I was thinking this morning, after rooting around the bathroom and not being able to find the styling shit I put in my hair, that I haven’t combed my hair or owned a comb since probably 1995. I normally just use my fingers and hands to get the disappointing hair vibe I rock on most days. I feel like most (more than half of) men today probably don’t actually own a comb. Do you think that assessment misses the mark, and most men actually do comb their hair?

No. You’re right. Combs are stupid and useless. This is why everyone ripped on Vern for bringing one along in Stand by Me. Only a barber needs to own a comb. Unless you’re a ’50s hoodlum who has to whip out a switchblade comb and run it through your hair before having a dance fight with the Sharks, I would put your comb in the trash. Combs are too weak to stand up to a full head of hair, and often end up snagging and pulling your hair when you use them. Fuck that. A hairbrush is much more gentle. Sometimes I like to press the tines into my scalp for a pleasant massage. OOOOH BRUSH, YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME FEEL GOOD.


Do you think Tom Cruise knows what a Whopper is, and does he know who sells them? I say yes, he absolutely knows what a Whopper is. He might be a weirdo and isolated from the world the rest of us live in, but he still knows. He has to. My friend says he doesn’t think Tom ever watches TV, so he wouldn’t see any commercials. Thoughts?

Yeah, he knows what a Whopper is. The Whopper is older than Tom Cruise! It’s not like 8-year-old Tom Cruise was shunning the TV to go jump out of airplanes and audition new wives and con people into buying e-meters. He was exposed to the outside world long before turning into a big toothy weirdo. He’s come into contact with Whopper-related promotional materials.

By the way, and this is true, I’ve never had a Whopper. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a Big Mac either. My old go-to McDonald’s order was two plain burgers, fries, and a strawberry shake (for dipping the fries!). Due to my fierce hatred of mayo, I avoided the shit out of any burger that was specially sauced. So there you go. One day Gawker will force me to eat a stupid Whopper on Facebook Live, and I’ll have to go to Five Guys to wash the taste of it out of my mouth. Now that there are viable alternatives, there’s no reason for anyone on Earth to ever eat a burger from McDonald’s or Burger King ever again.


Has a set of twins ever played for the Minnesota Twins?

Not yet! But given the explosion in fertility drugs, it’s only a matter of time before the Johannsen quintuplets get a minor league deal.

By the way, according to this site, only nine sets of identical twins have ever played major league baseball, and only three of those sets have played for the same team, including the Canseco twins! I have nothing insightful to add to that. I just think baseball would be a richer spectacle if it had more ’roid-addled twin brothers speeding around in Ferraris and white leisure suits.


My Uber account is broken, and all my rides are free. It’s been going on for about a month now. Basically, it looks like I have an endless amount of credit. I’ll take the ride, and instead of my receipt saying that my card was charged $13.21, it says that my card was charged $0.00 and I used $13.21 of credit. I checked my bank account, and sure enough, no charge. At first, I shrugged it off as a fluke. The third time it happened, I decided to put it to the test, and started taking Uber everywhere. I have now taken somewhere on the order of $150.00 of free rides. I’m kind of hitting a wall with what to do here. Even now, I’m sitting in my office and faced with the choice: do I take the bus home (90 minutes) or take a FREE FUCKING UBER?! What do you think, and have you ever heard of this happening to anyone else?

You gotta tell them. It sucks, and you’ll feel like a complete goody-goody for turning in the “Bank Error In Your Favor!” Monopoly card. But you have to get it fixed, because a) Uber will notice at some point, and then they’ll send hired goons to slice off your kneecaps, and b) they’ll fuck the drivers out of that money. Every time you think you’re sticking it to BIG TECH by scoring free rides, they recoup the loss by hanging their employees upside-down and shaking the loose change out. So don’t think of this as some kind of ethical scolding. This is just me telling you to get out while you were able to get away with a few joyrides. Because at some point, they’ll get you, and they will FUCK you. They’ll take your gas, your grass, AND your ass.


My fiancé puts mayonnaise on her hot dogs. How should I handle this situation?

Just mayo? Is she British? That sounds like a Brit move.

One of the more disturbing recent foodie trends is hot dogs gussied up with mayo shit. The Kogi truck in L.A. sells Kogi dogs SLATHERED in mayo-based sauce. And the Wylie Dog at PDT in New York comes with “a baton of deep-fried mayo,” which is fucking revolting.

I know people can be unreasonable hot dog purists, because this is the internet, and people fight about the absolute dumbest shit. But whether you’re some asshole from Chicago who will gun people down for putting ketchup on a dog, or you’re loyal to Detroit Coneys, or you have some other annoying rule about goddamn hot dogs, I think we can all agree that this trend of putting mayo on hot dogs should be taken out back and shot. Is no dish safe? They’re gonna start putting it on ice cream sundaes if we’re not vigilant.


Today at work, I noticed my shoe was untied as I was taking a leak at the urinal. A public bathroom has to be in the top three worst places to have an untied shoelace, right? I had to tie my shoe with a potentially urine-soaked shoelace.

Yep. And when it happens in a public bathroom, it’s always one that has the worst drainage situation possible. Nothing worse than walking into a gas station shitter that is FLOODED with urine, and then realizing your goddamn shoe is untied. Then you tie it up quick and secure the knot, and watch in horror as the soaking pee-pee wrings out of the center. Just a bad scene all around.

I can’t think of any worse place to discover an untied, dirty-ass shoelace. Maybe Coachella. That’s about it.


So I’m a lifelong Patriots fan, and was recently gifted a couple of pieces of signed Von Miller paraphernalia. I can’t just mount that shit on my wall without having vivid flashbacks of Tom being repeatedly near-murdered by #58, but this stuff is also incredibly cool, and I respect the hell out of Von Miller, so it definitely deserves some fair treatment and a spot somewhere, right? So what is the proper way to honor signed gear from a rival team?

You need more memorabilia. That way, you can sneak in the Von Miller stuff with it, without it being conspicuous, and without your best bro Bug-O walking into your house and being like THE FACK IS WITH THE MILLAH CRAP?!

So here’s what you do: find an area to dedicate to all your sports crap. Whether it’s a shrine or a little table of tchotchkes or a full-fledged BROHOLE, make that your little sports area, and then decorate it with posters and pennants and the helmet sundae dish you saved from a game four years ago. And then put the Miller crap in there with it. The local team merch will dominate, but there will also be shit there that lets visitors know you are a FULL SPORTS MAN. And then put a kegerator next to it. Presto! You’re keeping the signed Von Miller Care Bear, but you’re also keeping it real.


Hypothetical situation: there’s a knock on your door, and it’s the Secret Service, demanding that you allow the president to use your bathroom. How do you respond?

Fuck yeah! COME ON IN. I would ask the Secret Service to give me just a moment to make the place look respectable for the POTUS, and then I would sneak into the bathroom and unlatch the chain from the flush in the tank. Then the President would take a dump in my house, but wouldn’t be able to flush the toilet. THAT POOP IS MINE. Once he leaves in a hurry, I would fish the poop out and put it right on my sports wall. Then I would post a photo of the poop to Twitter. “Such small turds for such a big important man! SAD!”


Say you had a million people in a room (a very big room, but a room for our purposes). Men, women, young, old, from every region of the country. If you asked every person to name their favorite band, how many would you have to ask before somebody said “The Fabulous Thunderbirds”? I feel it pretty confident you could run right through the whole million without having one.

I was gonna challenge you by noting that you might hit on a member of that band, or the relative of a member of that band. But then I checked Wikipedia and found this remarkable chart detailing the history of the band’s membership:

Image for article titled Do Not Masturbate While Seated

Look how many band members ol’ Kim Wilson has plowed through. THEY WEREN’T TUFF ENUFF! I bet if you asked Jimmie Vaughan, he would put the Thunderbirds LAST on his favorite band list. So, with that in mind, I agree with you. Unless Kim Wilson himself is in your million, no one is answering “the Fabulous Thunderbirds,” no matter how many tasty licks they’ve bestowed upon this great nation of ours.

Email of the week!


A few of my coworkers and I got together for an impromptu happy hour gathering on a recent Friday after work. Though the happy hour started with moderate drinking, it quickly devolved into shots and a reasonable amount of drunkenness. At one point, one coworker, who was very intoxicated, asked me and a few other coworkers if we wanted to see a picture of the girl he had sex with last weekend. Before any of us could answer, he then followed up with an offer to show us a video of him having sex with said girl, with the promise that “he’d find a video where we could barely see his dick.” When we declined, he then instead began to show us his collection of personal videos and pictures, many of which were incredibly personal and graphic, which included but were not limited to: him receiving a blowjob, and a video of a naked woman twerking.

Given that this was a non-work situation, the other coworkers and I have thought it would be better to keep it to ourselves in the office. However, I don’t know how to deal with the issue of my coworker. Do I go about pretending this never happened, or do I find some way to silently acknowledge it so we never have to have a conversation about his desire to share his own personal sex collection?

Just stay the fuck away from that guy. He’ll make a skin rug out of you.