Contract The Timberwolves

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Illustration: Sam Woolley (GMG)

Today, we’re talking about pajamas, Nathan Peterman, liquor runs, and more.

Your letters:


Can we start abbreviating Timberwolves as 2lves instead of Twolves? I need to save those 2 characters.

No, because then you would have to pronounces it TOOOLVES, which is far more emblematic of that franchise’s identity, but wrong nonetheless. Have some damn re2pect.

Honestly, they should just contract the Wolves. [Basketblogger voice] CANCEL THEM. That is my take for this, the first day of the NBA’s endless and pointless regular season. The Timberwolves gave it a decent shot, but it’s time for the NBA to cut its losses and realize that sticking a poorly managed basketball team in the middle of a state that is 120 percent Caucasian was always gonna be a lost cause. Basketball does not fit into the average Minnesotan’s daily routine of hockey, casual football enjoyment, more hockey, Jell-O salad picnics, and alerting the neighborhood association about that brown Honda parked along the street. The Timberwolves are wasting everyone’s time.


Even the Jimmy Butler thing was a gigantic waste of time because A) Jimmy Butler isn’t very good, B) The whole thing was so clearly orchestrated that I’m shocked it wasn’t also part of a guerrilla ad campaign for Wendy’s, C) The Wolves will manage to be a basketball nonentity with or without him. Even when the Timberwolves have a generational talent like KAT or Kevin Garnett, they still pursue aggressive obscurity.

And I say all this as someone who is FROM Minnesota, and went to the T-Wolves’ first-ever preseason game (it was at the Metrodome and there was free sushi, and I was infinitely more interested in the sushi than the basketball). It’s nice that Minnesota has an NBA team, but it sure as hell doesn’t need one, especially one coached by Milton from Office Space and owned by a clueless wedding envelope magnate. All the twee basketbloggers in all the world can put up their FAM! sirens and gawk at this team’s preseason drama and it won’t make a lick of difference. Get rid of the Timberwolves, or ship them to Seattle and be done with it. This experiment has gone on long enough. You didn’t see David Stern hanging around Vancouver for this long, did you? Set the Wolves free.


By the way, one of the worst subplots to the Butler thing was when the Minnesota coaches were like, “this was just the dose of reality we needed.” Coaches always bitch about distractions, and then two players have beef and suddenly it’s like, “I like the fire I’m seeing!” What a load of shit.


When as a society did we stop wearing actual pajamas? I remember as a kid in the 80s and 90s wearing them, but then switching up to a t-shirt and shorts at some point. No one outside of some sort of medical institution wears pajamas anymore, right?


No, kids still wear jammies. My son will wear long-sleeve jammies in August. When I go to check on him in the morning, he’s be drenched in sweat and the back of his neck smells like a bait shop. He doesn’t give a crap. He wants his jammies, and I’m too lazy to convince him otherwise. Kids still very much prize any pair of pajamas festooned with Marvel characters or Paw Patrol puppies or cutouts of Logan Paul’s head. And I am not above seeing my kid in sailboat jammies and pinching their cheeks like a deranged grandma and going OMG SO CUTE AREN’T YOU JUST THE MOST ADORABLE LITTLE BOY IN THE WORLD!

Anyway, my sons will ditch sleepwear for good at some point. I think the average guy loses the jammies sometime around puberty because A) You get hot and B) You get horny. Why would I sleep in full body pajamas that cramp and bunch and crimp when I can strip down to my skivvies and feel all comfy and SEXY? Almost too sexy! How can I sleep when there’s so much sensual sheet-touching going on?! Anyway, the light goes on for boys eventually. For the past 30 years, I have slept in just boxers. That’s all I require. If I ever had to sleep in head-to-toe jammies, I would die of heat stroke. Pajamas are for women and children, as far as I’m concerned.


That didn’t always used to be the case. Pajamas do have a history. I wish I could tell you that history is interesting, like the history of other seemingly innocuous items from everyday life (Salt! Hallways! Oranges!). But no. No, the history of pajamas is pretty fucking boring. Back in the old days, people had to sleep in big frumpy nightshirts, because there was no heat and everyone was cold all the time. Then the Brits, in very Brit fashion, stole a few pairs of pajamas from “The Orient,” brought them back, and they became a status symbol for early fashionistas and snooty aristocrats. LOOK AT ME! I’M WEARING A SUIT TO DREAMLAND!

But it’s 2018 now, and most places have a working furnace, so pajamas are superfluous at this point. If you’re a grown man rocking PJs now, I’d like to know why. I assume you live at the South Pole, or you’re 90 years old and are routinely visited by three spirits every Christmas Eve.



When both the Cardinals and Eagles call you with the offer of GM job, which do you choose based on weather alone?


The Eagles. I like living somewhere that has all four seasons, even if no such place will exist four years from now. I’m content to labor under the delusion that this fall—which has been utterly grotesque—has been a meteorological anomaly, and that everything will revert back to normal next year. I choose to believe this even though the evidence overwhelmingly suggests that where I live, 140 miles southwest of Philly, is a goddamn permajungle. It’s revolting. I think a panther walked by my office the other day. The motherfucker acted like he’s lived here his whole life. There are mosquitoes the size of small fairies circling around my patio now. In October. They don’t give a fuck.

Regardless, it still beats living in Arizona and having your nuts broil. You cannot live in that state and remain sane. I refuse to believe it’s possible. Every day, God shines a magnifying glass on Phoenix and screams LEAVE to its residents, and yet they remain. That is why Arizona will be the first state to go when all the water dries up and The Purges begin. All of the states are going to invade one another soon, and the Arizonans are gonna be ones you gotta watch out for. They’re gonna be heavily armed and incredibly stupid. I’m gonna ward them off with fine literature and egg rolls that are stuffed with traditional fillings instead of cheeseburger meat.



Is Nathan Peterman in the top 100 quarterbacks in the world? Let’s agree he’s definitely at best 65th because he’s worse than every starter in the NFL, every other 2nd string QB in the NFL and Colin Kaepernick. Are there 35 other QBs in college, Canada and wherever else that are better than him?


Hell no, he’s not Top 100. Vince Young is a better quarterback right now than that pud. The next time someone bitches at you about Affirmative Action, point them to Nathan Peterman. That guy is a living welfare program. I bet Trump gave him a grant.

Speaking of Peterman, he belongs that cursed set of backup quarterbacks who always manage to start at least one game during any given season, no matter how deep down they’re buried on the depth chart. If you have Nathan Peterman, Brock Osweiler, Matt Cassel, or Ryan Fitzpatrick on your roster, they WILL play for you at some point. It’s unavoidable. You sealed your fate the second you brought them into the building. They are the YOU AGAIN? quarterbacks. Watching Peterman play gives me the sensation of being back in school and somehow getting the exact same class schedule as Gorf Blurgfeld, the school’s foremost glue eater. The Bills could handcuff Nathan Peterman, lock him in a car, drive that car to Alaska, dump that car in the Bering Strait, drive all the way back home, and walk in the door only to find Peterman BACK, fit as a fiddle, and ready to start for Week 7. They’ll never shake him.



I just moved into my own place, (I had previously lived with my brother). I’m 29 and single. How much booze/what booze should I have at any given time?


Do you plan on entertaining? Like, are you gonna have fancy dinner parties at your bachelor pad? You probably aren’t. I remember being single and being like, “I’m never gonna be one of those dinner party assholes,” and then I got married and had kids and very much became one of those dinner party assholes.

But for now, I doubt you’re channeling your inner Ina Garten, yeah? If you’re having company over, it’s either gonna be A) A date, B) Your folks, or C) Your KRAYZEE buddies. So you only need to stock up on what you like, and what they might like: beer, wine, a favorite liquor (My old man likes gin, so I always have a bottle on hand even though I never touch the stuff), etc. When I was dating my wife, all I kept in the fridge was Bud. So when she came over the first time, I was like, “Can I get you something to drink? I have Bud, and I have… uh… Bud.” I didn’t even have a full six-pack. It was, like, four tall boys. She still gives me shit for this, so I’d have a couple options at the ready if I were you. It’s less about impressing women than it is ensuring that they are not profoundly horrified by you.


All that said, I don’t think you need some fully stocked hipster liquor cart with absinthe and eight different kinds of aromatic kumquat bitters and overpriced bottles of boutique Mezcal. Not only is that expensive and unnecessary, but it also deprives you the eternal pleasure of the liquor run. I’m 42 and still get fired up for a beer run, far more fired up than is appropriate for someone of my age and health. I can’t help it, it’s NEW BOOZE! Fucking sweet! I love any excuse to go on a booze run. It’s the only good errand I have left. “Oh wow, my third cousin is visiting and they did a tweet once about liking dark and stormys! Better go stock up on 17 handles of rum! This is gonna be a PARTY!” Don’t deprive yourself of that small pleasure. Sometimes being prepared is overrated.


If you could give Trump one of the three “Wizard of Oz” items, which one would you give him? I think given the fact that his administration is caging children, I’d give him a heart first.


Yeah you’d have to give him the heart. I don’t wanna give him courage, because that would just give him the courage to start killing people outright. And I don’t wanna give him a brain. Look how much damage he’s already caused without one. Give him ANY sense of cunning and you’ll only speed up our doom. So I’d give him a heart, which would be bittersweet because that functional heart would be replacing the lipid-stuffed time bomb currently residing in his chest. I hate the idea of wasting a fresh heart on THAT guy. He was already a waste of organs. I bet his insides look like an Outback Steakhouse grease dumpster.


When you get in the shower with a shower curtain, do you pull the curtain from the front to the back or from the back to the front? I say back to front because I don’t want the water escaping from the front. My girlfriend says front to back because she wants to get in directly under the water.


No offense to your galpal, but how long does it take to walk from the back of a shower to the front? Half a millisecond? It’s a shower. If your shower is also a tub it’s, like, five feet long, if that. It’s not an airport terminal.

Getting in from the front is insane because you can bump your head on the showerhead (a real issue for people of my height), and because the water will splash everywhere, and because the water might surprise you and be too hot/too cold when you step right under. Just turn on the water, gauge the temp, then step in from the back. That way, you’re protecting the bathroom floor from splashing, AND you get a soft point of entry to the spray. NO ONE DENIES THIS.




How come when people add extra letters to a word to extend it it’s always the last letter? You wrote “BADDDDDDDD MEDICINE” once. It needs to be “BAAAAAAAAD MEDICINE”. Try and pronounce badddddddd out loud. See? You’re fucking better than that, Magary. We should all be working around the clock to correct this very serious issue.


Okay, that’s fair. But, in my defense, I do this because I am LAZY. Sometimes I want to elongate the word, so I just double-park on a random letter and smash it into oblivion. Surely that beggars your compassion.

In all seriousness, I do try to land on the right letter to emphasize phonetically, but sometimes it still looks a bit off. Look again at BAAAAAAAAD MEDICINE. You can see an ahhhhhhh sound infiltrating that spelling, and that would only make sense if The Wiggles were doing a zoo-themed cover of that song (as we all hope and pray they do). So sometimes it helps to cheat and just repeat the final letter to get the point across, even if it’s inaccurate. I just tried to pronounce BADDDDDDDD MEDICINE out loud properly and my teeth nearly fell out.



When you get the e-mail notification that says “Your package is being shipped”, how many times do you click on the tracking info link? I swear I check on that thing at least 5 times a day, even immediately after I get the e-mail.


Well, what’s in the package? If it’s some Amazon order for new socks, I don’t give a shit. It’ll get here when it gets here. If it’s a new phone or something important, I’m checking the tracking number at least once a day, and then audibly groaning when it says it’s still at the processing center. It’s not just Jeff Bezos who is unreasonably impatient and demanding of Amazon workers. It’s also spoiled shits like me sitting at home, hands on hips, screaming at a monitor WHY ARE MY CASHEWS STILL STUCK IN MEMPHIS?!

My kids are very irritating about package tracking. They ask me to check the tracking number 5,000 times a day when they order a new pair of Spider-Man jammies or whatever. So when it comes to my own transactions, I try my best to model patience. It’s not that hard, really. I’m a watched-pot-never-boils sort of person, so I’m mostly content to avoid checking. If I check, that’ll put a hex on my mail order and make it take even longer. Also, I don’t have Amazon Prime, but I have found that the bulk of my Amazon orders arrive well before their estimated delivery date regardless (no one tell Bezos this, or else he’ll start charging for unexpectedly early delivery under the name Amazon Zip), so I’m content to let it come when it comes. I’d rather be pleasantly surprised it arrived early than have a conniption because it showed up to the house two days late.


And in case you think I’m full of shit about not obsessively tracking packages, please note that THIS was the last thing I ordered on Amazon for myself. Those are orthopedic sandals. I assure you that I was not rock hard with anticipation for that little bit of hard evidence of my frumpiness to arrive at my doorstep.


Pick one: McDonald’s or Wendy’s.

I’m gonna pick McDonald’s. McDonald’s is crap, but there are still plenty of things on that menu I will gladly eat: the fries, the McNuggets, the McFlurries (very crucial), and the bulk of the breakfast menu. I like Wendy’s nuggets, and I like their fries, and I like a cold Frosty, but that’s kinda it. I got a crispy chicken sandwich there once that was absolute SHIT. Just a sad chicken patty on an even sadder bun. A total waste of a sandwich.


Wendy’s is overrated. The greatest trick they ever pulled was convincing people that they serve better quality food than McDonald’s when all those fast food joints use Grade-F meats from some Brazilian tapeworm farm. Fuck Wendy’s and fuck their stupid Twitter. I will now pledge eternal fealty to a shitty rival chain that is responsible for mass poisoning on a global scale just to spite Wendy’s. Maybe if they had mix-ins with their Frostys, I would reconsider. LEMME PUT SOME BUTTERFINGERS IN THAT BITCH.

And why no strawberry Frosty? The Thomas family has some work to do.


I grill out a fair amount during the spring, summer and fall. I was looking at my grill the other night and remembered it has a side burner on it. I have used the side burner exactly once, several years ago on a different grill. It took forever to heat the water because the little burner could not produce enough BTUs to actually heat anything. Do people actually use their side burners?


I don’t ever use it. It’s one of those useless add-ons designed to make the grill more attractive when you buy it, because you’re like, “Oh wow, I can grill up some chicken and I can boil matzo balls all at the same time! OOOH AND IT HAS BLUETOOTH! That’s useful!”

When I bought my grill, I had delusions of using that dopey side burner and presiding over a raging cookout, with a spread a mile long, and dozens of children all playing on a Slip N Slide without it breaking, and other dads patting me on the back for my grilling prowess and handing me ice cold brews in a demonstration of eternal bro loyalty. In reality, of course, I’m rushing out from the house in the pouring rain, alone, hoping a couple of sad chicken breasts cook before the gas tank runs out. The side burner remains unused, a monument to the hubris that took hold of me when I was standing inside a Sears three years ago. It like the time I bought a TV because it had picture-in-picture. No one uses that shit.


To use a grill’s side burner effectively, you really need a full outdoor kitchen, with pots and plates and sundries and running water all available to you right there, where you’re grilling. I do not have an outdoor kitchen, because they’re expensive, and because wet season here now occupies eight months out of the year. But one day, by god, I will have an outdoor kitchen. I will live atop the finest hill in Sonoma County, and I will have a grill that can roast a fully grown adult ostrich in 12 minutes, and I will have a fully-stocked outdoor cooking space all tucked under a gorgeous lanai, and I shall prepare five-star meals right there out in the open, for all of insufferable friends. YOU WATCH. It’ll happen one day when I finally sell out and start shilling miniature phonephones on Twitter.


So I’m listening to your podcast and all of a sudden the first of two kidney stones are right at the point of exit. Should I sit or stand for the main event?


STAND! You gotta stand. Would you sit down for a firing squad? Hell no. Tie a blindfold around your head, light up a Marlboro, and let it rip. Do it off a balcony. See if you can shoot a bird’s eye out.


Since age 13, how many days has LeBron NOT touched a basketball? It’s got to be single digits, right?


No, I think it’s more than single digits. Like all of the greats, LeBron is obsessive over his craft, but I think he’s also smart enough to take breaks every once in a while so that he doesn’t get into a rut, both physically and creatively. Like, one day a week is Wine Day, and the only thing his hand touches that day is a $700 bottle of Shafer Reserve. Also, what if he goes on vacation? Does he PACK a basketball? That would be a complete pain in the ass. I bet he’s gone somewhere assuming he can find a court to dick around on, only to find out the resort only has a tennis court or something. And then he just has some champagne and jerks off.

I also think LeBron is the kind of guy who probably has a special routine of basketball drills and exercises that explicitly do NOT include using a basketball. That’s the kind of New Age shit he’d be into: just spending a full week practicing all of his off-ball moves, willfully depriving himself of shooting practice because he wants to EARN it. Before playing a minute of basketball, he must align his spirit guides. It’s like a karate class where they force you to train for two years before you get to ever throw a punch. Those classes SUCK. I wanna punch shit NOW!


Now Kobe? Kobe has touched a ball every day. He sleeps with one. He dribbles one while he’s in the car. He oversees terrible documentaries while doing that thing where you hold the ball between your hands like it’s a space orb. Kobe wants you to know that he LIVES for basketball. And for shaking off credible sexual assault charges.


All the music made by people who’ve since died or all the music made by people still alive. WHO YA GOT?!


Are you saying who has the more impressive catalog? That’s obvious the dead artists, since there are more of them. BUT… if you’re asking me which group I’m gonna listen to for the rest of my life, I’m actually gonna pick the ALIVE group. By the time most artists are dead, I’m sick of their hits anyway. I’m not gonna sacrifice new music for the rest of my lifetime just so that I can hear, like, “The Wind Cries Mary” for the zillionth time. If I wanted to hear from dead artists for the rest of my life, I never would have cancelled my Rolling Stone subscription HEY-OOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Email of the week!


I’m both amused and proud of this. I’m sitting on a bench in a reasonably loud beer hall with my wife and some friends. I’m three, four beers deep (who’s counting), and without shame or consideration I’m ripping ass on the bench because (1) I’m familiar with my biology and know that my beer farts after three (four) beers will produce minimal to no stench and (2) it’s loud enough in the venue that considerable ripping of ass will go unnoticed, or at least no one present will be confident enough in what they thought they heard to make any big deal of it.

It was a significant fart, no heat or liquid so much as enough gas escaping that it felt as if I levitated in my seat ever so briefly. After ripping ass, my wife who is sitting right next to me gets a confused looked, and says to no one in particular, “Did someone’s phone just vibrate?” To which I shrug and say, “I didn’t feel anything.” The conversation continues has if nothing has occurred. Secretly, I’ll smile about this moment for the rest of life most likely.


As well you should.