At my desk I was just handed a sympathy card for a coworker’s Grandfather in-law who died. Is it wrong that I think this is a little too far out of the close relative realm to warrant a work sympathy card?


That seems little weird but sometimes there’s an added twist that you’re not aware of. Like if someone’s second cousin dies and it turns out the second cousin raised them and paid for their college and was also Paul Stanley of KISS. There are always circumstances that you may not be aware of as an oblivious, indifferent coworker.

That said, I can’t imagine what possible background could make the guy’s grandpappy-in-law so vital. That old man better have personally wounded Hitler or something to merit the sympathy card passaround.



Alright let’s pretend that you are an immortal human. You have been roaming this planet in secret for the past 5,000 years. You are the only one. You look as if you were in your late 30s or early 40s. Even someone in their 70s is a child compared to you. What age range do you date? Would someone in their early 20s feel pedophile-ish to you? Would dating someone later in their life say 60s be pointless to you since you’d only get a few decades, only a blink of an eye to you? Would you even marry and just do weekend flings?


If I’m 5,000 years old there’s no way I’m giving a flying fuck about decorum. None. Imagine how few fucks you would give at 5,000 years old. I’d probably go fuck a rhino just to feel something new. “Well, I’ve already been widowed 18 times and fucked 5,000 people including kings, queens, peasants, viceroys, sailors, shipbuilders, natives, warlords, and fellow vampires. Let’s see if this rhino has anything new to offer me.” Then I would shoot a man just to watch him die. My conscience would be a black hole. I’m not playing by society’s RULES, mannnn. Also, I would totally sneak a 100-year opium addiction somewhere in there. Just eating opium and committing wanton acts of bestiality all over the place.

Drew (not me):

What’s the best dried fruit? I believe dried mango is the tastiest, but raisins are probably number one because of their versatility.


Apricots! Dried, glazed apricots are fucking stellar. Ever have the fancy ones that are dipped in dark chocolate? FULL TONGUEGASM. There’s a reason this site doesn’t have a Hater’s Guide to Harry & David, my friends. Anyway, I’d probably put apricots first, followed by mango, then cherries, and then raisins. Please note that all dried fruit should be enrobed in chocolate. Otherwise, you’re just eating a fart kit.

By the way, I used to find prunes revolting until my wife brought home a bag of little tiny prune bites that are chopped up and then coated in chocolate. I ate the whole bag in one sitting and then spent the next six hours on the toilet. We are all better off when prunes are unappetizing.



Say you’re an NFL GM and you’re preparing for the draft. A couple days before, though, you receive some important news. You learn that one of the guys who’s pretty low down on your big board (say, a projected 6th rounder) can speak to animals. Does this impact your decision to draft him? How? Assume that no other team is privy to this information.


He’s off the board. I don’t want him DISTRACTED because he ran over a squirrel on the way to practice and that squirrel asked him to deliver one final message to its squirrel family. Or what if he befriends a horse? Holy shit, you ever meet a horse person? One encounter with the black stallion and he’d be gone just like THAT.

Also, I don’t want him getting in with the wrong animals. What if he befriends some THUGGY pit bull who starts whispering in his ear about him not getting enough playing time? And what if the pit bull indoctrinates him into the pit bull lifestyle? What if his whole pit bull family starts harassing him for money? No, I want my player focused and in with the right crowd of mammals. Dr. Doolittle there can eat shit.



My future sister-in-law recently entered her dog into a cutest puppy contest on the internet. Now her dog is not a puppy, he is a full-grown dog and she used one of his puppy photos from two years ago. She then actively campaigned for votes with every person she even peripherally knows and the dog won. I don’t think it would bother me so much if she didn’t now post photos of the dog on all forms of social media with the #cnyscutestpuppy constantly. My wife, brother (not the one that’s marrying her), and myself all find this insufferable, are we being too harsh?


I think you can ding her for trolling for votes. That’s annoying. Take it from someone who used to openly stump for votes at the highly prestigious 2006 Weblog Awards. No one gives a shit about the award you’re after, and no one is really all that happy for you if you win it. BTW did I mention KSK won that award three years straight? NBD THOUGH IT’S NOT LIKE I KEEP TRACK OR ANYTHING I WAS ACTUALLY ASLEEP THE MORNING THEY ANNOUNCED IT FOR REAL.

Now, to address the other issue, I don’t give a shit if your sister-in-law entered a grown dog into the contest. It’s not like the Greater Attleboro Cutest Puppy Award needs to have its integrity preserved at all costs. I assume crazy dog people will do virtually anything to secure recognition, including doctoring photos, drugging pooches, and/or having a human supermodel dress up like a dog and then submitting the photos as that of a real dog. People get crazy when it comes to awards. One time my wife entered our first kid in some GAP Cutest Baby contest. (You won, like, a $200 gift card if they picked your photo.) And when our kid didn’t win, I was a little bitter. You’re telling some other asshole’s toilet baby was cuter than mine? HOW DARE YOU, GAP.



What’s more fun when it comes to magnets? Letting them stick together or trying to push them together when they repel?


I like to repel them. My kid has the little Thomas trains and I like to line them up at repelling ends and push them along the track. Never gets old. It’s like a force field! MAGNETS HOW DO THEY WORK? I’m very happy to have magnet toys back in my life. You can actually build model MagLev trains using magnetic strips that repel.

We made one like this from a little kit that costs $20 or so, and it slides along the track on a cushion of reverse magnetic force. It was cool as shit. I must have slid that thing back and forth 900 times before the magnet strips came unglued. Cheap piece of crap.


I also recommend sticking magnetic toys together and holding them up in the air until they finally give away and spill back onto the floor. Again, never gets old. Magnets are so strong!


Just finished the 2nd season of Daredevil and at the end (SPOILER ALERT) Foggy closes out his bar tab. In 2017 is this still a thing? How long does one have to be a regular at an establishment to get a bar tab? How do you bring it up? How high will the tab get before an owner starts shaking you down? The whole process just kind of fascinates me (I blame Cheers maybe?).


I don’t think I’ve even ASKED any place if I can open a running tab. Man, that would be sweet. I could just roll up the bar and see all my bar buddies: Dave, Mike, Mikey, Vinny, Sammy, Gary The Cunt, Dr. Flurst, Old Bob, and the rest! Imagine going to just one bar for life and then dropping dead from liver disease in it. COOL.

Anyway, I assume permanent bar tabs are a rarity now because A) Most bars are owned by some faceless conglomerate that expressly forbids them, B) Are staffed with so many people that it’s hard to keep track of who has a tab and who doesn’t and C) You can just settle up with a credit card after a night of drinking anyway, and not worry about getting overcharged for shit on a monthly bill. Who remembers a full month of drinking? I’m killing these brain cells for a reason yo.


The kind of place that still probably offers an open tab would be like Trees Lounge: located in a small town, staffed with like two people, with a grand total of five regular customers. Basically, the kind of joint that makes you want to kill yourself. The only way to run a tab in high style now is if you belong to a country club. Putting everything on the Underhills’ tab is the way to go.


I live on the gulf coast of Florida and today we made our first trip of the season to the beach. I stopped at a gas station on the way and picked up a few waters and a can of original Pringles for a beach snack. I was excited because, objectively, beach snacks are next-level good - something about the heat, the salty air, and the Alabama fans chain smoking Marlboro Lights a few chairs down really intensifies the tastiness of otherwise standard snack items. But today I wasn’t satisfied. I felt like the Pringle was too bland to mask the rogue grains of sand that inadvertently made it into each bite and the chip itself wasn’t thick enough to fill me up without eating the entire tube. In hindsight, I’m thinking Cheez-Its would’ve been the optimal choice. What’s the perfect beach snack?


If we’re talking strictly about shit you pack into your bag before you head to the beach, my answer is Cheetos. Every time we go on a beach vacation, I make a point of stocking up on absolute SHIT, just the junkiest possible food that we don’t usually buy at home. That means Cheetos, Oreos, crates full of honey roasted peanuts, etc. Then I hit the beach with a bag of Cheetos and get to work on my finger tan. By the time I’m finished, my fingers look like Trump. Then I take a wash in the Atlantic and I’m clean as a whistle. I love me some beach Cheetos. You could fill the bag with seawater and I’d still eat them. Mmmmmm…brine Cheetos.

If we’re expanding to snack bar items, the obvious answer is hot dogs and ice cream. A hot dog at the beach is even better than a hot dog at the ballpark, and it’s cheaper too. I want 87 beach dogs and I want them now.


Oh, and shaved ice! Every time we go to the beach, there’s a dude in a buggy selling shaved ice and the kids shit themselves when he drives by. They traverse 50 yards of blazing hot sands just to get a cone of blue raspberry. Then they drop it in the sand and cry and beg for another and then I say no and then they cry even louder and then I say FUCK THIS and we all go home. Great beach day.


How much would you pay (assuming you wouldn’t get to record it or have a record of what you heard) to listen to Celtics Coach Brad Stevens give you his honest opinion of Bill Simmons after four Sam Adams?


Twenty bucks. Cash. Spill it, Brad.

Email of the week!


One time I went out with a buddy of mine who was married, wife 6 months pregnant. He told her that we were only “Going out for a drink or two, and we’d be home by 9.” 9 turns into 3am.

We got back to his place to find his wife waiting in the living room, PISSED. She proceeds to yell at both of us for what seemed like hours, and then storms upstairs.

My buddy just stands there, looks at me, points to the couch, mumbles, and goes upstairs, turning off the light. I stand in the darkness, in no shape to drive, so I lay down.

I wake up, it’s still dark out, and I have to piss. I forget where his bathroom is, dont want to go outside because neighbors, so I piss in the sink. After I start the stream, I notice I’m peeing on what had to be clean dishes in one of those drying racks. I continue to piss.

This was eight years ago. Never told him. Should I?