but that wouldn't seem to fall under your "with his own hands" conditions (FUN FACT: Bush's nickname during the war was "Skin," which means we were once ruled by a man named Skin Bush, which is the greatest thing ever. I wish he'd run as Skin Bush so I could vote him into office for a second term). I assume you're talking about a President who has personally shot, stabbed, beaten or choked someone to death. Eisenhower led a tank corps once. Does blowing the shit out of someone with a tank gun count? It should.

I've long hoped and prayed that a President would be embroiled in a legitimate murder scandal, like the killing of a staff member or a mistress. It WILL happen in my lifetime, I promise you. OJ happened 17 fucking years ago. This nation is long overdue for a kickass murder.

Time for your Email of the Week:


I got to take my first trip on one of the MilAir planes a few weeks back, basically Air Force 1, Air Force 2, etc., that cabinet secretaries and POTUS/VPOTUS fly on. I could go on and on how awesome it is — no security, customs, you drive up to the plane and get on board and take off in five minutes flat, and first-class seats for everyone. It was special.

But the real winner was the bathroom. It felt as spacious as the one on the Acela (PK has a wide stance) and had some real bathroom products: Listerine, real toothpaste, lotion, a nice potpurri thing. So I go to piss and I look at the wall and there's a little knob and so being a curious asshole I pull it up, and loandfuckingbehold there were three windows looking out over the clouds/ocean/crop circles depending where you were. My thought process following the discovery was such: 1) Awesome, 2) I really wish I had to take a shit and could enjoy this, 3) Hmm, i wonder if I'd get in trouble with Secret Service if I lost track of time daydreaming and looking out at the fluffy clouds.

The whole process made flying coach last week to Vegas not at all satisfying. It's tragic flying coach after such an awesome flying experience. Fuck commercial airliners.


Indeed. One more, just for fun.

Mooseknuckles 12:

Okay, so this happened to me last week. One of my job responsibilities for my company is to attend unemployment hearings. I went to a hearing and got there about a half an hour early. The only reasonable thing I could think of to past the time was to pound the pud. So I started to browse Twitter to look at some sexy pictures.

After 10 minutes of searching I found the picture I wanted to use, and pulled down my pants to start sexy time. Not even 15 seconds later a car pulls up and parks right next to me. I look up with my hand on my dick and lock eyes with an attractive female. The only solution I had was to start my car and drive, drive far away with my junk still in my hand.

So I start driving and realize that I still have to go to this hearing, so I turn around a little while later hopping this attractive female was going to a different office then I was. I park
and then walk up to the unemployment office. I breath a sigh of relief. A little while later my name gets called and I walk back to the referee's office. Once I sit down and look up the referee presiding over the case IS THE GIRL THAT CAUGHT ME POUNDING MY PUD. My face turns bright red and I sit down and she is just staring at me with a face of disgust. All I get is a blank stare and a look of disgust. I ended up losing the hearing.


You jerked it in a parked car? ANIMAL.