I was fucking around on Twitter yesterday and I realized that Twitter should be able to allow you to block entire SUBJECTS. So if you really want to see The Avengers but don't want some asshole to spoil it for you, you just enter a block for any tweets that have the word "avengers" or "nick fury" or "robert downey jr being smug," and that shit never shows up to ruin your shit. Surely, this can't be difficult to implement.
/knows damn well it would be difficult to implement
In the most recent GQ, there is a quick fact that roughly states "Hideki Matsui owns 55,000 adult videos". My friends and I were debating how many of these films he has actually watched (minimum of about 10 minutes for a "view"). I think it probably has to be somewhere in the 25% range TOPS. More of a collection to show off than use. The mathematics behind this ridiculous number alone seems to point to nothing higher than that, but a majority of my friends think that it is much higher than that- nearly 90% viewed. What's the real percentage?
First of all, why doesn't Hideki Matsui have the Internet? What an unbelievable waste of money. And who buys porn to show it off? That's even DUMBER. "And here's the parlor, and there's my infinity pool. Oh, and would you like to see my extensive collection of bukkake videos? Come with me." You have to be a real smooth operator to be able to impress people with your porn collection.
(As an aside: I do think there would be something morbidly fascinating about being able to see the porn viewing habits of people you know. Like seeing another person's iPod library. Would you think differently of your accountant if you knew he was into spider bondage porn? YOU WOULD. Would you feel you had a closer connection to an old friend if you knew that you both liked to search for old clips of Celeste? YOU WOULD.)
Anyway, I think that 55,000 number is a gross inflation. It's probably a much lower number, and he's probably checked out all of them, though not for the ten-minute minimum that you came up with. He's probably buying porn in bulk, then checking out each video for a few seconds at a time to see if it interests him before settling on the one he likes best. He might also use these videos as ambience for all his wild RICH JAPANESE MAN SEX ORGIES, with porn playing on screens all over his apartment while everyone is getting it on. Rich people have great lives.
Well, I guess that's why he needs the roll bars.
If you had two penises, would you have them next to each other or stacked on top of each other? My vote was for next to each other because I believe the width of having the double wide wang would be more useful for the ladies. Plus if they were on top of each other it would be very sweaty down there and more difficult to keep clean.
You can't have them next to each other because if your woman wasn't the accommodating sort and only wanted one penis inside her at a time (what a prude!), then the other penis would constantly bash into her inner thigh upon every thrust. You'd be cockblocked by your own cock. It would be miserable.
But if you had two stacked on top of one another, then you could use the bottom one for insertion and keep the top one flipped up for simultaneous clit stimulation. Or you could turn your partner over and have dual access to both the vagina and the butt. Much more enjoyable for you and your partner. There's a reason that double-pronged dildos have the prongs stacked on top of each other. It's clearly the way to go. No one wants to be fucked by a shotgun.
Although, who says they have to stay in the crotch area? Why not have one erection that retracts inside your right wrist, like Spiderman's web shooters? Walk into any room with a hand-penis and you are instantly the center of conversation.
Have you ever considered how much things must have sucked foodwise for the earliest humans? Just think of how much trial and error must have gone into not only figuring out what plants and animals are and are not good to eat, but also what parts of the animal are good, whose milk and eggs are best, what does and does not taste better cooked, etc. I mean, you gotta figure that for just about every chewable substance on earth, at some point some brave soul tried to eat it.
Not only that, but you had to figure out optimal preparation for any edible food you were lucky enough to find. Think about beer. The process for brewing beer is hideously complex. You have to boil the grains at a certain temperature for a certain amount of time, then you have to add malt and hops at the right time. You have to add yeast. You have to let the beer ferment for x amount of time. You have to strain it. You have to store it. It's a whole big production, which is why home brewing is always much less fun than you think it's gonna be. Who the fuck figured this process out? How did some monk back in the 3rd century know this was the way of going about it? He must have tasted some horrible swill before figuring out the Chimay recipe.
Sometimes I worry that I'll be sucked into a time portal that sends me back 1,000 years, and once back there I'm forced to eat all the terrible shit that people had to put up with back then. No cereal. No milkshakes. No hot sauce. And if you want cinnamon in your gruel, you gotta sail to Sri Lanka for it. Just the worst thing ever. I don't know how people put up with it back then (NOTE: They didn't, often dying in their mid-20's).
Went swimming on Thursday and got water in my ear. It bothered me all weekend, this morning cleaned my ears with Qtips to see if I could get any of the water out. This is what the Qtips looked like after.
So we had a meeting this week with our CEO and as promised, we had cupcakes. Yay! But after the various speakers, including the CEO, were finished they opened up the floor to questions. A bunch of Polly Perfects asked questions for a good THIRTY MINUTES - we actually went over the allotted time by about fifteen. Instead of finishing early and getting us all outta there I almost fell asleep due to sugar crash. C'mon, people! I need to get back to my desk and check the basketball scores.
Never ask questions in a meeting.
People who ask superfluous questions in a meeting should be destroyed. People will hate-fuck you with their eyes if you pipe up and ask if there's a more efficient way of getting out TPS reports by the end of the month. If you're in a meeting and the question "Does anyone have any other questions?" is answered with anything other than a long period of awkward silence, then someone has breached protocol.
Because the meeting itself is almost certainly useless anyway, something that keeps you from sitting at your desk and doing the actual work you need to do in order to leave on time and go get shitfaced. I freelanced at an ad agency once and the ad agency always had one staff meeting a week that lasted the whole fucking morning. It was agony. I usually got up to pee halfway through and then never came back. They had presentations from every department. Once a month, the IT guy would update us on technological innovations in the marketplace, which had nothing to do with our jobs, but made his dick hard. He once spent ten minutes rambling on about how much he was looking forward to buying a PSP. I nearly threw a stapler at him. Fuck you, fuck your PSP, and fuck this pointless meeting. I constantly daydreamed about standing up in the middle of the meeting and RUINING THAT GUY'S SHIT. Just laying waste to him, acting like a huffy CEO and demanding to know how his hardon for buying a PSP was supposed to help us write copy for law firms, and why he hadn't figured out a way to block subjects on Twitter yet. But I never did. Oh, what I'd give to go rogue in a meeting. I'd pay at least $20 to act out my cocky CEO fantasy to a table full of paid actors.
I see your Comic Book Guy and RAISE you a Bleeding Gums Murphy
Oh that's nice. Now I have that "Jazzman" song stuck in my head. That song is terrible.
Let's say you're on an airplane. This airplane happens to have to have 3 terrorists on it that have the exact same hand-to-hand combat abilities as someone like Georges St-Pierre or Anderson Silva. All three of them are completely unarmed. Are they able to hijack the airplane? Assume that there are no air marshals and/or anyone that happens to be armed on the flight.
It ultimately depends on the makeup of the rest of the passengers. Even though the three terrorists on board would have superior fighting skills, they still would be unable to hijack the plane if the rest of the collective decided, together, to put a stop to them. One hundred fifty people would be able to tame three unarmed people.
But getting that collective to decide on such a thing isn't easy. Why did the passengers of United 93 fight back, but not the passengers on the two Trade Center flights? Did United 93 happen to be carrying more brave passengers? Or was it a stroke of luck that the situation on that plane happened in such a way that, sociologically, other people on board became willing to risk their lives to stop an attack?
I think that sociology plays a big role in shit like this. Once a single person has decided to stop the hijackers, then other people feel suddenly empowered to pitch in. You don't want to think that'll you'll be the only one to try, and then the terrorist will snap your neck and embarrass you in front of the rest of the passengers. You want to know that other people will be helping out, because stopping a terrorist is hard. So the more people that are on board with the effort, the more the surrounding people will be encouraged to jump in and add a few kicks to the ribs. But you need that one person at the beginning to get the process started. You need the kindling. And that one person may not always be brave. It may be a fucking stupid person, an arrogant person who wants to show off his hero cred in front of the hot chick sitting next to him. Or it may be someone that sees an opportunity to jump the terrorist that someone on another hijacked plane doesn't see. There are a million different motivations to it outside of "Holy shit, we need to save lives," even though there shouldn't be.
NOTE: Many readers wrote in to remind my sorry ass that passengers on United 93 acted differently because they knew about the other attacks that had happened beforehand.
We were told that the likes of Chris Berman and Jon Gruden would not ruin our draft by telling us the pick before the picks were announced on stage. However, what we now have is Chris Berman "predicting" who they would take or a position they need to fill. His "predictions" just happen to be correct 95% of the time. What are the chances! Fuck Chris Berman.
What's your take on bathroom towel dispenser etiquette (manual ones)? My thinking is there are 3 options.
1. Bathroom > Wash Hands > Maneuver lever with wet hands (thus leaving a wet mess for the next person).
2. Bathroom > Wash Hands > Use forearm to maneuver lever while hands drip water all over the floor making the bathroom floor like a fucking slip and slide
3. Bathroom > Maneuver lever with dirty hands > Wash hands > Rip towel off and dry
If everyone utilized option #3, sure there would be bathroom stank on the handle of the towel dispenser, but you'd be washing it off anyway and then immediately drying your hands with a sheaf of waiting paper towels.
The other options just make you leave the bathroom looking like a Turkish Bath House.
I always pull the lever with a wet hand because I don't think things out in advance. And I never get enough paper towel output to actually get my hands dry. My hands go from soaking wet to heavily moist at best. Then I just wipe that shit on my jeans. This is why many restaurants have the dreaded bathroom attendant, to pull the lever for you because you were too dumb to think of doing it before you got your hands wet. Is that worth tipping them a dollar? NO.
So I usually deploy the wet hand. This causes the floor to get wet, which I don't care about because it's not my floor and I'm a dick. Or, if the dispenser is located behind the sink, it causes the entire sink area to become flooded, which is always fun. Ever put an important item—fresh socks, a phone, a binding legal document—next to the sink before realizing the sink area has been flooded like an Iowa floodplain? It's unpleasant. MY UNDIES!
Most rest stops don't even bother offering you a fully operational dispenser. You usually get the blow dryer from 1962 that's louder than a train engine, or you get the pile of napkins stuffed up into a hole above the garbage can. Eighty percent of the time, that hole is empty, causing me to scream obscenities. Ten percent of the time, the hole is packed so tightly with paper towels that trying to get just one out results in you tearing off one small piece at a time. Also horrible. So when I encounter those ten percent of paper towel holes that offer easy access to a good supply of towels, I go hog wild and grab a fistful. So, so dry.
Ever go to a wedding or some fancy event and the bathroom has those paper towels that are so soft they almost feel like real cloth? LUXURY. I want those towels for all my fap sessions.
My daughter came home from school with this in her social studies notebook. Should I be concerned?
Would the world be better or worse if other people enjoyed your farts but you hated the smell? I think worse because you are always around your ass, but it would be nice to never have to hold it in.
Well, let's not generalize so quickly. I don't ALWAYS enjoy the smell of my own farts, and I doubt I'm alone on that. Sometimes, your own farts repulse and horrify you, and the only reason you find them amusing is because of the value they have in fart-trolling other people.
The other day, I laid down a terrible fart before getting into a hospital elevator, and the fart came inside the elevator with me. IT FOLLOWED ME. And I stood there in the back of the elevator, trying not to laugh because I knew that it smelled horrible and that everyone else on board was having a perfectly nice elevator ride until me and my ass strolled in. I enjoyed that fart, but that didn't mean that it smelled like Starburst.
So would the world be better off with your farts smelling like candy to other people? NO. First of all, losing the power rush that comes with a nasty fart attack would send all men spiraling down into the pits of despair. If I can't gross out people with my farts, THEN WHO AM I?! Secondly, if farts smelled really good, then we'd all become big fart fetishists and people would have fart tasting menus at restaurants where dishes are paired with a fart from the chef and all of it would be over-the-top and horrible. I'll keep farts exactly as they are, thank you.
I'm watching Frozen Planet while stoned and Alec Baldwin says some of these penguins can be 4 feet tall and 100 pounds.
But they're lovers, not fighters, and they have no arms (no reach), so even with no boxing or MMA skills (and no weapons) I think if I was in a fight to the death against one of these things, I could kick its ass. But what if it was two on one? Three on one? How many of these could I take? I'm putting the over/under at 1.5. I could kill a mother and baby penguin. AND THEN FEAST ON THEIR MEAT.
I think you can give yourself a bit more credit than that. The only thing the penguin can attack you with is its beak, but you have a distinct reach advantage with your feet and your hands. Even though I do my best to give the animal as much credit as possible in this kind of scenario (because people are pussies) I think you could easily take out two or three adult penguins before the rest of the penguin army finally pecked you to death. Keep it in mind when you decided to hijack a plane filled with penguins.
Today my wife asked me to write a thank you note for something I received at Christmas. I probably should have written one back in January, but at this point I think it's too late. I'm only going to remind the reciever I didn't write a thank you note in the first place when they receive a 4-month-old card. Should I just write the card?
Write the card, if only to placate your old lady. After that, you can either mail it, or fake like you're gonna mail it and then throw it in the trash on the way to work. Mailing it wouldn't be the worst thing ever. Sometimes, if you're late with a thank you card, the petty gift-giver will hold it against you until the actual card is finally received, at which point the grudge is formally dropped and you are considered a nice person again. That's how things work on the means streets of Greenwich.
By the way, every Christmas, my mom walks around with a legal pad as we're opening gifts, writing down who got what and from whom, so that she knows exactly what to write when it comes time for thank-you cards. I think this ruins Christmas. It should be a time of joy, not clerical work. I don't want to be reminded of a fucking chore I'm gonna have to do while I'm playing with my bathtub sponge animals. That's crap.
Liquids or solids.
You get to chose one the rest of your life.
Hamburgers, bacon, fries, pasta vs. all alcoholic beverages, sodas and water.
Personally in a tough call I go with liquids. No water after exercising, plus the smoothie and the obvious ability to get loaded puts liquids on top.
No way. Who gives a fuck about smoothies? NO ONE. A smoothie is a milkshake for pussies. Assuming you're magically allowed to survive in either case, you go with solid food. You can always have pot brownies if you wanna feel all warm and fuzzy.
Is chili a liquid or a solid? If I have to strain out the liquid to keep eating it, I will.
So James Cameron spent over THREE HOURS (!) at the bottom of the Marianas Trench by himself in a one man sub. You know the question coming: Ya gotta figured he fapped down there just for bragging rights right? I mean, I saw the pics. It was otherwise pretty boring looking down there.
No chance. James Cameron is the kind of egotistical megalomaniac who would happily forgo deep ocean fapping records just because he's all about THE SEA. When you become that old and that powerful, I think you fancy yourself as someone who's too good for self-gratification. I bet James Cameron doesn't deign to touch his own penis, because he believes it would distract him from his mission of saving the world from evil space miners.
I feel that I have watched enough of those survival in the wilderness shows on TV that I could probably make it for a couple of days if not longer. This assumes that I am not injured in whatever fuckup occurred. Is this crazy?
Probably, but don't let that stop you from harboring the illusion that you are now, thanks to Bear Grylls, more prepared to survive for a week in the Andes than you were before. For example, I now know that I must dig a snow cave to sleep in, and that I should dig a well next to my snow bed so that my snow bed gets all the hot air. I also know that I should climb to the top of the tallest tree in the forest to get my bearings and figure out which way I need to go to survive. And I must make a fire, because FIRE IS SO IMPORTANT OFR MORALE. Would I be able to do ANY of those things if my plane crashed into a goddamn mountain? No. But at least I'd have a game plan.
Time for a GREAT MOMENT IN EMT POOP HISTORY:
I worked as a paramedic for a rural ambulance service in Pennsylvania for 17 years. I was working a 24 hour shift. It had been a busy shift so I hit the rack around ten that night hoping for a couple of hours of sleep before the next call. As I was drifting off, I could hear a little rumble/gurgle from my lower abdomen. I should have addressed that matter in a swift fashion but decided I could sleep on it for a while.
The overnight activity was unusually quiet that shift. I remember hearing the opposite crew go out on a call at one point and I remember a second round of bubbles moving across my guts. Another missed opportunity. About fifteen minutes later the paging system at the ambulance station goes off signaling that we have an emergency call for a man possibly having a heart attack. At that point I was pretty sure I was having the big one as well. It was a small miracle that I did not soil the bed at the sound of the paging tones.
We obviously have to respond ASAP to a call that is potentially this serious so there was no time to take a Project Shit right now. I was in serious pain. It was a feat of Zen-like sphincter control to wrangle 60 lbs of gear into this man's house without flooding his yard and front porch with liquid fertilizer.
The patient's condition was serious and he needed treated in a hurry. My usually relaxed and conversational patient care protocol was now replaced with an urgency usually saved for only the most critical patients. Just crouching down beside this guy made whimper out loud in pain. My partner and I were able to apply oxygen, the cardiac monitor, start and IV, get a set of vitals, and give two doses of medication without me ruining his carpet. In my current condition, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to be able to lift and move a stretcher with the weight of a person on it.
So, as soon as he said he was feeling a little less pain, I asked if he had a restroom I could use. My partner, who was familiar with my shitting history, gave me the glare and shook his head urgently. "Sure son," The man said. "Right up those stairs." I looked at the stairs. There appeared to be 500 of them leading up to the crapper. "Nothing down here"? I asked weakly. His reply was a simple, friendly ‘Nope'.
My ascent of those steps was nothing short of assaulting the summit of Everest. My fingers were white knuckling his banister and three times I had to tuck one leg behind the other to stem the flow of crap. Once at the top, I had to lunge from the last step to the door frame of the bathroom without moving my legs. I was panting and sweating like I was kicking heroin. I made it to the toilet where I knew things would only get worse before they got better. I loosened my duty belt and let my pants and boxers hit the floor. ‘You can do this' I encouraged myself. But no; as soon as I put the slightest bit of tension on my quads and hammies it was all over; all over the bowl, the seat, the tank, the floor, and somehow my back. The smell was worse than the sound and the sound was incredibly awful.
The entirety of the shit probably only lasted fifteen seconds due to the amazing amount of pressure behind it and the fact that it was 98% water. The clean up was another story. I used all of the patient's toilet paper and a towel that I hid in a hamper to mop up the mess. It probably took twenty minutes of touch up work to make the place look half way respectable again. That was ten years ago, the smell my still be lingering. I eventually made my way back down stairs to find the patient and my partner chatting away. The patient was doing much better and he had a very good outcome.