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Everything You Wanted To Know About Fantasy Mutant Sperm But Were Afraid To Ask

FunbagTime for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag.

Before we get to your letters, I must break down, in great detail, this fantastic question that was posted to Reddit over the weekend, from Reddit user Maddawg579:

Would you still masturbate if, instead of millions of sperm coming out, only one big one came out and you had to kill it before it killed you?

Don't worry about the physics of it, just imagine the scenario. A bulldog-sized sperm comes bursting out and it has teeth, eyes, and everything. You have to somehow kill it, or it's going to kill you.

Personally, I think it would be fucking awesome. Unfortunately, everyone would know when you just finished jerking it.


I read this question and immediately pictured a world dotted with numerous glory hole crematoriums designed specifically to address this problem. Imagine with me, if you will. You have to jerk off. There's no stopping the urge. So you hustle over to your local Masturbation Depository. Once there, you find a private booth with a small hole in the wall. You do your jerking and then you skeet into the hole so that the bulldog sperm is ejected into a separate room. Obviously, you'd have to be very mindful of timing in this instance. One premature orgasm and you're fucking toast. You have to KNOW when that nut is coming, and prepare thusly.

Now, here comes the best part: You could, in theory, ejaculate your bulldog sperm into an arena, where – WAIT FOR IT – it could square off against the sperm of other attendants. So you go, you jerk off, you skeet into the glory hole, and then you spend the next hour drinking and watching your sperm fight against others in a no-hold-barred death match. You could gamble on it. You could bring friends. And if your sperm wins, you clearly are more virile than the other men. IT WOULD BE AMAZING. I bet even Michael Vick couldn't resist bulldog sperm fighting.


As for actual sex with bulldog sperm, that might be an issue. I suggest that the woman have a deadly dart frog sequestered within her uterus, to neutralize the bulldog sperm. This would also help prevent sexual assaults! So I think SCIENCE should work toward finding a way to make this a reality.

This brings me to yet another question about possible fantasy mutant sperm: What if, every time you jerked off, a baby came out? A full-term human baby. You jerk off… BOOM! You're a father. It would destroy the planet. First of all, there would be massive overpopulation, to the point where infanticide – disposing of the child right after you bust a nut – would become extremely common. And so imagine how unpleasant jerking off would be if knew every jerk session had to end with you throwing a baby down a town baby chute (with an acid pit in the bottom). It would totally ruin the experience. Furthermore, what would all that baby-killing do to a man? Would you just start killing other random babies without cause because your soul is so dead inside? Wouldn't it be much better to have mutant bulldog sperm over instant baby sperm? I say yes.


This bulldog sperm question is proof, at least to me, that God WANTS us to jerk off. It He didn't want us to jerk off, He would have given us instant baby sperm, or bulldog sperm, or Keane CD sperm. But He didn't do that. He made jerking off safe, easy, and something you can do in private. So every time you masturbate from now on, be sure to point to the Heavens and say, "Thanks for the non-killer sperm, big man!"

Which brings us to a question a Funbag reader had:


Would be you be more likely to be eat semen if men ejaculated UltraNutella, or some other delicious concoction that cannot be procured anywhere else?


Tough call, IS IT NOT? You prize your masculinity. You're all like, "No way I'm gay!" But that UltraNutella sperm… it's calling you. So rich. So chocolatey. So delicious. And fresh from the tap! Tell me you wouldn't go devouring your own sperm thrice daily if it were an international delicacy. It might even make you more open-minded to homosexuality. "Well, normally I'd never suck a dick. But Bob's skeet does taste like meringue." I bet foodies would leap at the chance to buy contraband, unpasteurized sperm and throw large dinner parties with baby batter as the main theme.

But I don't think I could ever cross that line. I'd definitely start eating my own sperm. But foreign sperm? I will pass.



Electric wheelchair at a drive-through liquor store? Electric wheelchair at a drive-through liquor store. Spotted in Nasvhille, TN.


AMAZING. That guy should never have to pay for a drink.


If the NFL decided to go with a celebrity replacement football league, pending a lockout, who would you choose for your favorite team?


No one. I would choose no one because all celebrity sporting events are putrid and should be wiped off the face of the fucking Earth. Celebrity golf tournaments suck. Celebrity poker specials suck. Celebrity All-Star festivities and contests suck. I'd far prefer replacement players, or just random non-famous people over actual famous people. Because every celebrity sporting event out there has just one purpose: to indulge celebrities so they can be all jazzed that they were asked to participate in some fucking dipshit charity softball game.

I used to watch the Rock N Jock softball games on MTV when I was a kid, because I didn't know any better. And then, one day, I was like, "What the hell am I doing watching Kevin Seal pitch to Sammy Hagar? This is awful." It's like when you grow up and you realize that there's never any need to watch any celebrity interviewed on a late night talk show program, ever. The interview parts of all late night shows (which comprise 70% of the shows) are fucking pointless, unless the celebrity is hammered, in which case you can watch it on YouTube the next day.


Mr. Lew:

I'm sitting at my home office, doing the typical daily nonsense that I have to do for my job, when I get an Outlook calendar reminder that says "Look over your shoulder?" My heart sank, and I honestly pissed a little in my pants. Was this karma catching up with me? Was someone from my past in my apartment, waiting for me to turn around so they could slit my throat? I slowly turned around, and no one was there. I take a look at my e-mail inbox to find the new guy on our team sent me a calendar invite to see if he could observe me via web-conference, or as he so eloquently put it "look over your shoulder". Instead of sending me the invite a couple hours in advance, as most normal people would, he sent me the invite for that exact moment so it automatically generated a reminder without me viewing the invite. Who does that???


Assholes. That's who. Anyone who sends an Outlook calendar reminder of any sort is an asshole.

Oh, how I dreaded calendar reminders when I worked at an office. They're so fucking relentless. Even when I turned off the option, it would still pop up just to haunt me. And because I was too lazy to cancel events on the calendar, it would remind me constantly that I was late to some meeting that never occurred. I thought an Outlook calendar would help me stay relatively organized. Instead, it's this horrible, nagging thing that I wish was a tangible object so I could grab it and smash it with a goddamn hammer.



When do you decide to take a piss or not? I mean do you wait until you are about to explode or as soon as you feel the ability to piss do you get rid of that shit? I usually let it well up until I am about to explode unless I am going to bed or about to go in the car.


Nope, I wait until the second I feel even the slightest urge to urinate. Sometimes, I even piss before that happens just so I won't feel the urge. Because it's horrible to be at a movie or something and know that the urge to piss will hit me ten minutes into the flick. I've already completely psyched myself out for that piss, and so I feel compelled to rush out to the head before it even happens. Then I sit back down and the urge comes ten minutes later anyways. I might be ninety years old. Pissing is awful.


About a month into the school year, my roommate, another buddy of ours, and I are downtown in one of our town's many bars. After getting hammered, we walk back through campus to our dorm. Half way there, I get another tremendous idea to take a piss in the middle of the most historic part of campus. Somehow I'm smart enough to find a somewhat secluded are. After seeing this, my roommate decides he has to pee, too, but doesn't pick as great as spot as I do. Before he can even zip up his pants, two bicycle cops come over and start asking him questions. He distances himself from me and our other friend so we don't get caught, too. Obviously he's in deep shit, and they get him for fake id, underage, the whole nine yards.

Turns out he blames me for him getting arrested because me peeing made him decide to pee. Set me straight, is it my fault he got arrested, or is he holding a grudge that doesn't make any sense?


That's a ridiculous grudge. Tell him to stitch up his gash and take his arrest like a man. No one took his dick out and milked him for urine. It was his choice to take a leak outside with you and his choice to do it in a less guarded spot. You gotta take responsibility for your own choices. If both of you were sharing a joint outside and only one of you got busted for it, would he have also held a grudge then? He would? He sucks.


Help, I feel like shit. I'm hungover as balls and work is breaking my back. Do you have any remedies?


Gallon of distilled water. Advil. Breakfast burrito. Caffeine.

The worst I've ever felt in life were the two or three times I went to work immediately after staying out drinking all night, with no rest at all in between. I know there are people who can do this sort of thing on a far more regular basis (COCAINE!), but I couldn't do it more than a handful of times. It's agony. I did this a couple of times when I lived in New York, and it's basically like the scene in Trainspotting where Renton sees the dead baby crawling on the ceiling. You're out drinking or hooking up with someone until 7 or 8 in the morning, then you walk into an office bathed in horrible fluorescent light and you have to sit there for eight hours. I thought I was gonna die every time I did it.


You know who deserves to have their eyes gouged out? Those dipshits in college who go out of their way to tell you they stayed up all night studying for an exam or something. You know the type. They come up to you at lunch and they're like, "Aw man! I was up ALL NIGHT." They're simultaneously bragging and complaining, and they want you to be both sympathetic and in awe of their awesome staying-up skillz. Those people can eat a bag of shit.



I work in a small office, maybe 120 people tops. We're all in cubes, and I sit in a few cubes down from no less than the creepiest dude I've ever encountered. He speaks in a soft, effeminate whine. He scratches himself constantly. Constantly. In meetings, at his desk, while walking around. In meetings, he will loudly scratch his chest INSIDE of his collared shirt, sometimes for 15-20 straight seconds. People have noticed blood on his fingers, presumably from scratching. He stares at people. Big, smiling, horrifying gazes that have lasted up to 2 minutes (I'm talking staring at someone 6 inches away from him). He throws work related temper tantrums every few weeks.

This guy comes into the office probably 3 times a week stinking to high hell. I'm talking nauseating, overwhelming stink of 1,000 deaths. I can often tell when he gets to work 10-15 minutes before I can see or hear him. People have complained, but nothing seems to happen. No one wants to tell a grown ass man to take a fucking shower. So what do you do? Do you go subtle and place a deodorant on his cube while he's at lunch? Leave a note in his mailbox? My main fear isn't so much that I'll hurt his feelings, but that he will cut me into pieces and store me in his fridge. Dude is terrifying.


You have to complain much more vociferously to management. It's a legit complaint. And write an email to your boss or to HR, so that you have documented proof that you complained. Failing that, I'd approach the creep as a group. Don't just go it alone. That way, you reduce the odds of YOU becoming his serial killing target. He may pick you out from a group of twenty, but that's still better odds than if you went up to him alone. In the face of a group intervention, he'll either agree to change or become so hostile and defensive that he'll either leave or assault the receptionist and be hauled off to Poundtown.


Let's say a creature is created by Satan tomorrow. This creature's sole motivation is to kill you. It cares not for food, comfort, sex, or enjoyment. Just your violent death. It begins its journey on the opposite end of America. It has special radar that can track your every move, and always comes after you in a straight line. It can swim, barely needs to eat or sleep, and moves at wolf speed. It does not have the ability to reason like a human, so if you board a cross-country flight, it will have to readjust its attack to where you land.

How long do you think you can survive with this single-minded terror coming to get you? Would you think after a year or two without seeing it, you would let your guard down, allowing it to catch up with you?


Does he come out my peepee when I whack it? No? Okay. Well, the first thing I'd do is jump on a plane, of course. Probably to Australia. Then I'd have to just keep flying long distances until I ran out of money. And then I'd finally have to confront Zuul and either I'd kill him (can I kill him? I'd like to kill him) or he'd eat me and drag me to Hell (which is, frankly, where I belong). I think that would take less than a year. Much less. Probably take a about four minutes. No one wants to live their whole life on the lam from a Wolfdemon. I bet I'd surrender after a mere week or two.

And now you've got me all scared that Satan has indeed sent a vicious dog-goyle after me and my kin. I'm gonna have to pack my emergency Zuul preparedness kit now. It has a golf club and some saltines in it. Saltines last a while, right?



What are the rules associated with masturbation when you have an 8 month old? My wife travels a lot for work, so it's just me and the kid at home together. What are the rules? Only after the kid is in bed? Not at all? The kid is a girl, so am I damaging her by pleasuring myself to girls barely 18 years older than her?

On that note, I find myself talking to the kid when we are out in public, saying things like "Look at the tits on that one". Does that make me a bad parent?


Let's tackle the first part. Again, this is assuming you are ejaculating NORMAL sperm, and not sperm that have been turned into magical peppercorn-sized oxen. It's perfectly acceptable to masturbate. If the kid's asleep and you're in your room or something, why wouldn't you? You're in your own private space. As we've said here before, if you have a private space to yourself, that's a greenlight. Even if the kid isn't asleep. If the kid is just hanging out watching TV downstairs and you gotta do what you gotta do, that's fine. It's not like you're doing it ON the kid. They'll be fine.

Now, to the second part, who says that kind of thing to a child? PIG! PATRIARCHAL SUPERIORIST!



Who do you think is the oldest person to still dunk a basketball? Maybe some athletes stay in shape enough into their fifties, but anyone 60+ still dunking a ball? (No 7 footers, they have to need to jump to dunk)


A quick Google search says that Bill Russell is the oldest person to dunk a ball, though that answer comes from Yahoo! Answers, so they aren't really reliable. Chuck Klosterman asked this question to readers a while back and doesn't seem to have any definitive answer. The Guinness Book of World Records doesn't have this as an official record, which is both surprising and disappointing.

Russell is 6'9", with a 7'4" wingspan. Clearly, that isn't quite tall enough to dunk the ball without jumping. And at 77 years old, who knows if the old man can still jump or not. HOWEVAH, take a look at Bao Xishun, who is 60 years old and stands 8'1". Does Bao need to jump to dunk a ball? FUCK AND NO.



Saw this at a silent auction for a charity event in Cincinnati, OH. I think it finally sold for about $45.


But what would an authentic Tom Couch ball fetch?

Time for the email of the week.


I manage an SRO on the northside of Chicago. If you don't know what and SRO is, its another name for a residential hotel. As you can imagine it is not the nicest of domiciles since it caters to people of a low income.

There is one tenant who is and quite decrepit. Because of this she only leaves her room once a month or so to go to the bank and get groceries. When she returned from this most recent excursion she asked me to help bring her groceries to her room.

When I got to the room I immediately noticed two large black and white photos. One was of a family consisting of a husband, wife, and two male children. The second was of just the man. The man in both photos was dressed in full Nazi officers uniform.

I asked her what the pictures were about and she explained that it was her family. Then without really thinking I asked her who her father was. She calmly replied that his name was Reinhard Heydrich.

I went down to my office and googled the name not expecting anything to come up. I thought he had a minor role in the army. I was wrong. Apparently Reinhard Heydrich was one of the main architects of the Holocaust and also the successor to Hitler if anything happened to him.

He was assassinated in 1941 in Prague. His daughter, the tenant, was born shortly after.


Holy shit!

/gets Nazi Shark on a plane to Chicago

Someone needs to interview this woman. Preferably a trained journalist, since I would just ask her what she would do if she masturbated and a Jew came out. Would she stop flicking the bean? QUESTIONS.

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