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Is Beer Die A Good Drinking Game Or Not?

Illustration for article titled Is Beer Die A Good Drinking Game Or Not?

Time for your Deadspin Open Mailbag Tuesday. Email us here or submit your questions via Twitter. This week, we're covering piss boners, mayo shits, Nick Adenhart, beer die, fitted sheets, and more.

Things are coming to a head with this new Monday night Football crew of Tirico, Jaws, and Gruden. Like you, I was happy that Kornheiser got the boot ("Hey Jaws, would you ever have guessed, IN A MILLION YEARS, that it would be Chucky replacing me in the booth? If you are a Jon Gruden fan, are you NOT ECSTATIC right now?!"). And, on the surface, Gruden would seem to be a good analyst. He knows lots of shit. He's enthusiastic. Blah blah blah.

But god dammit, that guy NEVER EVER SHUTS THE FUCK UP. It's insane. There is not a single quiet moment on that entire fucking broadcast, and it's slowly draining my will to live. WHEN I WAS WITH THE RAIDERS, THIS GUY BILLY CALLAHAN LOVED TO CALL 86 POWER KING! AND THAT'S WHAT THE JETS ARE DOING NOW, 86 POWER KING ALL NIGHT LONG! Holy shit. My head. Everything's gone to plaid.


Gruden and Jaws are basically the same analyst: details guys who are more than eager to slob the knob of any QB they come across. You don't need two of them in the booth. You really don't. It leaves less room for Tirico, who is the most pleasant person to listen to out of the three. And it's not going to get any better. Guys, take a moment each a game and do us a favor: close your fucking mouth and let the game be. It's all I ask. Onto the letters.

Aaron M:

Herr Drew- I know you don't give two shits about baseball in general and especially during football season. But I was wondering if you'd seen these "Beyond Baseball" commercials that are running during the playoffs.

Here's the thing: in no way are any of these commercials about anything beyond baseball. You have a chance to watch Pujols play baseball! The Phillies have a chance to repeat as champions! People hit balls with sticks! This is not beyond anything. It's called "baseball." This is the definition of baseball.

These commercials drive me up the fucking wall and someone needs to make them stop. Please do something, for the children.

I saw this one, which was all about Nick Adenhart's death:

I think it's fine for the Angels to dedicate their season to Adenhart's memory, and to say they're playing hard for him. But it's a little fucking odd to see his death used in what is essentially a promo to get you to watch games. "Every day, the Angels play their hearts out for their fallen teammate, who died from massive injuries sustained when a drunk driver crashed into him, killing him all but instantly. WATCH THE PLAYOFFS ON FOX AND TBS, EVERYBODY!" It's a touch inappropriate. I half expected Bob Costas to narrate the thing with the Olympics music playing in the background.


By the way, the only guy to survive that Adenhart car wreck (besides the drunk driver) was Jon Wilhite, who survived an injury called "internal decapitation." That's the actual medical term for it. And he survived it. Jon Wilhite is the motherfucking Highlander.


The wife says, "Folding fitted sheets is easy - you just tuck the corners into each other & Bam!"


I have no problem doing that. It's figuring out the other side of the fold that vexes me, because opposite the gathered corners is a shitload of elastic that bunches everything together. Then I try folding it over once more and the thing looks like I just wore it as a fucking Halloween costume.

This is not new territory for me. I can't fold SHIT: shirts, pants, tents, napkins. Any folded material in my hands quickly turns into a lump of shit. I even tried the Ninja Fold for shirts and failed.

It's not as easy as it looks, people. That fold is like voodoo.

UPDATE: The Starter Wife emails this link for Martha Stewart's method for folding fitted sheets. Seven steps? Fuck you, Martha, you man-handed twat.



Have you ever tried to piss with a boner? That shit is hard, and there's TOO MANY FUCKING DECISIONS! You can: A) practically break the damn thing off trying to angle down, B) try to figure out how far to stand back to get the rainbow shot going (way fucking harder than a half court shot in hoops) C) try and sit so you can rock forward, but that's a bitch move or D) use the tub and fear the wrath of your wife wondering why her loofa is yellow.

Plus, muscle contraction or some shit makes it hard to even get it started (which sabotages the rainbow).

Thankfully, I have little to no self respect and just go outside and use the porch. But it will be winter soon, and fuck that, I'd rather piss on walls like an infant during a diaper change than expose my pecker to old man winter (note: that is NOT my neighbor).


The obvious solution here is to jack off, and then do your business. But I sympathize with Adam's plight here. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night with one of those rock hard boners. I'm talking a real diving board boner. And that comes coupled with a dire need to go piss that trumps your ability to think sexy. So what I like to do in such instances, if jacking it really isn't a viable option, is to lean forward, squat as low as I can, and aim for the back of the bowl. That way, you don't have to press down that much (which is agony). But yeah, pissing with a kinked hose is a brutal exercise.


Pam Oliver has a big mouth. And I don't mean "big" as in she's loud or never shuts up, I mean the thing is fucking HUGE. It's cavernous. Every time I see her talking on TV I just want to stick a pineapple in there, rotate it a few times and pull it out sans the bark. I swear one time I saw the Millennium Falcon fly outta there.


Hers doesn't bother me as much as Julia Roberts' does. Whenever they have Roberts on in one of those bullshit puff interviews and she opens that gaping maw and gives that disingenuous laugh of hers, she looks like fucking Venom. And Anne Hathaway. Avery Johnson, too. I swear Avery Johnson has 487 teeth.


"This week's pick? Minnesota." How many Ram's opponents are you going to pick for your suicide pool, you pussy?


All of them. Why fix what isn't broken?

About Limbaugh though, if he buys the Rams, am I justified in switching my allegiances to another team?



Zerkle pretty much nailed it in this essay yesterday.

One guy posted his thoughts on Limbaugh's potential acquisition of the Rams on Twitter, saying something to the effect of "If Rush buys the Rams, I'm done with the NFL." Really? Are we as equally put off by the twenty-something OTHER arrogant, fat, white owners in the league?


Exactly. Rush is a prick, but that doesn't give any Rams fan the right to bail on the team like a whiny douche. You assholes won a Super Bowl only a decade ago. Quit yer bitchin.


My sister is also a Colby grad, and while at her graduation, we played beer die on the roof of one of the buildings.

Is there a shittier drinking game than Beer Die? Overly complicated, light on drinking, needs too much stuff (yes, I consider a die, table and a high ceilinged room too much stuff).

I'm willing to concede that all drinking games are stupid, but beer die has to be the worst, right? Also, am I right in the assumption that the only appropriate/acceptable time to play a drinking game is in college (or to get a girl drunk [so you can take advantage of her {sexually}])?


Will's a big fan of brackets, it would appear. I have found that the majority of people who bitch about beer die (rules here for the unfamiliar) do so because they aren't very good at it. I know I wasn't. It's a little tiny die. It's not that easy to catch, you know. I usually got wiped off the table in a matter of seconds, then had to sit and watch other people play beer die FOREVER until my turn to lose came up again. It's like watching other people play Madden in front of you. This blows. There's nothing worse than a drinking game that doesn't encourage everyone's participation. I want to drink. I don't want to feel like the last kid picked for fucking touch football (which I was). FIX YO DRINKIN' AMUSEMENTS, WHITE MULE NATION!

I dunno about the light drinking, though. You drink plenty in a game of beer die. Also, bitching aside, it's a delight to play once you're on the table. I'd ignore a nuclear blast in the middle of playing beer die.


On the second question: I played drinking games at my old ad agency after college. Felt pretty damn acceptable to me.

Elegant Slim:

As math nerds we always called puking and shitting simultaneously "#5"

Shitting: #2
Puking: #3

Ergo: 2 + 3 = 5

Me: Since when is puking #3?

Since forever to math logic nerds. Count up from the front to the back to the gut/mouth. All about production and elimination.


I assume this makes ejaculation #4.


Why do so many NY Sports Radio have boners for baseball player's legs? At various times I've heard Michael Kay, John Sterling, and Francesca gush about the legs of star atheletes. I first started noticing this during the Clemens era, when they would go on about his powerful tree trunks. Then today I hear Francesca going on about Jose Reyes' well-developed racehorse like legs.


That comes from Francesca's love of going to Saratoga and tending horses with Bill Pawwwcells. Fun fact: every horse in that stable is named Suzyn Waldman. Also, Francesca is a fucking dipshit and I hope he chokes to death on his own pomade.


How long until pass rushers just say fuck it and really go after the QB. The mentality of "if I'm going to get 15 yards and a fine, I might as well really do some damage." If I were Terrell Suggs, I'd just start twisting knees, arm bars and eye gouging. If you're going to get 15 yards for some bullshit brush-by why not injure someone and get your penalty's worth?


Because the league office would suspend you until were old enough to do #5 involuntarily on a daily basis.


I have two teenage daughters. All the boys they know in school can (and do) recite Monty Python sketches just as accurately as dried-up old farts like you and me. It's universal humor. Of course, their friends are all marching band geeks, so make of that what you will.

Speaking of Monty Python, I was dragged to Passion of the Christ by one of my well-meaning religious nutjob friends. At the climactic scene, I shouted out "Suicide squad – Attack!" I don't get invited to a lot of his church events anymore.


That's probably to your benefit. "Crucifixtion? Good. Line on the left, one cross each!"


Concerning this week's Great Moments in Poop History (regarding the Phantom Shiter), wouldn't the offender's rightful name be "The Poopetrator"? You have a responsibility to expand current poop-related lexicon.


Or the Scat Burglar. Or Guy Shitcognito. Or Duke Smellington.


I'm having an argument with my friend at the moment that the "fans" of the Red Sox and Patriots. I believe that they are that largest group of bandwagon, self-pitying, jerk-offs on the face of the sporting planet. My friend, while not being a fan of any Boston area team, is taking the other side of this argument: that any team's fans are capable of having as many bandwagoners and being as douchey, if not more so. Even after showing today's article to him, and pointing out how the SAWX nation magically increased by 5000% after the 2004 season, he is taking the side that the quotes you are taking are compiled and therefore purposefully selected. Can you please prove to my friend that Boston is the worst, and that just because your column is full of these hand-picked quotes, they are merely a sample of the entire whole and not just selective.


No, no. I really did hand pick them. Your friend is more or less correct. Every fanbase has its share of complete pricks. It's just that it's more FUN to make fun of the Boston fans. They get so terribly mad, you see. Also, the Red Sox get more media coverage and books written about them than any other, which is annoying. I also fail to see, after nearly ten years, why still only has one fan-oriented columnist representing one single set of fans. It's fucking idiotic.

Clarence Rosario:

Don't you hate it when hotels fail to provide you with the free bottle of lotion in the bathroom along with the shampoo, soap, shoe mitt (!!!) and shower cap?

I don't know about you, but being on the road for a business trip in a strange hotel room is the perfect environment for self-pleasure. Wife at home? Check. Strange bed? Check. Free lotion? Check. Maids cleaning up after me? Check.

Failure to provide the free bottle of lotion is like the hotel cock-blocking you from yourself.


It is odd that they include a shoe mitt. Who the hell uses a shoe mitt? But anyway, I've never had a hotel stiff me on free lotion. And, like you, I take full advantage. I pour the whole damn thing on my groin and lotion wrestle myself for an hour. It's a great way to spend an evening.

Clinton Portishead:

Unlike yourself, I love mayonnaise. Love it. I slab it onto a sandwich like valtrex onto a cold sore.


Oh, then just excuse me while I vomit into this trash can.

This became a well known point among my college friends, especially when we drunkenly came back to my campus apt one night and I claimed to be able to down a whole jar with a spoon (who knows why), they called me out on it. So I went to it, spoonful after delicious spoonful. Everyone was, well, mortified. I got down to about a third of the jar left, and my roommate started throwing stale fruit loops into the mayo to get me to stop, because he wanted to have some left in the apartment. No avail. So now I'm forcing down spoonfuls of mayo and stale fruit loops, because even for me it's getting to be tough to swallow but I intended to finish the fucking task. And finish I did.


That is just… I want to vomit out of my eyes after reading that.

For about 4 hours, before I woke up and proceeded to shit blood for the next 24.

Thank God. At least he stopped talking about mayo.

It felt like Mike Tyson had punched me in the stomach while pregnant and I was forcing the abortion out of my anus. It was awful. Thankfully my roommates were out of the apt most of the day so I was able to hide what was happening, not wanting to be further branded more of a complete and total jackass than I'd already proven myself to be the night before. But we're talking at least 7 or 8 bloody bowel movements. It's a goddamn miracle I didn't bleed out right there and have to be air-lifted to the front of triage. The most retarded thing is I didn't even receive anything for winning my bet of consuming the jar - just pride, unless you consider a one-day peek into the lower levels of Hell as it's own prize. So yes, Mayo is delicious, but in moderation. Always in moderation.

Illustration for article titled Is Beer Die A Good Drinking Game Or Not?

Indeed. Keep those bloody mayo shits at bay, kids!

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