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Envisioning The Death Of The NBA

Illustration for article titled Envisioning The Death Of The NBA
FunbagTime for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag.

I have a lingering personal defect, which is that I always, without fail, overestimate the power of both staplers and hole punchers. If I have a stack of 50 pages that I need stapled and I see a tinyass Swingline stapler and I'm like, "NO PROBLEMO." Then I go to staple the pages together and the stack of pages repel the staple like they're made of Kevlar. And hole punchers are even worse. School is starting soon and I distinctly remember having a hole puncher in my Trapper Keeper that wilted like fucking LeBron James in the face of a five-page book report. What a piece of shit. I want a hole puncher that could punch a hole through eight feet of solid steel and a rabbit on top. Otherwise: WORTHLESS.


(By the way, Trapper Keepers will always split on you by November. I know because my psychedelic Pegasus one from sixth grade totally crapped out on me. choose your school supplies wisely).

Your letters:


If your favorite team wins the championship, are you in favor of a lockout the next season, thus giving you two years to celebrate the championship and remain on top of the league? If there is no NBA season this year, Dallas Mavericks fans will have until Spring 2013 to cling to the title of NBA Champions.

I would say that's more of a silver lining to a lockout than something that's actually preferable to the resumption of a sport. Yes, it would be nice to be a Mavericks fan right now, with your victory preserved throughout the lockout, without a bunch of prognosticators immediately predicting you losing your crown. In fact, it's wholly possible that the Mavericks could become the LAST NBA champions ever. Why not? The NBA isn't like the NFL. Players in the NBA have options. Most of them can go overseas and still make an okay amount of money. Maybe each side will dig in and hold out for so long that the league basically becomes insolvent. Maybe you've seen the last of the NBA, and the Mavericks title will forever exist as the league's swan song. (I doubt though, because most NBA players will hate playing overseas because there isn't a PF Chang's anywhere nearby.) That would be kind of awesome if you were a Mavericks fan, but probably not as awesome as seeing your favorite team play again.

Because while it's fun to see your team win a title, it's not the entirety of being a fan. Being a fan of a team also means reveling in them playing games on a regular basis. Enjoying regular season games and playoff games and everything else that happens. The championship is a goal, but that doesn't mean every other part of the fan experience is worthless. No one would be a fan otherwise, because most teams don't win championships.

Also, the euphoria from a title usually wears off after a while. Eventually, you want to get back into the joyful rhythms of watching your team play again. And of course you want to see if they can repeat, so that you can become an insufferable prick who roots for a dynasty. ASSHOLE. So no, I don't think Mavs fans are all that excited about a lockout, but it's more fun to be a Mavs fan during one than a fan of some other loser team.


I got to thinking about my friends. Is it gay to say you would want to see a friend in action? Not closeups of penetration, just kind of what they do, what moves they employ, their general attitude, etc. Once it was mutual, you could bond over common techniques or, "I was with you until you started choking yourself." That kind of stuff. Gay or the next level of friendship?


You're basically wondering if you can sit in on your friend and gather sexual information from him. I don't think that's gay, per se. I think everyone is curious about everyone else. Maybe you're concerned you aren't doing shit right. Or maybe your friend has a hot girlfriend and you want to picture her naked and he pops up naked in your imagination as well, because it just kind of makes sense that the guy who is having sex with her would be having sex with her in your head. I can only speak for myself when I tell you that I do NOT like it when my friends pop up naked in my imagination. I don't even like talking about sex with my friends anymore. It was all I wanted to talk about with friends when I was 19. But I'm 34 now. Somewhere along the way, you REALLY don't ever want to hear about your friend's sex lives ever again. You don't want to hear them talking about plowing their wives or banging hookers or any of that shit. It's either gross or it's enraging if you aren't as sexually active. I'd say by age 30 your desire to know about your friends having sex pretty much gets eradicated. If you're 40 years old and you're still going to brunch with friends talking about the pussy you scored last night, you're fucking weird.


I was at Five Guys today consuming my 4,000 calorie burger when I noticed that a gelato shop had opened up next door. I spotted a poster of a cone with what appeared to be brown gelato, but on second glance it looked like a gyro in a cone. Sure enough, it was a poster of a "sandwich cone." I learned later that they also have pizza cones. The first thing that popped into my head was the quote from Something About Mary where they say that they'd like to see more meat in a cone, but I still can't decide if it would be good or not. What is your opinion on cones as a meat delivery device? I'm assuming there isn't a hole at the bottom where grease or sauce will drip into your hand.


A meat cone is really just a poorly wrapped taco. I wouldn't have any problem with it from an appetite appeal standpoint. Many gyros are served in flatbread that been wrapped like a cone, and gyros are goddamn delicious. And if you've ever ordered a sushi handroll, you know that they too are like small fish and rice cones. They too are a delight. They're always the most expensive way to have sushi, too. The regular roll is five bucks. Two pieces of nigiri are six bucks. And then the hand roll is, like, ten bucks. TASTES LIKE LUXURY.


Once in a while my wife will go to bed early and when she does she'll turn off the baby monitor in the kids room because our room is just across the hall from the kids. Sometimes after she's in bed I'll turn on the baby monitor receiver and I can pick up another monitor in the neighborhood. I will usually give it a listen for a few minutes hoping to catch the parents having crazy loud sex in the next room. It's never happened but eventually you'd think it would, right? Or am I just messed up for even listening in the first place?


No way. Perfectly fine to eavesdrop if you just "happened" to pick up the frequency (though I'd always be scared of picking up a ghost frequency, like in that movie Insidious.). If that happens to me, I usually hope to hear a few things. Sex, obviously. But also a murder. Oh, what I'd give for Rear Window to happen to me. then I could call the cops and thwart the assailant. Or what if the couple was having a really cruel argument? Just horrible name calling and accusations that would make your head spin. MAYBE I'D LOVE THIS BABY MORE IF I DIDN'T KNOW YOUR UNCLE WAS THE FATHER. Shit like that. Or a terrorist plot. Or a plan to rob a pot farmer, like in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. All worthy things of wanting to overhear.


Saw this during a 4th of July parade. It's OK for me to not be well versed in the shitstorm that is the U.S. economy and instead blame the slow recovery on her, right?

Illustration for article titled Envisioning The Death Of The NBA

I do wish the package had more substantive benefits in it.


So about 36 hours ago I found out I'm going to be a father. Should I renew my gym membership?


Yes. Renew it. Don't let it lapse or else you'll NEVER get away from the house. You have to keep it and keep paying for it so you can say to your wife, "We're wasting money! I SHOULD GO HIT THE WEIGHTS BEEYATCH." When I was younger, working out was a chore. Now? Now, it's a glorious oasis, two hours away from screaming children cleverly disguised as necessary self-maintenance. I can read a magazine without being interrupted. I can shower for as long as I like. If I'm feeling evil, I can grab lunch by myself afterwards. Wives catch onto this quickly, but what are you gonna say to your husband? Stop being healthy? Get fat? THEY CAN'T SAY SHIT! MWAHAHAHAHAHA. Except when they start demanding you go either at night or at 4AM in the morning before the kids wake up. Then it's a bit of a problem.


My wife is having a kid in five months. Suddenly, I don't quite understand what I've done. Why am I doing this? I'm not ready for this. There's no going back! Sweet Jesus. Why did I agree to have kids?


We get emails like this from time to time at the Funbag, from future dads who are scared shitless at the oncoming deluge of formula barfs and yellow diarrhea coming their way. Read enough of them and you'd begin to assume that no sane man would ever want to have children, but that's not true, of course. Women have a natural drive to have kids, and so do men. Even if you're rationally against having kids for all the logical reasons (they scream, they cost money, etc), your natural instincts will probably end up overriding all those concerns. What's more, I can tell you the real reason every guy should have a kid, and that is that kids make your life feel fucking EPIC.

Forget the kid itself. I'm talking about for purely selfish reasons here. You have a kid, and instantly your life feels much bigger. It isn't, of course. You're still just an asshole. But try having a kid and then reading "The Road." You will spend the next decade envisioning a horrible worldwide catastrophe that leaves you and your precious child as the lone survivors of humanity, your poor child huddled against you for warmth, looking to you for the answers IN A WORLD GONE MAD. And imagining that shit is way cool. Or you'll picture yourself becoming the head of a vast criminal empire and then handing that empire over to your son, who runs it with a cold-blooded ruthlessness that is both admirable and chilling all at once. Or you'll sing to your kid at night and you'll totally imagine it as the touching moment in a Steven Spielberg film right before the man-eating aliens land. That's what having kids does for you. You get to fulfill the role of protector and provider and angry drunk dad as you see fit, and you can't do that otherwise. So there. Have a kid, then you can sit by your father's deathbed and tell him through bitter tears, "I get it now, Dad. I GET IT." Then you cry and easily win yourself an imaginary Oscar.




Why do farts follow one around? Last night I dropped a real vibe-slayer as the missus and I were in bed talking. I'm just getting over food poisoning, so this was no ordinary beer fart but the putrid sputtering of my stalled engine getting back up to speed. She was horrified, and I was ordered to leave the room for the next one (there's always a next one). A fair request. Ten minutes later, the next one. I pop out of bed, run to the next room, and let 'er rip. Similarly awful. But it's over, and I head back to bed. She starts screaming. Apparently the damn thing followed me back to bed. I'm thinking this happens for one of two reasons: either the fart rides in the vacuum/wake of the walking human body, or some of the fart is hanging out in your underwear and takes its time leaking out. Can you ask a scientist which it is?


According to this site, which I found by doing a simple Google search of "why do farts follow"...

The reason is air pressure and your clothing. For air pressure demonstrations, the Japanese have a great video which you should watch, while for clothing, they absorb the fart, hence the smell gets slowly released.


The video they embedded at the website was missing, which means I'm totally bereft of answers. I MUST KNOW THE ROLE OF AIR PRESSURE. And if it's air pressure that's causing me farts to trail me, is there a way to eliminate air pressure? Seems doable.

You know, for years I've been faithfully doing all these fart negation tactics without ever once having evidence that they actually work. Like these:

1. Farting in another room. Like Derek said, it just follows me back. It even follows me back when I take the care to pull down my pants, spread my asscheeks, and expel the fart ENTRIELY from my asshole prior to suiting back up and returning to the room. It doesn't work. At all.


2. Waving off the fart. The only thing this seems to do is get the fart smell embedded within my hand. It does nothing to make the gas dissipate more quickly into the ether.

3. Farting into the garbage can. Doesn't hold in the smell whatsoever. I think there may be a defective seal.


The only surefire way I know of eliminating fart odor quickly is lighting a match immediately afterwards. You should see how many matches my old lady has gone through thanks to my ass pollution. You'd think she smokes five packs a day.


I'm getting married in October and just starting thinking about all of the embarrassing things that could happen to me in front of 200 or so friends and family. What if, when I see my beautiful bride walking down the aisle, or we're holding hands at the altar, I get a boner?

Is this scenario even possible, or are you so nervous during your wedding that the idea of wood is out of the question? And if this does happen, is there any possible way to cover it up?


I think it's damn near impossible. It would be like getting a hard-on while playing a football game, or getting a hard-on while skydiving. There's too much adrenaline pumping for you to take the time and care to sport a diving board in your pants. And even if you did, no one would notice or give a shit because the only thing people look at during a wedding is the bride. Does she look great? Does she look shockingly obese? Where the hell did she get that dress? I heard she was a real cunt to her bridesmaids. That's all the crowd notices. You're set dressing. She could be marrying Jesus Himself and no one at the church would pick up on it. So don't fear the boner. And if you get one, all the better. Shit, take it out and wave it around and see if anyone flinches. They won't.


I'm stationed as an Army officer over here in Korea and my buddy recently saw this excellent teddy bear dong advertisement for waxing services. You get not just one, but two cock flashing pedobears synchronizing their odd fetish. I don't understand why their nut sack hair color would be different from their bear fur, but maybe I'm just over thinking it.

Illustration for article titled Envisioning The Death Of The NBA

And why a bear? I feel like if you were a bear, you'd be more concerned with adding hair to your pubic region than taking it away.



Do you ever watch The Wiggles and inadvertently picture them fucking hookers? It feels weird.


I have that problem with basically any child performer. The fact that they perform strictly for children makes me far more curious about their personal lives than if they were just regular singers or actors. I'll watch an entire episode of "The Fresh Beat Band" wondering if Twist goes home, smokes meth, and hires girls from Sizzle Escorts. If you're performing for kids, I have to assume there's some kind of dark, twisted side to you.

I took my kid to a puppet show this summer and the puppeteer there was this forty-year-old dude with a huge bald spot. He had these bad songs and cheap puppets and he tried juggling and dropped his balls four goddamn times. This was at some tiny little theater and there couldn't have been more than ten kids in the crowd. I sat there the whole time just trying to figure out what this guy's life was really like. Did he have kids of his own? Was he a loner? Was he a pederast? There has to be a trace of pederast to any professional puppeteer, no? He probably went from town to town doing these kiddie shows for barely any money. I bet he stayed at Motel 6 that night. I wondered if he took out his elephant puppet and skeeted on it just because he could. Maybe he liked hanging out around day care centers. I couldn't stop applying all these dark and horrible characteristics to this poor guy who was just trying to scrape out a living. It was a much more damning indictment of me than of the puppeteer. Then again, I still have most of his songs in my head from listening to them just one time, so fuck him in the ass with a bowling pin.



If they were to re-instate tug-of-war as an Olympic event in time for the London Olympics, who would be the favorites? Let's say 8 men on a team, each country gets one team. You have to think that China and the U.S.A. would be up there, simply because those countries have lots of athletes to choose from, and are willing to spend lots of money on Olympic events that no one else cares about.

Maybe Turkey, Russia, or Kazakhstan would make it to the medal round with a team made up of people who didn't make the weight lifting or wrestling squad. If Samoa bothered to send a team, they could be pretty dangerous.


This is probably the wrong connection to make, but Rowing is a current Olympic sport that involves lots of pulling, so maybe the best rowers would also make for good tug-of-war participants. At the 2008 Summer Games, the top rowing medaling countries were Great Britain (6), Canada (4), then Australia, the US, and New Zealand (3 each). So all those countries would probably do all right, along with the traditional weightlifting powers you just mentioned (the two Koreas also fared well in that sport in Beijing). Provided we didn't include the Winklevii on our squad, I'd love to see Tug of War become an Olympic sport, along with Smear the Queer, Butts Up, and Trampoline Wrestling.

Joey Joe Joe Jr.:

I am a newlywed, and I shave my sack with my wife's shower razor. I have no intention of telling her. Is my marriage doomed?


Nah. Best to keep that to yourself. I don't tell my wife that I sometimes dribble peepee into the sink, and our marriage hasn't suffered for it as of yet.


I have a coworker that I love to upset in little ways, among other things, not wearing socks on casual Fridays at the office. While upsetting my coworker is quite rewarding, I can say getting away with walking barefoot around the office is the balls. Most of my time is spent with my feet under the desk but the times I have to walk to the printer barefoot brings joy to my job.


I used to take off my shoes at the office as well, though I did this not to anger a co-worker, but because my dogs were barkin' and needed some fresh air. And I'd walk around gleefully in my bare feet or stocking feet before the smell hit and then I'd feel terrible about subjecting everyone to the stench. I love my own odors, but even I quickly grew disenchanted with the brutal smell coming up from my toejam. So I usually didn't keep my shoes and socks off for longer than a few minutes before I meekly put them back on again. It's not like farting at work. You can't trick yourself into believing no one knows you did it. Everyone smells the gorgonzola, sees your bare cloppers, and puts two and two together. It's not a fun moment. But those two minutes when you walk from your desk to the office fridge? MAGIC.



Illustration for article titled Envisioning The Death Of The NBA

They should put that plate at the Pentagon memorial.


I feel like in TV and movies 20+ years ago, whenever one of the characters got in trouble with the law (or shady variant thereof) overseas, as they were dragging him away to their secret prison, he would always say something like "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME, GODDAMMIT! I'M AN AMERICAN CITIZEN!! SOMEONE CALL THE EMBASSY!" I feel like if anyone ever tried that these days they'd just get laughed at (and probably punched in the stomach). Did this ever work? Why does it seem less likely to work now?


It seems less likely because of the perception that America used up some of its good will over the past decade. But it also seems less likely now because movies and TV (particularly "The Wire") have done an excellent job showing you just how brazenly incompetent most large corporate and government entities are. Thus, viewers are a whole lot more cynical about that kind of thing. "What's that? You just call the Embassy and they rescue you? BULLSHIT. They'd obviously have to have six meetings about it, make sure you're demographically worth saving, and then see if there's any money to send a helicopter out to fetch you, WHICH THERE SO WON'T BE." Way to go, David Simon. We have no misguided faith in America anymore. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY.

Time for your email of the week. It's a GREAT MOMENT IN BARF HISTORY.


This past weekend, I went on a float trip in Missouri (for lack of better options). The rafting was good fun. Saw multiple sets of tits, got really drunk, and jumped off a cliff that was about 15 feet high and looked about 30 feet high when I got there.
Fast forward to post-rafting. I order a pizza from the lodge and have it delivered to our campsite. I devour it and go to bed. Because its hot as balls outside, I think it's a great idea to sleep naked. An hour later, I'm feeling sick. I try scrambling for the door of the tent, but I don't make it. I throw up a bit right inside of the tent. I open the zipper (man that was a bitch) and proceed to unload the rest. In the process I slip and fall face first to where my face is laying in my outside puke, and my dong has fallen into the puke. Perfect, I had to walk a half mile to the showers just to wash off and then clean it all up at 1 in the morning. I spent the night laying in a truck bed. Fuck Missouri.


Fuck it, indeed. It totally made you do that.