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I saw this posting on a message board... It may be recycled from other forums but whatever...

You are chosen to compete against 9 other people. All ten of you are locked in a standard Home Depot. The place is dark except emergency lights above exits. The goal is to kill one another to become last man standing. Last person alive gets to leave.

You are allowed to choose 3 pieces of equipment to aid you. Anything with a bar-code counts as one piece of equipment. For example, if you choose a nail gun, then a container of nails will be needed, so that would equal two pieces of equipment. You can use only the equipment you choose, no scalping from dead guys.

What three weapons would you choose and what would be your strategy?

I checked the Home Depot website and it says they sell night vision cameras, but I'm sure those require installation, plus it would take me four years to figure it out before I smashed it on the ground in a hissy fit. The nail gun certainly appeals to me, undoubtedly because I could picture myself as Snoop from The Wire (SIDE NOTE: She was gay, right? Either she was gay, or she only had sex by raping men with a strap on. Her sex life remained a curiosity to me for reasons I can't explain). But the nail gun would presumably make a lot of noise upon discharge, which would draw unwanted attention to me and cause me to lose the Home Depot Hunger Games. Ditto the chainsaws and weed whackers (though man it would be great to stage a weed whacker assault). This meat processing set features lots of kickass knives, a saw, AND a cleaver, which is just the kind of silent weapon arsenal I require. PURCHASED.


Now for protection: I also looked for kevlar vests. but all they had were kevlar chainsaw chaps, which would protect me from nasty leg attacks but still leave me vulnerable to sexual hammer attacks up the butt. No good. There's also no sense in getting a flashlight, because that would draw attention to me. I'd buy a flint striker and a gallon of gas, and I'd stalk around the store dripping a little bit of gas behind me at all times. Everyone would stay away from the gas smell, because they'd be scared it was some kind of gas fire trap. Then, after walking all the aisles, I'd hide out in a far corner, strike the trail of gas with the flint, and watch all the aisles light up. Then I'd have a good bearing on where everyone is, then I'd hunt them down one by one, CUTTING THEIR THROATS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.

That would be the plan. Then someone would stab me within five seconds and I'd die wishing I'd used my three items on candy.



When I saw the leaked ScarJo naked cellphone pics, the Fleshbot story said she contacted the FBI to say her cellphone was hacked. Now, there has to be a guy at the FBI who Takes This All Very Seriously and hunts down the "evil" people who did this. Do you think this guy is sincere in his duties and takes no enjoyment in seeing one of the hottest women on Earth sans clothing, or is he just outwardly doing his job and secretly going home to fap like the rest of us?


Probably the latter, but that's part of being a professional. Whether you're an FBI agent in charge of ScarJo's pictures, or you're an actor doing a love scene, or you're a plastic surgeon who gets to stare at boobies all day, the key is convincing people you take all this very, very seriously before going home and abusing yourself. That's why, even at age 35, I'm not all that wild about showing a doctor my penis. Because, outwardly, the doctor is very professional when handling the penis. Very clinical. But a doctor's only human. If you're a doctor and you've got an abnormal penis dangling in front of you, you're gonna think to yourself WHOA HEY, THAT PENIS HAS A MACKERAL TATTOO ON IT, THAT SHIT IS WEIRD. There's nothing to prevent a supposed professional from having a perfectly human interior reaction to something like that.

Same goes for ScarJo's pics. The FBI agent handling the pics almost certainly found the pictures titillating, but he was professional enough to LIE about it and pretend that ass had no effect on him. Meanwhile, you know his insides are on FIRE, and you know he can't wait to get home so he can dial those pics up on his computer and savor them in all their high-res glory, fantasizing about capturing the bastard who did this, cuffing him in front of ScarJo, winning her heart, and then taking her back to his place for some serious BOUNCY BOUNCY. Maybe he can't even wait until after work. Maybe he has to take a "smoke break" even though he doesn't smoke, so he can run down to his Honda, drive to a secluded corner, and violently frig himself like he's Dylan Baker's character in Happiness pleasuring himself to an issue of "Teen Beat". THAT is what being a professional is all about. That's how ScarJo knows she's in good hands.


By the way, not to blame the victim, but I'M TOTALLY GONNA BLAME THE VICTIM. How many goddamn nude cell phone shots of celebs will be leaked before it occurs to celebs to not take nude photos of themselves on their phone? It's 2011. If you're someone who really doesn't want to be seen naked in public, you have to be a fucking idiot to keep naked photos of yourself on your phone. Your punishment for such clumsiness is a justified national FAP-athon.


Ever fart on the treadmill or at the gym with headphones in? Absolutley terrifying since you have zero idea how loud it really was. It is truly the "most dangerous game".


No, you're looking at it all wrong. If YOU didn't hear it, then clearly no one else did. You can just blissfully assume you got away with it and keep on exercising. Meanwhile, around you? DEATH AND DESTRUCTION.


Let's say you're standing in the middle of an open field with no weapons besides your bare hands and intellect, and were for some reason required to fight and kill 250 pounds of bee. That 250 pounds can be distributed evenly through any number of bees, but the bees can't be smaller than regular honeybees. So, one 250-pound bee, five 50-pound bees, 520,000 regular-sized bees (I checked), or anything in between. Also, regardless of the size, the bee(s) fly as fast as regular bees, but the big ones are a lot slower at accelerating and changing direction. How many bees?

Also, on a related note, can you strangle a bee?

In order to strangle a bee, the bee must have a neck. And so I Googled "Do bees have necks?" and got this: "No. They're heads are just stuck on their bodies." The fact that the answer comes from Wikianswers AND contains a grammatical error lets you know it's a FACT. Bees do not have necks, which means you can't strangle them, which means you can't jump on the back of a 250-pound bee and choke the life out of it, which is a damn shame.


Anyway, there's no good answer to your question. The 250 pounds of bee is going to MURDER you, regardless of distribution. Without weapons, you stand no chance against a 520,000-bee swarm. And facing down a 250-pound bee is no better, because while it's presumably "easier" to kill one very large bee instead of 520,000 small ones, it's still impossible because you'd be face to face with a GIANT FUCKING NIGHTMARE BEE THAT CAN FUCKING FLY AND RUIN YOUR SHIT. I have constant nightmares about facing down giant insects and arachnids. I know that's what awaits me down in Hell. If I were forced to square off against a real giant bee, I'd be done. I'd be so terrified, I wouldn't be able to move. Then the bee would lance me through the heart with its giant stinger, carry me to its queen, and then embed me in a waxy honeycomb tomb forever and ever. Mmmm... honey tomb.


If you're like me, aliens have always been a fascination, are they out there, are they real, has anyone really been probed etc...etc. My question is what do you think a world with actual knowledge of aliens would be like? I'm talking no conspiracies, actual evidence, everyone saw the crash landing on the news. 100% fact. Thoughts?


There'd be no way to avoid conspiracies in that instance, because many people would decry the news reports as a hoax and question the supposed "evidence." People would want to see the evidence with their own two eyes, and that would cause mass chaos.

For instance, let's say that aliens had a giant spaceship and decided to park it right above the city of Milan, Italy, and it was broadcast on the news all over the world. Wouldn't you want to go to Milan to see that ship, just to verify it for yourself? I sure as shit would. Fifty million alien tourists would descend upon the city instantly, overwhelming it and causing enormous problems for local transportation and sanitation. Then you'd have people fighting over whether or not we should bomb it, or try to communicate with it. You'd have people fighting over who gets to interview the aliens when and if they decide to come out. You'd have religious fuckheads announcing the arrival as some sort of divine call to Rapture. Fraidy cats would clean out local stores, buying all the canned goods and guns they could to prepare for a hostile exchange. People would lose their goddamn minds. It would change the dynamics of the world completely and permanently.


This is why aliens don't bother to make themselves known. This is why they only show up in trailer parks at 4:35AM in the morning and steal away one redneck at a time to anally rape. It's a shrewd move, to be certain.


I left a hotdog bun outside at work and it morphed into some disgusting mushroom thing. I wish I had more pics of the transformation because it was something to behold.

Attached is the amorphous blob that became of it.


I will give you five dollars to eat it and report back what you see in your brain.


You're in the NBA and you just hit a half-court gamewinner in the other team's house (lets say its a playoff game in front of a sellout. On national TV). What would be the best gesture to piss off every fan in the joint? I'm thinking it doesn't get much better than Reggie Miller's "choking" pantomime directed at Spike Lee, but if it were me, I think I'd go with the old Hulk Hogan windmill/hand to the ear.

I spend way more time thinking about this situation than I should.

I have to agree that Miller's choke sign was one of the great troll moves in sports history. Usually, I like a good SHUSH move, where you put your finger to your lips and tell the crowd, but Miller easily outclasses that. Just once, I'd like to see a player do the move from Your Highness, when Danny McBride pantomimes that one guy blowing him and then pantomimes busting a nut all over his face. That movie was a piece of shit, but that move? Priceless. I'd give anything to see it done with Joe Buck watching it from the booth.



During move-out day at a campus dorm across the intramural sports field an older student who would not have to move back into the dorm took one of the cheap plates out of the school cafeteria and placed a foil wrapped turd on it. After turning the oven in the basement up to 450 degrees, he put the plate and the foil wrapped package on the top rack in the oven. The window of my dorm room overlooked this field. In the time it took me to take my first load of all the stupid unnecessary stuff down to my car and walk back up four flights of stairs, the intramural field (about 1.5 football fields) had absolutely filled up with parents and kids from the dorm. Apparently it only takes a cheap ceramic plate and a foil wrapped piece of shit about 15 minutes at 450 to clear out a medium sized dorm for a day. One of my buddies who lived in the dorm that year claimed the smell wasn't that bad, but it was pervasive.


And that's with the foil! Imagine if your friend had baked the shit without any foil covering, in a Pyrex dish or something. I have to think that would exacerbate the smell. By the way, imagine peeling back the foil on that little package. Not only would the smell destroy you, but the release of steam would burn your hands off. I hate it when things wrapped in foil do that.



If you ask a concierge at a hotel to find you a prostitute or an escort, are they obligated to do their best to help you? Does this happen? Do people go to the concierge for these types of requests? Would the concierge call the police?


I doubt a concierge would narc you out if you tried asking him where you could find a steak and a place to get laid. No hotel would want its concierge running around snitching out guests. That would be horseshit. A fun concierge might be willing to help you, but if it's some uptight gal who looks like she's had her soul systematically removed by the La Quinta Inn management, you're probably going to get a very firm but polite deflection of your request. I'm sure hotel management courses offer tips and techniques to deal with customers seeking drugs and hookers and what not. I did a Google search to see if I could find such a course, and instead I got this YouTube video of how to deal with unruly bar patrons:

That is the least convincing drunken bar patron ever. They should have just hired Tony LaRussa.



I have an almost one year old son and I'm a stay at home dad at the moment. It's an amazing experience and I love every minute of it, but my question is this: Often we play and he stomps around on my lap. Unfortunately this usually creates a boner. Of course I'm cool with that fact; I'm certainly not attracted to my son, it's a physiological response, doesn't bother me at all. My question, though, is this: Is it okay to jerk that boner once the kid is asleep? Or should I let it die down and opt for jerking a fresh non-child related boner?


No, there's no need to wait around for a second, clean boner. A boner is a boner. If you have to go get rid of it, that doesn't make you some kind of disgusting monster. Your penis will often respond to any kind of physical contact, even if that includes your kid giving you an inadvertent footjob. And let's face it, kids are constantly sitting on your lap. Your penis doesn't know any better. It doesn't have eyes. It doesn't know you're not at the Gold Club when there's someone in your lap. It just springs right up and is like WHOA HEY I'M READY TO GO BITCHES! It's a mixed blessing, because it's comforting to know your dick will be there when shit gets sexy, but it's a horrible thing to have happen when you've got a kid present.

But I wouldn't sweat it. Just dispatch the kid as quickly as possible and then go take care of business with the PROPER MENTAL STIMULUS, like those sassy ScarJo images. That's good clean jerking, except for the whole "one lady got her privacy hideously invaded" stuff.



I am a police officer who works midnights and the other night I was thinking about what might happen if I ever encountered a werewolf while on patrol. Let's just say for the sake of this scenario that when I run into the werewolf, I'm alone in an isolated area. No witnesses and no camera in the cruiser recording the events. Let us also assume that standard bullets would be effective in place of silver ones.

It is conventional wisdom that when a werewolf is killed, they revert back to human form. In addition, when a man turns into a werewolf, he gains size and whatever clothes he was wearing are torn off like the Incredible Hulk. Therefore, if the werewolf attacked me and I had to shoot it dead, I would then be left with a mostly naked unarmed man riddled with bullets lying dead in the middle of nowhere. How would I explain that to the boys back at the station house?


It's true. Christ, I never thought about that. There are only two ways of getting out of it: One: your buddy in forensics finds fur at the scene matching both your friend's DNA AND the DNA of a wolf. Two: Your union offers you robust legal protection and City Hall, desperate to show they don't look incompetent, plants evidence on the werewolf making it look like you had to no choice but to shoot the fucker seventeen times while he was unarmed in a parking lot. Then you get relegated to a cushy desk job, where you get paid a state salary for very little work, then you retire at 45 with an 80% pension and a second job in security consulting that essentially doubles your pay. That's probably what would happen. So don't fear that werewolf attack. EMBRACE IT. It could be your path to easy street.


While driving to work this morning I noticed a large, brownish-yellow spider crawling along the bottom of the dashboard near my left knee. Before I could do anything, or swerve my car into oncoming traffic, it disappeared out of sight near the steering column.

I had to spend the last 20 minutes of my commute thinking about where that little asshole went. Did I feel something on my fingers? Or, perhaps, UP MY PANT LEG?

Once I got out of the car at work I never found it. I'm thinking about selling the car.


I would if I were you. Because the problem with bugs that you fail to kill upon first sight is that they ALWAYS reappear. Always. If there's a centipede in my house and I fail to get it with the first death blow from my wife's issue of LUCKY magazine, it's gonna scurry under the couch and disappear for hours. But it always resurfaces, often in a completely different place. LIKE A GHOST. Or it may be another centipede, but the point is they always come back to finish the job: that job being to scare the piss out of you.

That's one of the nice things about the current stink bug infestation here in the mid-Atlantic. I'm not wild about having stink bugs in my house. But they're slow and dumb and they can't get away. They don't even bother moving when you start pinching the life out of them. "What's that? What's going on? Oh, you're killing me! Oh, I get it! Oh, okeydokey then." They're like Andy Reid. There are worse bugs to have infiltrating your personal space.



I don't know if you saw this excellent series by The Virginian-Pilot. If you did, I assume this would be your takeaway from part 3:

"They've (The hospital staff) heard that insurgents sometimes even pack their bombs with feces to better ensure infections in soldiers they don't manage to kill."


1) Fuck you terrorists. You ruin everything.

2) How do you think the act of enriching an IED with poop actually goes down?

Well, the IED has explosives packed in its core, so I assume the terrorists would go to their outhouse, take a shit in a bucket, and then line the explosive core with feces before closing the bomb's casing. Not only does it does additional damage upon detonation, but it also ruins your day if you're in charge of disabling the bomb. It's hard enough to figure out which wire to cut, now you've got to deal with a pound of digested ground lamb all over your gloves while you do it? That's the real insult.


Homemade bombs are often packed with additional material like feces, razor blades, nails, and ball bearings (all bear bearings these days) in order to do additional damage. Know what I'd put in mine? SPIDER EGGS. Pure evil.


Is there ever a time when your animal instincts kick in more than when you see your bag coming around the carousel? There could be a 90-year-old woman holding infant twins, but God help her if she gets in my way and I have to wait another minute and thirty seconds for my bag to come around again.


It doesn't help that the carousel has that giant buzzer go off right before the conveyor belt starts moving. It's like the bell at a prize fight. As soon as people hear it, they begin jockeying for position. And everyone is thinking the same thing, "Stay the fuck out of my way," but no one dares actually say that. It's one of those moments our politeness just barely holds back our savage urges to beat the fucking piss out of one another. I get very angry when I fail to station myself close enough to the feeder belt. The two seconds between my bag landing on the main belt and it arriving in front of me are AGONY.

I also like it when I have multiple bags to retrieve and they all come out on the belt together. IT'S A RUN ON DREW'S LUGGAGE!


Also, I'm 35 years old and I still have to fight the urge to run up the feeder belt and walk down into the luggage back room to see what's going on. I bet I'd either find a group of magic leprechauns making the bags float in the air using leprechaun telekinesis, or I'd see a Die Hard 2 style conveyor belt fight between a terrorist and a TSA official.

Email of the week time.


I am a farmer. One of the things I raise on my farm is beef cattle. Today the vet came out to preg check the cows and do some other work. The preg checking involves getting the cow into a chute that catches her head so she holds still so the vet can shove his entire arm up her ass. Somehow he can tell if she is pregnant by doing this. One bitch destroyed 2 gates, which really pissed me off because damn, gates ain't cheap.

The other thing you will find interesting, is that while there, the vet castrated my bull calves. These calves were born in April at about 80 pounds and now they weigh about 500. The reason you castrate is because bulls are shitty to eat because of all the testosterone, etc. The way he castrates them is to take a big ass clamping knife tool, putting it on their scrote, and jerking back on it, which makes a gash on their sack. Then he grabs the balls one at a time and pulls them out, and keeps pulling until the ligament or whatever snaps off. When he does it right, they hardly bleed a drop. The balls are about the size of half a hockey puck. They are whitish grey and usually have a little blood on them. They are disgusting to me, I feed them to the cats. The cats go apeshit for them. But the vet said they are great to eat. No way I'm eating bull balls, I don't care how great they are.


I'm not eating much of anything after reading that.