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I spent spring break at my sister's house last week and one night when I was there I was on the couch, watching the tourney and picking at my feet. I tore off this flap of skin that had really bugged me all day, and when I tore it off, BLOOD EVERYWHERE. My big toe was hemorrhaging plasma. I ran on my heels to get a paper towel to soak it all up, and then my sister came downstairs and looked at me tending to my toe, which now appeared to have been amputated, and she's like MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FOOT?!

I'll have you know there's no good answer to this question. I started bleeding like a grenade victim all because I was picking at my feet in a home that was not my own, which makes me a fucking awful person. I said to her, "Oh, I just started playing with my feet and it got to bleeding," which sounded fucking retarded. I could actually SEE how dumb I sounded. I'm shocked my sister didn't boot me from the house immediately. I would have. So don't go picking your feet in a stranger's home.


Now, your letters:


I am sure we have all played the children's game in which two participants throw a ball back and forth with the intent of ensuring the third participant, located between the other two players, does not intercept the pass. I grew up in Canada; Ontario more specifically, and we called this game "monkey in the middle". But speaking with friends in all 10 provinces I have been able to uncover that British Colombia and Alberta call this game "piggy in the middle" and from Saskatchewan eastwards it is called "monkey in the middle". Casting aside that "piggy in the middle" makes no fucking sense as a pig would have absolutely no chance on intercepting the ball, I am curious to test my findings with a larger audience. Does this geographical divide continue through to the US?


I have never heard anyone here call it "Piggy in the Middle," although that would add to the stigma of being the poor asshole stuck in the middle trying to catch the ball. That game has ruined more children's self-confidence than every game of dodgeball ever played. It's the diametric opposite of Smear the Queer, an '80s-era game in which a fat kid could at least have a few moments of pleasure taking part in a homophobic mob. Because when you're a fat kid playing Monkey in the Middle, you are ALWAYS the monkey in the middle. In perpetuity. I don't think I ever got out of the middle once. It was horrible. Even when I caught the ball, the other kids would be like, "Yeah you caught the ball. But you're still the monkey, you fat fuck. HAHAHA!" Hate that game.

I played Monkey in the Middle over spring break with my kid and my nephew and, for their sake, I stayed in the middle most of the time. I pretended to be all mad that they wouldn't give me the ball. And oh, how they laughed. How they delighted in the idea of torturing me so. THE LITTLE BASTARDS. If they only knew that I could bring the fucking thunder down on them at any moment! Once in a while, I stopped pretending and caught the fuck out of that ball. DAD ISN'T PLAYING GAMES ANYMORE, PEOPLE.


So I live in a pretty rural area. This morning on my way to work I saw a lady jogging all alone out along an orange grove, and I thought to myself "I could totally kill this person and get away with it." Now, obviously I never would, because I am a good person. But I could. This led me to wonder. How many active serial killers do you suppose there are in these United States? Not like the movie kind where they leave their "calling card", or fit some textbook profile. Just people who take advantage of opportunities like these, a jogger here, a truck stop hooker there. I bet there are at least 15 or 20, wouldn't you think?


According to this article, the estimate is actually higher, between 35 and 50, possibly more. THE BROWN RIVER KILLER STRIKES AGAIN! There are over 6,000 unsolved murders in the United States every year, and over 180,000 unsolved murders in the country since 1980. Who's to say they aren't the handiwork of, like, four guys? And who's to say one of those guys isn't Jay Bilas?

So yes, there could potentially be a serial killer hanging out in your neighborhood. I always worry that someone I meet who seems outwardly pleasant actually has a kidnapped 17-year-old strapped to a surgical table in his basement. If you wear glasses, my suspicion of you increases by 60 percent or more. Add thinning hair and a short-sleeved button-down and now I'm pretty much ready to alert local authorities.

That said, I'm always amazed at how LITTLE killing occurs in modern-day America. Like Josh, I have the occasional rogue thought. I'll see some guy on an escalator and think to myself, "What if I pushed that guy down the escalator and he ends up smashing his jaw on the razor-sharp edges and dies? That would be really fucked up." I would NEVER do this in a million years, of course. But I always wonder about the mechanism in my brain that holds me, and millions of other people, back. Sometimes it feels as if there's a very thin barrier separating civility from barbarism. And I don't know what causes that barrier to rupture, or what little miracle allows it to exist in the first place.


There's a book out that says one in 25 Americans are sociopaths: people with no conscience. No remorse. People who do things strictly for their own pleasure and are incapable of caring about other people. People who could, conceivably, run into an orange grove and murder a jogger without giving it much thought. Obviously, this is a terrifying idea. I may bitch about other people all the time. But in general, people are relatively decent. We all tend to follow the rules and avoid killing each other. The idea that there are people out there who happily subvert this kind of shared trust between all of us scares the shit out of me. Read Helter Skelter and you'll essentially become a different person. An unhappy one.

The only solace I take is that we live in a society where, in general, it's NEVER in your self-interest to murder someone. That wasn't always the case. Back in the Old West, killin' folk got you lots of free cattle and made you look real badass. Being a murderer, shockingly, hasn't always carried a social stigma. But now, committing murder is so wildly detrimental to your pursuit of happiness that even a sociopath—someone with no conscience—sees the lack of upside in committing it. There's jail. There's the legal fee. There's cutting up the body and disposing of it. There's your mother-in-law bitching you out for killing her daughter. It's a real pain in the ass. It's not worth the hassle.



What would somebody have to accomplish in order to get their own national holiday? Perhaps cure cancer? Or maybe save the world from an asteroid like Bruce Willis in Armageddon?

I think Obama will eventually get his. I know there are people who hate him, but decades from now, after he's passed away, I have to think that he'll get a memorial and a maybe a holiday to go with it (except in Arizona, where the amendment for Obama Day will be soundly defeated). I can't imagine a more obvious future candidate.


But if Obama doesn't make it then I doubt anyone will, because, as it stands now, the holiday calendar is pretty much full. Martin Luther King slipped in under the wire. The people at BIG WORK don't take too kindly to having another day of productivity wiped away from the American calendar. You could become the first black president AND cure cancer AND make first contact with aliens AND release the first Kate Middleton/Kate Beckinsale sex tape, and corporate interests would still lobby against the addition of a new federal holiday. "Why, we can't sacrifice yet another Monday to our employees here are GlaxoSmithKlineBeechumKool!"

And you know what? As a parent, I'm fine with that. I don't need these kids to have yet another goddamn day off from school. They get days off for everything: holidays, elections, teacher conferences (where the teachers all get shitfaced and play Boggle on school grounds!). Sometimes my kid will get a random Tuesday off in the middle of April and I'm like, "Why are you home? This is lunacy." Enough with the days off and the ENDLESS excuses to eat a bucket full of fucking candy. I want FEWER holidays. I want Labor Day stricken from the record. How much goddamn summer do these kids need?


With all the help needed for blood donations these days, the Red Cross has not yet taken advantage of an untapped resource. That's right, I'm suggesting we have a Period Blood Drive. I feel like this would be a pretty simple process for the ladies. Swing by your local donation center, wring out your tampon or pad into a Tupperware container, send it through a filter (to filter out all that weird non-blood stuff in there), and it's good to go.


I KNOW! SO SIMPLE! All you need is a KitchenAid standalone Afterbirth Processor and you're larfin'! BLOOD FOR ALL.

Obviously, any number of women will happily refute Bob's idea down below in the bowels of Kinja. You can't "wring" out a maxipad. The pad is designed to hold the blood in. And one of the unfortunate characteristics of blood is that it dries quickly (unfortunate from an aesthetic standpoint only, of course), which means you only get a few moments to marvel at how red that shit is before it turns to rusty cottage cheese. I'd like to spend a lot more quality time with my blood before this happens, but nature doesn't allow it. I bet that's one of the real letdowns of being a serial killer.

Besides, the blood would have to be sterile, and blood that has been sitting inside a tampon for eight hours doesn't exactly qualify. To collect period blood for donation (and who even knows if it's suitable blood for transfusions anyway), you would have install some kind of vaginal tap and collect the blood, like the woman is a goddamn maple tree. They would be not amenable to this. Except for your sister. I hear she's down with it.



Have you noticed Lebron's neck stubble? Is it possible that he could grow a 360-degree beard?

So a turtleneck made of hair, essentially? That would be terrifying. All the goodwill he's built up over the past few months would be erased if he were to show up rocking a hair collar. I bet it could be done, though.



I had a very disturbing experience this morning. I went into the office bathroom, which is shared between other companies on the same floor. The bathroom smelled like really really good breakfast tacos. Aither A) Some guy brought in breakfast tacos for his office and stopped by the bathroom beforehand. Or B) There were never tacos in the bathroom to begin with, and my sense of smell is changing and I actually think poop smells like breakfast tacos...

Great. Now I want breakfast tacos. Every breakfast item is improved a thousand times over the second it's tucked inside a warm tortilla.


Anyway, poop comes in variety of different shapes, colors, textures, and smells. There's really no rhyme or reason as to how it's gonna come out of you. There are, in my experience, three distinct "food odors" that happen with poop:

1. Eggs

2. Chicken soup

3. Chinese food

None of these odors will arise as a result of you eating one of the above items. Eating eggs will not make your shit smell like eggs. You'll eat 50 pounds of spare ribs and for some reason your shit will end up smelling like lo mein. I have no idea why. The chemistry is beyond me. And when the smell first hits, my reaction is always the same. First I think: "Hey, that smells kind of good." And then the sensible portion of my brain says: "POOP! IT'S FUCKING POOP YOU IDIOT! EWWWW GROSS!" But right before that common sense kicks in, I do wonder: Does it TASTE like that? It can't, right? There's never been instance in human history in which someone defecated something delicious. I refuse to believe that's ever happened.


So, given that eggs are on the odor list, I think it's more than likely that the breakfast tacos you smelled were a terrifying mirage. It's better that way, frankly. Can you imagine a worse food item to eat while shitting than a taco? I mean, that takes boldness.


Eddie B.:

I tried to have a sneaky fap session in the shower the other day using only my imagination (ambitious, I know) but had to give up after 15 minutes of slapping my flaccid dong. I couldn't muster up any visuals. My spank bank has run dry! I'm 38, married, 3 kids and I can't jack it without Internet porn. Pathetic or pretty common these days?


I think anti-porn advocates cite examples like this to rail against porn's existence. They will tell you that porn not only is immoral, but that it will drain you of your EROTIC IMAGINATION. And I think there's some truth to that. If you rely on porn almost exclusively to fuel your libido, you're probably not exercising your spank bank enough to keep it in fighting shape. You may even end up having trouble having REAL sex with people, which is alarming. At the end of Carnal Knowledge, Jack Nicholson can't get off unless a hooker is blowing him. He can't have sex with normal people or else he'll go limp (Note: I assume the real Jack Nicholson is also this way). I think that's a danger for ALL men. Guys like to treat porn as a kind of harmless hobby without acknowledging the real havoc it can wreak on your psyche. I have two sons and I have deep, terrible fears about what watching shitloads of Internet porn by age 12 will do to them. Because they'll see it. All the firewalls on Earth won't stop a horny young boy.

So heed the warnings of the Gentle Path guy. Get out more. Meet new people. Watch strangers walk around in tight outfits. TAKE A TRIP TO RIO. It's good for you, medically speaking. If you don't act now, your mind will atrophy to the point where you won't even know what a penis is for.



So this is in the alley that I cut through on my way to work. It's a well hidden alley that people rarely use, and there are no visible security cameras in the area. I have no idea what this switch controls, which only strengthens my urge to throw it and then run as fast as possible. I mean, honestly, these things exist outside of movies?




Is there anything worse than the packaging that light bulbs come in? When you pick up a 4-pack and walk around the store, those bulbs will always try to slip out and create an embarrassing situation. Once you get them home, though, the packaging turns into something like those Chinese fingercuffs. You can't pry them out of that paper sleeve without the fear of crushing the bulb and tearing your hand to ribbons. Half the time, once I get one out, I've busted the filament during the struggle and the bulb is no good. Big Bulb probably keeps it that way to increase profits.


It gets worse. As part of a shadowy bit of collusion between BIG BULB and BIG GUBMINT, regular lightbulbs are quietly disappearing from store shelves. They're being phased out in favor of compact fluorescent bulbs, which are better for the environment but possess NO OTHER REDEEMING QUALITIES. They're fucking awful. The national suicide rate will jump by 900 percent in the next three years and horrible lighting is the reason why. I had to find normal-ass light bulbs online because the store got rid of all of them. And while normal light bulbs have many terrible attributes—they're fragile, they scare the shit out of me when I turn on a light and one of them pops and suddenly burns out, they get stuck in the socket, and everyone has burned his hand on a light bulb at least 10 times in his life—at least they give your room a warm, pleasant kind of light. Everything else is fucking prison lighting. THESE LIBERAL TREEHUMPERS ARE KILLING THE NATIONAL MOOD.


Would you shoot heroin if it was in a controlled environment and administered by a doctor? Let's assume that your wife and kids are out of the house and you're with a couple of your closest friends and a doctor you trust. You know the drugs and needle are clean and at a dosage that won't kill you. It's also stipulated that it's just a one time thing, nothing leftover for a second hit.


Yeah, but you can still become addicted. If there were a guarantee of NO addiction, I'd give it some thought. Otherwise, I'm sticking with every other guy's plan of trying it when I'm 80, just like Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine. I think we ALL have our little daydream about retiring to a quiet little piece of the countryside and getting hooked on smack jussssst before kicking off. But deep in my heart, I know I won't have the balls to do it. I'll be 80 years old with the needle in my hands and I'll chicken out at the last second. What if I shoot up and then I fall on my bad hip? Best to catch up on this NuRay boxed set of Women, starring an aged Lena Dunham!


Let’s say your somehow transported to the 1920’s or 30’s, being armed with all the football knowledge you have, how confident are you that you could successfully coach an NFL team? I consider myself a pretty knowledgeable football fan, and think I could fairly easily teach them schemes ran now, and zone blitz myself all the way to the playoffs. Wouldn’t it take years for other teams to stop your zone option read, or your four wide receiver hurry up offense?


Not necessarily. Remember, back in the 1920s and 1930s, defenders could tackle you via chokehold. Facemasks were nonexistent. Field conditions were a wreck. There's no guarantee that you'd be able to beat the Fort Wayne Hopscotchers or whoever with a fancy new scheme because the rules of football back then probably didn't favor its use. In today's NFL, where tackling someone always means you risk a 15-yard penalty, pulling off all kinds of zany offenses (with players who happen to be the finest athletes mankind has ever developed) is, frankly, easier. It's not so easy when Ol' Buck McKnockers is biting your QB's fingers off.

Plus, there's a force of personality you need to become a successful coach. You can have the most brilliant scheme in the world, but players won't give a shit if you arrive from the future wearing skinny jeans and rocking dipshit bangs. They'll stick a block of dry ice up your rectum. There's only one way to get players back then to listen to you. That's right: BASKETBALLS TO THE FUCKING FACE. All day every day, gang!



If the NBA awarded Michael Jordan a "free pass" on PEDs in order to make a return to the game: 1. Would he do it? 2. What would his impact be?

Who's to say he didn't have a free pass to begin with? Remember when everyone made a big deal out of MJ lifting weights right before games because it gave him extra stamina or something? Sounds like a cover for whale sperm injections to me.


Anyway, Jordan is already on the record as saying he's constantly tempted to play basketball again, which makes sense because he's a horrible man who needs an outlet for his sociopathic competitiveness. I don't know that offering him free PEDs would be enough to get him to finally put the uni back on again, but I DO know that if he did, we'd all regret it. He's 50 now. The best PEDs can do for him is probably get him back into Wizards playing shape, and Jordan on the Wizards was fucking awful. I don't even like being reminded of it. Current NBA players—LeBron in particular—are too good. They'd still overshadow him playing mediocre basketball for a shitty Bobcats team. Trust me: You don't want a roided-up Jordan coming back. Whether it's an athlete or a rock band or Star Wars, nothing is ever as good the third or fourth or 50th time around. Always best to be on the lookout for newer shit.


If only one superhero were to suddenly appear in our world, which one would cause the biggest shitstorm? My thinking is that it would have to be Thor, because I think the knowledge that the Gods were Norse would be too much for Christians, Muslims, Jews, etc to handle.


Yeah, but Thor is such a douche. He's the Tapout apparel of superheroes. I get where you're coming from, but I'd still argue that someone like Superman or Galactus would cause a bigger fuss. Galactus is a demigod AND he's evil. So not only would he turn religion on its ear, he'd also probably end up killing us all. And he wears a man-skirt, which would surely ruffle the anti-gay marriage lobby.

Email of the week time.


I met a FedEx delivery guy who was living out a porn flick. He was a part time model and had been in a few big time shoots, but he couldn't get consistent work and he had a son to support, so his day job was being a FedEx delivery guy. The first question I asked him was whether he banged a bored horny housewife. He told me that he never did, since they are either never home or live in some super rich person complex where you are never allowed to even get near the front door. But he does sleep with a ton of secretaries. The ones he gets with work for some type of shady corporation outpost that is just a tiny setup in an office park where there is just one employee, a woman to answer the phones and accept deliveries. These women are bored as hell and love to fool around with the hot FedEx guy. So your very good looking FedEx guy is CRUSHING pussy. But your average Newman working at the USPS, not so much.


Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at You can also order Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.