Let's get right to your letters. I'm full of tiger blood.
Now I know you're not very religious, and neither am I, but just for the sake of argument, let's consider that there actually IS an afterlife, with a standard Heaven and Hell. For obvious reasons, the idea of spending an eternity in Hell is absolutely horrifying. But isn't the idea of spending an eternity in heaven terrifying as well? Think about it. ETERNITY. That's forever and then some. Meaning you could spend 10 billion years in Heaven and still not be any closer to the end than you were on you're first day. Sure, you'll finally get the chance to try everything ever imaginable to man. Wanna take a ride in an Indy Car on Rainbow Road from Mario Kart while firing red turtle shells at al-Quaeda terrorists? You'll probably get to try it at some point in Heaven.
But after you've tried EVERYTHING ever imaginable to man, you'll still have time to do it again! And again! And again and again and FUCKING AGAIN till you can't fucking bear to do it anymore! Even ice cream gets old after working at a Dairy Queen for a summer, so how can Heaven not get old after infinity too? Think about Adam and Eve. Those poor bastards have been around since the dawn of time, and they've probably run out of shit to do. Hell, they're so bored they may have even tried committing suicide at some point just to get away. But they couldn't, because they're already dead in Heaven!
I know some people think that it's depressing to think that there's nothing else out there after we die, but have they ever REALLY thought about it? Me? I'd take fading to black after I die any day over FUCKING ETERNITY.
This has always nagged at me as well. Even when I was a very small kid, I'd think about being dead and being dead FOREVER, and it terrified me. I remember hearing Prince say, "Electric word: life. It means forever, and that's a mighty long time…" at the beginning of "Let's Go Crazy" and being completely freaked out by the concept. And so I'd sit there sometimes in my bed and think about the idea that even if I went to Heaven, I'd still be unable to stop time advancing and that would probably drive me insane up there and cause me to start strangling Lincoln's angel and stuff.
But I've relaxed a bit about that sort of thing since then, and the reason is DRUGS. If you smoke pot, you know that time often becomes malleable. Five minutes seems to take two hours, etc. So maybe forever zips right on by when you're in heaven. Maybe you're so stoned on death that you don't even notice. That's my thought, that Heaven is so awesome that terrible thoughts like eternity never even enter in your mind. You're in a completely elevated state of consciousness, devoid of any such crises. It's so far beyond your mortal comprehension that worrying about forever will probably seem like an idiotic notion once Heaven takes hold of you. I think that's where Charlie Sheen is at right now. DYING IS FOR FOOLS. I bet you feel like that all the time in Heaven.
The other thing that calmed me down a bit was when I read a quote from Ebert that said, essentially, I was perfectly content before I was born, so that's probably how I'll feel when I die. And then I was like, "Hey! He's right! I totally was happy before I was born! Probably because I didn't exist, and had no formed soul, BUT EBERT IS RIGHT GOD DAMMIT!" So now I don't freak out as much anymore. Sometimes, if it's real late, the thought comes back to me, but then I conjure Ebert and Sheen. Then I think about breakfast the next day and everything is copasetic. So don't worry about death. It's probably like a really awesome heroin coma.
Do you think you could outrun the cops in a police chase? I'm not talking about an OJ situation, but maybe one or two cars. If nothing else, I would love to try – assuming there were no consequences.
It's doubtful, since cop cars are built for such events and your Camry is not. But God, wouldn't it be great to know for sure? Every time I'm flagged by a cop, I shit my pants and pull over instantly. But later on, I always wonder what would happen if I stomped on the gas and tried to make a getaway. The answer, of course, is that I'd be caught five seconds later and dragged to Poundtown. But I watched "The Dukes of Hazzard" so many times as a kid, and they made evading the police look SO EASY. Just a couple quick left turns and suddenly you VANISH. They can't possibly find you! So it's hard not to wonder if you can make it happen. I have a daydream where the cops are chasing me and I evade them by turning my headlights off. "It's a ghost car!"
That's a staple of movies and TV, where the crook somehow makes a clean getaway from nine thousand cops. Watch any retarded movie like Salt or The Town and you'll inevitably be treated to a scene where the main character somehow eludes 857 cop cars within the span of three minutes. It's more prevalent than the old 80's trope of bad guys firing machine guns into the ground behind the main character as he's running away. LOOK! THERE'S ARNOLD! AIM FOR THE FEET, MEN! IT'S HIS WEAKEST SPOT!
Why is it that men are so quick to latch on to horrible home town teams and stick with that team through thick and thin but we cower at the idea of making any other life long commitments? Being an Oakland Raiders and Sac Kings fan I sure have shared lots of pain but have stuck by them.
That's because cheering for the Raiders doesn't preclude you from fucking other people.
If there was a bare-knuckled fistfight involving all of the head coaches of the NFL, who would be the first one out and last one standing? The answer for last one standing would have been easy before the season ended, because Tom Cable looks like he could palm any other human's head like a basketball, but since he's out of the picture, who would be the winner? My friends and I were thinking Jack Del Rio would have the best chance (former linebacker, still appears to be in good shape).
There are so many candidates for first one out, you could argue for days. Mike Shanahan would be a seemingly obvious choice, so would Jim Caldwell (would he even fight?). Thoughts?
I think you have to include Ron Rivera in the top seeds, because Ron Rivera looks ready to whip off his glasses and smash your face at any given moment. And Mike Tomlin would also have to be up there, because he's Mike Tomlin. Let's assume it's a 32-man, single elimination tournament. We'll make it no holds barred, so you could pull hair and bite and gouge and do whatever you want. I think these would be the seedings:
1 seeds: Rivera, Del Rio, Tomlin, Mike Munchak
2 seeds: Both Harbaughs, Raheem Morris, Lovie Smith
Lovie seems like a physically capable fellow. And I just feel like he'd have lots of pent-up anger inside of him from all those years of people telling him he's a fucking idiot.
3 seeds: Rex Ryan (225-lb bench press!), Marvin Lewis, Hue Jackson, Ken Whisenhunt
In the case of Ryan, he's way overseeded, but you'd have to beware of the smothering factor.
4 seeds: Pete Carroll, Sean Payton, Todd Haley, Jim Schwartz
That's the Overanimated White Coach group.
5 seeds: John Fox, Mike Smith, Tony Sparano, Bill Belichick
That's the "dad strength" group. Mike Smith kind of looks old, but I guarantee you he has dad strength. I bet he could drop you to the ground with one angry slap.
6 seeds: Mike McCarthy, Leslie Frazier, Steve Spagnuolo, Gary Kubiak
7 seeds: Chan Gailey, Pat Shurmur, Jim Caldwell, Tom Coughlin
WARNING: Coughlin may have angry grandpa strength.
8 seeds: Shanahan, Jason Garrett, Andy Reid, Norv
Norv is the 32nd seed. The rest of these seedings are completely arbitrary and stupid. But if I'm sure of one thing, it's that the other 31 NFL coaches could easily kick the piss out of Norv. Even Garrett, who probably only knows how to slap fight. I say Tomlin wins the whole thing. I'd pay good money to watch him fight Rivera to the death. I bet it would be a classic. If there's a lockout, they should really do that.
I have a 10-month-old son. Changing his diaper is, as you can imagine, like trying to put chains on a tire while the car is still moving. In and of itself, this isn't a problem. What is a problem is his recent, inordinate obsession with his balls. When the kid shits, some of it invariably ends up smeared on his bag. And what does he do as soon as the diaper comes off? Tries to grab his balls. What's the next thing he wants to do with his hand? Put it in his mouth. Trying to keep him from stuffing his shit-smeared digits in his mouth (while holding him down) is a Herculean task, and I'm not going to lie: He's managed to get a brown finger past his lips more than once. Yet not once has he ever contracted dysentery, cholera, or any other feces-born, Third World illness. What gives? Has the health care community been lying to us all this time about the bacteria-rich properties of shit?
No. Shit is still bad for you to eat. But, as we discussed last week, I'm sure ingesting trace amounts of poop aren't going to hurt you. It's when you cuddle up with a full, warm bowl of poop stew that you're really going to hurt yourself.
I have a two-year-old, and changing his diaper is just as terrible because, like your kid, he goes right for the stinkfinger every time the diaper opens up. And the kid thinks it's hysterical. Every kid has that evil kid laugh, the laugh they deploy when they know they're doing shit they aren't supposed to do. And that's the laugh I get when the Pampers go off and my kid launches an immediate offensive on his own starfish. BAHAHAHAHA I WILL GET MY POOP OLD MAN!
My kid also has a stuffed animal he carries on him at all times as a security blanket, and whenever I change him, he often tries to cram the plush toy right into the steaming chocolate puddle in the diaper. And one time, he managed to get the thing in there and I had to wash it. Then he ended up crying all afternoon because it was in the wash and I was like IF YOU WANT YOUR GODDAMN TOY, DON'T WIPE YOUR ASS WITH IT.
Anyway, to avoid having your kid roll around on the changing table or play in his own shit, you have to deploy a move I call the Tera Patrick. The first thing you do grab both the child's wrists in your left hand. Kids are strong, so you have to grip them really tight. Break the wrists if need be. Then, you use your left forearm as a bar across the back of his knees, pinning both his legs up by his ears. So with one full arm, you've got all four limbs occupied. Then you wipe the kid's ass and get the fuck out of there.
The problem with diaper changing is that you have to be vigilant at all times. I've had the kid grab a diaper full of poop and start chewing on it (terrifying), and I've had the kid kick the diaper off the table before I had a chance to tape the diaper up, resulting in poop going all over the floor. (NO!) And it happens the second you let your guard down. You just blink and BOOM. Shit fiesta. It's horrible.
Sometimes kids get constipated, and when they do, you'll open up their diaper and find these little rock hard pebbles of shit. Now, whenever I find these in my kid's diaper, I do a little jig because shit pebbles are easy to clean. They don't smear. If they fall on the floor, you can just pick them up. They're remarkably sturdy. I kind of want to juggle them. Anyway, I'll clean it up and tell my wife (because moms always want to know a child's poop status) and then this conversation ensues.
ME: He had shit pebbles.
HER: Ugh, we'll have to give him medicine.
ME: Why? That just makes his shit smushy and horrible.
HER: But he's in pain.
ME: Yeah, but I'm happier, and isn't that all that matters?
How much money would you wager, betting on the fact that you knew what every light switch in your house did? I have lived in only one house for 20 years and I still find myself getting certain light switches mixed up. I can never remember which switch turns on the outdoor garage lights and which switch controls the inside ones. I know this sounds pretty stupid, but would you be willing to wager $100,000 on being able to tell what each switch in your house did?
No fucking way. I wouldn't even bet money on it if I only had to get 70% of them correct. I have light switch dyslexia. If there's a series of three switches on the wall, there's a very good chance that I will get them completely reversed. And if I walk into an unfamiliar office or home, the odds of me hitting the correct light switch to turn on the desired light fixture are 0%. If I'm in a foreign bathroom, I always hit the exhaust fan first. I always. I don't even get mad any more when it happens. I've accepted it.
I do get very mad at places that have poor light switch placement. If you walk into a very large room and there's a light switch by the door you just entered, you have a right to expect that switch will turn on the big important lights in the center of the room. If it turns on the garbage disposal instead, the person who wired the joint is a fucking idiot.
I'm in an apartment with three other guys. Two of which I get along with. The third is never here because of his girlfriend, but whenever he is actually here, all they do is screw. First off, we have our own rooms, but the problem is his girlfriend is real loud. And it's at the most random times. Like this morning when I woke up to it at 9:30 a.m., and I heard her. This has happened numerous times where I've walked into our place and heard them. Now my question is, what do I do about this? Do I just throw in my iPod headphones and blast my music, or should I call him out one way or another. I mean I don't want to be a cock block, but you can bang by telling your girlfriend to quiet down, right?
Man, there's nothing more agonizing than not getting laid and being in the immediate vicinity of people who are very much getting laid. Why don't they just throw their used rubbers in your face when they're done?
Anyway, this is something of a gray area. I don't buy into any stupid Man Law or some bullshit where it's like DUDE DON'T QUIET THE PUSSY! I believe in common courtesy. I think it's okay if you go to your roommate (preferably after having one or two beers, but NOT after having ten or twelve) and saying to him, "Listen, I think you and your ladyfriend are great. And I don't want to come off as a sore virgin, but sometimes you guys can get a little loud at bad times, like when I'm sleeping. Could you maybe see if you could tone it down or something?" I don't think that's an unreasonable request. Any other time of day, you can slap on some headphones and drown it out. But he's shouldn't be waking your ass up all the time with it.
After all, he's the guy who gets to bang a loud girl in bed every night. Who doesn't love a loud girl in bed? OH YEAHHHHHH HIT ME WHERE IT HURTS, ROUGH BOY! He's still the winner in this situation. I don't think it's an imposition to ask him to figure out more regular hours for super-loud fucking. Being considerate is a two-way street.
Have you ever hoped Wikipedia would introduce height and weight categories for the famous people? They currently only do it for people who are either really short or really tall. This would go across the board – rock stars, famous historical figures, past Presidents, you name it. I just think the public deserves to know the height of Albert Einstein or Geddy Lee if they are curious.
I concur. Liam Neeson is as tall as six normal men stacked on top of one another, but you don't see that anywhere on his Wikipedia page. Conversely, I've heard Elijah Wood is unable to mount a Huffy bike without some sort of hoist mechanism. Those things should be explained. I also think waist and bust sizes should be included for all women, and they should be updated frequently.
I'm a relatively tall person (6'3", three feet of which are my head), which means I'm a terrible heightist. I get disappointed when I learn someone I like is actually very short in real life. Like Pierce Brosnan. He's, like, the size of a pecan. I totally think less of him now, and that is WRONG. We should not judge people by height. We should only mock them for it.
Over the holidays, I had a lot of free time and was forced to watch Dr. Oz with my wife. On one of the episodes, he mentioned that poop should enter the bowl "like an Olympic diver into a pool." I have no other comment or question about that, other than it's awesome and I now imagine my poop getting unanimous 10's except for the fucking corrupt Czech Republic judge who gives it a 8.6
Dr. Oz is right, you know. You don't want your poop entering the bowl like sixty Chinamen bellyflopping simultaneously. That's an instant clue that something is wrong with your digestive system. I suggest swallowing neoprene, so that it can surround your poop and help reduce drag.
Oz's observation makes me wish that every toilet came equipped with a "dive cam," placed right at the surface of the water, showing precisely how your poop hit the water. You could watch it in real time. If you had a great dive, a computer attachment could even award you points for it. I'd enjoy shitting even more than I do now if I had that technology.
Speaking of poop, here's a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY. Reader Brian sends in a story I call IN THE MOUTH OF POOPNESS:
I came from a very small high school. As such, the students are more directly responsible for taking part in activities or those activities would not occur. One such event was running the concession stand for high school basketball games. Our class was on the calendar to run the concession stand for one Friday night game. Sign up sheets are passed around and if you were a player, you were more or less required to setup the concession stand so that you could then pass it off to those students that weren't out for basketball.
So that brings us to the Friday after school, myself and 3 other guys from my class are in the home economics room wrapping hotdogs to be sold at that night's game. One guy had to take a dump so he headed to the bathroom. Let's call him Steve.
So as Steve is taking a groaner, Mike decides to take one of the hotdogs and throws it at Steve while he is on the can. Not a very good idea on Mike's part, but it was funny. Steve is one of those guys that if you do something to him, he will make sure to get even with you two-fold over. Steve recruits a fifth guy (Chris) to help him get even with Mike. So Steve and Chris come flying back into the home economics room and tackle Mike. Mike knows this is not going to be good and is fighting them off the best he can, but Chris outweighs him by over 100 pounds, so Mike is screwed.
Steve now has a wad of toilet paper in his hand and wipes it across Mike's mouth. Steve had deposited a chunk of skeet into the toilet paper and now Mike has it in his mouth. To make matters worse, Mike is wearing braces. Chris lets Mike up and Mike runs out of the room. We go looking for Mike but he is no where to be found. Mike's car is no longer in the parking lot, so he went somewhere. Fast forward to the game that night and Mike is nowhere to be found. We are 20 minutes from taking the court and Mike has already missed the first shoot around that takes place at half time of the girls' varsity game. 15 minutes before the game and still no Mike. We are seriously starting to worry. Bad thoughts are going through our heads as to what happened to Mike. His parents are in the stands; his sister is playing in the basketball as we speak. 10 minutes to go and now the coach is asking where the hell Mike is. No one wants to answer him. How do you tell your coach that you rubbed crap in someone's mouth as the reason the player is not there?
5 minutes to go and finally Mike comes into the locker room. We are all looking at each other with a sigh of relief. Mike begins to change and we ask him where he had gone. He said (with a smile on his face) that he had to go home to get a toothbrush to get the crap out of his braces. From that point on Mike had a special name amongst his classmates: shitbreath.
Yeah, but that guy Steve is a dickbag. I hate those guys that have no sense of revenge balance. If someone shortsheets your bed, you don't go and rape their grandma. That's not even retribution. There's no need to escalate the conflict like that, people.
Art by Jim Cooke