I was at the airport on Sunday night and I was in line at the Hudson News kiosk to buy a banana, and just as I got to the front of the line, a guy nearby shouted "MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! CALL 911!" This big huge guy had collapsed and people were flocking around him, including the kiosk attendants. A fire rescue team swooped in to tend to the man. They had his shirt up and you could see his big white belly exposed, rising and falling with each labored breath.
Meanwhile, I was standing there with my banana. It’s hard to know what to do in that kind of situation because you’re so thoroughly useless. I didn’t know CPR and I was not a medical professional. I didn’t need to call 911 because everyone else was already doing it. I wanted to get a better look but that would have made me a gawker. I also had no idea if the cashier was coming back or not, and I started to feel like an asshole for wanting a banana when a man was potentially dying. So I put the banana down and fled the scene.
I stood near the gate and eyed the scene from afar. Another woman was gawking as well.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I said.
“We were eating out a month ago and a waiter collapsed and died,” she said.
“Thirty-eight years old. Just like that. They closed the restaurant down and everything.”
I watched as they carted off the big guy on a gurney. By now, he was alert enough to strenuously object. My flight boarded. Then, when the plane took off, ANOTHER person collapsed in the back. The flight attendant got on the PA and actually asked if there was a doctor in the house. That guy turned out to be OK as well. But man, we sure seem to be on an extended run of random, terrible things happening to people. Stay safe out there, man. I just want everyone to be OK.
In far more inconsequential news, there’s a book reading in Chicago on Thursday night. All the cool kids with their cracked iPhone screens will be there. Drinks at the Chicago Brauhaus afterward. Now, your letters:
A Saudi court recdently decided to paralyze a man who paralyzed his childhood friend. I feel like this punishment is a thousand times worse than the U.S. death penalty. Wouldn’t this lower our murder rates dramatically? Being a quadriplegic is a much worse fate than some nice little drugs given intravenously. I swear the murder rate would become nonexistent.
In general, it’s unwise to take cues on social justice from Saudi Arabia. Introducing an eye-for-an-eye policy to the American penal system might help prevent more violent crime, but it’s not worth it. If you break someone’s arm, does that mean someone gets to break YOUR arm? Who pays the arm-breaker? Who pays to put your stupid arm in a cast? And think of the appeals process. Death row appeals already take years, if not decades. Your appeal to keep your arm unbroken will gum up the system for ages, at a cost of millions to the taxpayer. That’s BIG LAW at work. No thank you. The answer to damage is not more damage. Did we learn nothing from all those Batman movies?!
As for instituting a straight paralysis penalty for murder, who pays for the wheelchair? And for the man’s sex surrogate? I’m not footing the tab, dammit. Most people commit murder either thinking they’ll get away with it or not thinking at all. Changing the ultimate penalty for it won’t affect them much. It’s not like they read the news anyway. “Oh, they do THAT to you now?”
What would it be like if instead of having two testicles, you just had one enormous testicle? Like the size of a kiwi.
It would cause all kinds of pain and discomfort. Having two smaller testicles allows for the scrotum to have a natural divide. That divide offers a convenient resting place for your penis. When you sit down, your penis can nestle between your two balls and not only feel comfortable, but also well-protected. It’s like those pickup trucks that have the double wheels at the back.
With one giant testicle, that natural divide is eliminated. Now, instead of your penis sitting between your balls, it is now precariously perched atop them, falling from side to side and applying extra pressure to your most sensitive areas. You do not want “extra pressure” anywhere near your testicle(s). The slapping effect during intercourse would be devastating. And if you got testicular cancer, you wouldn’t have a second testicle to pick up the slack. Also, what gesture would NBA players make after hitting a courageous three?
If you had to take a shit in a crowded bathroom, would you rather be in a stall that hides everything from the waist down, so people could make eye contact with you while shitting, or a stall that covers everything from the waist up so everyone could get a nice shot of the action?
You’d rather have your face exposed than your bare ass exposed. You can just look down at your phone the whole time and pretend no one is looking at you evacuating. And if you do catch anyone staring, you can shoot them a nasty look. The fuck you looking at, asshole? With your head covered but your ass exposed, you’d have no clue who’s looking and who isn’t. I bet there’s a fetish club out there that specializes in this exact setup.
No one looks good on a toilet. It’s the least attractive position for a naked person to be in. Your belly is at its fattest on a toilet. In a sitting/squatting position, the belly fat gets all mushed together and hangs over your genitals like a balloon waiting to burst. Your side fat rolls up. I once used a bathroom that had a full length mirror beside the toilet, so you could see yourself shitting in profile. It was terrifying. That kind of mirror should be outlawed.
Is it ok to wear a beat sock once it's been washed (despite being clearly stained)? If so, what is proper form for answering if someone calls you out on said stain?
If it weren’t OK to wear them, using a sock to clean yourself off would become an awfully expensive habit. Most people don’t have enough money to go around just throwing away perfectly useful socks. If they’ve been through the wash, that’s good enough for me. The jizz stain is just a convenient souvenir. It is only an ECHO of the jizz. It is not jizz itself. And if someone gives you shit, just tell them you were beating off to their MOM. SICK BURN, BRO.
Seriously though, just switch to toilet paper. I know getting out of bed is, like, a whole THING, so you reach for that sock because there’s nothing else around. But once you turn thirty, that excuse doesn’t wash. You gotta get up and use the Charmin. It’s better for everyone involved.
Would a big terrorist attack on American soil on a holiday ruin that holiday forever? Halloween? Christmas?
Probably not. The people at BIG CANDY would never let that happen. Once the anthrax attack hit San Antonio, there would be weeks and weeks of solemn news coverage. But both the government and lobbyists on behalf of the M&M/Mars corporation would urge you to hold a second Halloween or Xmas, to let those filthy terrorists know that they’ll never stand in the way of you going out and eating too much and buying lots of stupid crap. You’ll feel super brave for going trick-or-treating on November 16th, and companies wouldn’t see any dip in revenue. Everybody wins!
Then, the next Halloween, everyone would be determined to make it even Halloweenier. MORE candy. MORE thirty dollar Darth Vader costumes. It would really stick it to terrorist mastermind Osama bin Laden II, and it would be your patriotic way of honoring the deceased. The victims would have WANTED you to hand out full-size candy bars that night. We would all be encouraged to return to normalcy, which secretly means we’d all be encourged to not give a shit.
I don’t mean this to be preachy, but we are not exactly a country that cares all that much about other people dying. The worst part about what happened in Oklahoma yesterday is that, for people not directly involved, it will quickly pass out of their consciousness. Something else will takes its place in the news cycle and the victims will be left alone with a lifetime of dealing with its aftermath. It’s impossible to imagine the scale of the grief and loss, which is why a lot of people choose to look the other way.
I’m often like this, and I wish I wasn’t. When I was in that airport and the guy collapsed, I was thissss close to hopping on Twitter and live-tweeting the thing. That would have done the poor guy on the ground absolutely no good. That would have just been me happily collecting re-tweets about his stroke. Deep down, I was super excited to tell other people about it, and that makes me horrible. Shit, here I am telling you about it now because I can’t help myself. Though, in my defense, that guy DID live. Serves him right for holding up the banana line.
Conventional wisdom says that couples with children will get most annoyed by childless people who complain (about being tired, having no free time, how hard life is, etc.), but as a parent of three, I get INFINITELY more angry at couples with one kid who act like it's the hardest thing in the world.
Childless couples are idiots for complaining, but they have no idea what it's like to have kids so there's no point of reference. Parents with one kid at least have some experience at what it's like to be responsible for a helpless human life. They should get that it would be infinitely harder with multiple kids. Especially when they outnumber you. Oh your ONE kid is sick? That's rough. Let me tell you something. My oldest caught SWINE FLU at daycare, and my wife basically had to be an ER nurse for almost 2 weeks. As a result, I was left alone to care for my twin infant daughters, who, while being held at the same time, simultaneously threw up into both of my ears.
It’s all relative. If you don’t have multiple kids, you don’t know what it’s like to have multiple kids. You might think you know how hard it is, but you REALLY don’t know. Like, you are shockingly ignorant about how hard it is. You have to experience it firsthand to appreciate the total devastation. I look back at the three years where I had just one kid and God, it seems like a walk in the park. Only one kid? LUXURY. If two of my kids were sold on the black market, I’d be able to care for the leftover one with relative ease in between fits of howling grief.
Sometimes, my wife and I will be hanging out and she’ll be like, “Remember when we had just one?” And I’ll stare stare wistfully out the window. But I didn’t know all that when I had just one kid. When I had one kid, it seemed like the hardest thing in the world. It was tiring and painful and miserable and it didn’t feel as if life could possibly get more difficult. Oooooooh, but it can. So take it easy on the newbie parents. One day they’ll forget to use a rubber and they’ll know our plight all too well.
Other than injuries related directly to the penis and/or scrotum, which injury do you feel interferes most with one's ability to masturbate? A few, in no particular order: -Temporary blindness (You'd have to rely on imagination and the whole ordeal would be a mess...literally) -Broken arm/hand of choice (Personally, I struggle to switch hit) -Hernia/herniated disc -Broken ribs
Blindness would be nothing. You fap in the dark on occasion, don’t you? You lie in bed and close your eyes and imagine you’re a pool boy seducing your aunt’s sexy divorcee friend. That’s easy. The other three injuries you listed also pose little obstacle to your gratifying yourself. Take it from someone with three herniated discs: I never let it get in my way, not even right after surgery. Sometimes, when my sciatica was flaring up, I would go do my business even though I knew I shouldn’t have. And I would experience feverish pain radiating down my leg during the fap session. It probably set my recovery back a few times. No matter. When it comes to fapping, PAIN DON’T HURT.
That’s what makes men so inherently terrifying. The urge to nut is so primal within us that we will stop at NOTHING to achieve it. And the weird thing is that we orgasm every day. It’s not like this is some exciting new sensation we’re experiencing. We’re risking pain and injury to have the same stupid orgasm we’ve had THOUSANDS of times. It makes no fucking sense. If a man can gratify himself, he will. Period. Only paralysis can stand in our way. Even if we had TWO broken arms, we would still go hump the bed. We are relentless.
Could the Deadspin writers beat the defending Lingerie Football League champions in a game of football? For the sake of the hypothetical, all players would wear normal football pads and uniforms and you would play a game of lingerie-rules football (whatever those rules are). I say any group of somewhat fit guys could easily beat a lingerie team.
But are we wearing LINGERIE uniforms? Because that would make us bloggy folk all self-conscious. God, this looks weird. I wish my parents weren’t in the stands watching. Is it wrong that I’m turned on right now?
Anyway, I think yes, the Deadspin staff would win that game. And now it’s clear that we must find a way for it to happen. I’m sure the Internet would have no strong reaction to a bunch of men shoving attractive women around for a laugh.
Again, I would like to figure out who out there actually likes watching lingerie football. Why do I need bad porn and bad football COMBINED? Two wrongs don’t make a right.
At least this fine gentleman I found is specific as to where the rapin' will occur.
On a BMW, no less. What a charmer.
What will happen if people in the future can actually can get a brain transplant? Would people have to re-learn everything with a new brain, like talking and walking? Or would they gain the skills and talents of the person's brain they get? If you get the brain of an in-the-prime athlete like Adrian Peterson, would you gain the coordination and skills he had to become like that person? Also, would they be able to vividly recall that person's memories? How fucked up would it be if that were the case, and the brain you got belonged to some guy who secretly tortured and killed 3 people? That would become YOUR memory.
Surely there’s a Philip K. Dick story that deals with this sort of thing. Anyway, Adrian Peterson’s brain will obviously NOT bestow upon you his ability to run with the football. In addition to his brain, you would need his legs and arms and torso and his HANDSHAKE WHICH CAN CRUSH ROCKS IF JOE BUCK IS TO BE BELIEVED.
I don’t think there’s much chance of a true brain transplant happening anytime soon, given that scientists still know very little about how the brain actually works. If doctors could pull it off, they would probably have the brain wiped clean before jamming it in your noggin. That way, you don’t get any weird flashbacks to sexual encounters that are not your own. Perhaps they could even download the contents of your old brain to a USB port and then upload them into your new brain, so that you could keep your thoughts and your spank bank.
If you were given another brain that wasn’t wiped clean, you wouldn’t be you anymore. You’d be the other guy, only he’d be inside YOUR body. Touching your peepee. HANDS OFF, BOB! THAT’S NOT FOR YOU!
I have some friends who have recently bought a home. This home comes with a recording studio in the basement. Since neither friend has musical aspirations, how many nights after moving in will it take for them to record themselves having sex? I say by day three they have started their first mix tape.
If they were the type to record their sexy business, wouldn’t they have just used an iPhone by now? No woman is just gonna let that recording studio be. When people move into a new home, they have to GUT it and re-install all kinds of fancy countertops and cabinets so that they can tell everyone the house is THEIRS now, and have friends come ooh and ahh at all the new crown molding. Your friend is probably being ordered to rip out the recording console as we speak. He’s gonna have to sell it on CraigsList (turns out Heart’s “Bad Animals” was mixed on that console!) and the basement will be turned into a tea room within 48 days at a cost of $37,000. Houses suck.
So I'm walking to work this morning and am about the cross a street when I look over and see a guy with no nose. Literally, no nose — just two skull holes. Needless to say, it took everything in me to not say "Fuck it, I'm going home, that pretty much fucked me up for the day" but now I can't stop thinking about that dude — his day-to-day must be awful, between at best people like me trying not to stare but clearly are or, at worst, little kids flipping out upon seeing him (among countless other shit no one could image I'm sure).
Then I realized, holy shit, we're in a city, he's obviously going to be interacting with someone, which got me thinking more — how would I react if I was a cashier at Target having to ring this dude up? What would be the best way to deal with that? Society teaches us to be tolerant about disabilities and physical abnormalities, but when you see a guy with a skull for a nose, it's pretty jarring, man.
Was it Voldemort?
You’re gonna have a strong involuntary reaction to a man with no nose because a nose is such a prominent feature on human beings. It’s the center of your face. And it sticks out more than any other feature of yours (well, most of the time, anyway). Your nose arrives at places before the rest of you gets there. It leads you. That’s why rhinoplasty is such a popular form of plastic surgery. You get a lot of bang for your buck when your changing the most noticeable part of your face. Changing your nose means you’re changing your whole face, and losing your nose means you’ve, in some sense, lost your face. You don’t look recognizably human anymore. You look like another species entirely.
This is why people were so horrified when Michael Jackson’s nose started falling off. I legitimately wanted to throw up when I saw some of the close-up shots. Your nose is extremely important, so take care of it. Don’t pull a Jake Gittes and let some thug played by Roman Polanski go cutting it off.
What would happen if a player shot and scored at his own basket during the end of a playoff game? I mean he does it completely intentionally, either went crazy or got paid off. What happens? Do they call off the basket? What if it's a game winner? Does Stern snipe the player with laser eye beams or does his head just explode?
They don’t call off the basket. It counts, just as any own-basket (is that the right word?) counts during gameplay. And I don’t think David Stern would be mad at all. He’d be overjoyed. He has Memphis, San Antonio, and Indiana as three of his final four teams. He’ll take ANYTHING that makes people go batshit crazy. He’s probably offering Z-Bo a cash payment to score on his own basket as we speak. He’s no fool.
Let's say I snuck into a college cafeteria and put heroin in the lasagna. 200 college kids unknowingly eat said lasagna and experience the intense high of heroin. Obviously, they now crave that feeling again, but the only clue they have towards the cause of that experience was eating lasagna. Would they all become addicted to lasagna? Would they feel placebo highs from eating lasagna?
Oh, to chase the lasagna dragon. You’ll never re-capture that first saucy, meaty high. Anyway, there might be a mild placebo effect the next time they ate lasagna, but it would be so negligible that anyone eating it would be like, “This isn’t the same. They must have put heroin in the lasagna.” And then they would go out and get hooked on heroin. Please don’t put heroin in your lasagna.
You're in the stands for the biggest game of the year for your favorite college or pro team, and they are playing your most bitter rival. Without any prior warning or explanation, when the teams take the field of play, all of the players on your team are wearing your opponent's uniforms, and the opponents are wearing your team's uniforms. The game is about to start — who do you root for?
IT’S LIKE MY TEAM’S BRAIN HAS BEEN REPLACED BY A PACKER BRAIN. If, by some obscure league bylaw, the switch is permanent and the players on the other team are officially players of MY team, then I’m rooting for the Packers in Vikings clothing. I’d get used it after, oh, four seconds. AARON RODGERS IS OURS NOW. No one said being a sports fan made sense.
Email of the week! See if you can guess how the story ends.
So, my sister was visiting this weekend. We don't see each other all that much, but we've always had a pretty normal sibling relationship. We were out gallivanting around town, she was taking pictures on her camera. The camera card gets corrupted, and some pictures start disappearing. Pretty common, I say, and I take it back to the lab with some tech know-how. I repair the disk, no luck.
I try some apps to recover the files, I see them, but they require you to pay to actually recover, and fuck that noise. Eventually I start getting into some real dirty command line DOS shit to get these files out. I pry them out and dump them all on my hard drive and am scanning through the folder to make sure I got the ones we took.
As I'm doing this, she starts getting a little squirrelly and starts to hover behind me as I'm scrolling, insisting she do the checking. Literally, the second she finishes that sentence, it starts to preview a video of her finger blasting herself. I damn near spit my coffee across the screen, she freaks out and closes it immediately. I slowly walk away and pour myself the strongest drink I've ever had. There is not enough bleach in the world for my eyes now, is there?
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also buy Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, in time for Father's Day through his homepage.