Is my house the only house in the entire world that has an entire closet full of plastic bags? Whenever we go grocery shopping, we always come back with a shitload of plastic bags that contained our precious groceries. Instead of throwing them out like normal people, we stuff them into a closet and periodically use them in our house as garbage bags in different rooms throughout the house. The worst part about that whole arrangement is that whenever you want to take one out and use it, the other billion garbage bags fall out and you have to try to stuff them all back in and close the door before they all start falling out again. So two points. A. Is it weird to hoard plastic bags? and B. Is it even weirder to use them as garbage bags instead of actual garbage bags that actual normal humans use?


My friend, you are not alone. Not only do I have a bag full of plastic bags in the closet, but that lone plastic bag is also the receptacle for all the other plastic wrapping that I'm supposed to take to the recycling bin outside the grocery store. That means, when I need a plastic bag and go in to reach for one, I almost always cause an EXPLOSION of raisin-box seals and peanut-butter-cracker wrappers. It's a mess. When I go to throw the thing in the recycling bin outside the store, a trail of tiny shreds and ribbons is left in my wake. Sometimes, when the bag is stuffed, and I just can't deal with picking up one more goddamn breakfast-bar wrapper, I say FUCK THIS EARTH and put that shit in the garbage bag. Take that, planet! If I manage to extract a plastic bag from the... uh… bag bag… without incident, it's a miracle.

Because you will always need a plastic bag at some point. Maybe you need to put your sneakers in one to give yourself the illusion that you've protected everything else in your suitcase from your rotting-corpse-flower foot odor. Or maybe you need to put one in the little garbage pail in your bathroom that you use for all the tampon applicators and trimmed pubic hair. Or maybe you need to give one to the baby to play with. You will always need one when there are ZERO bags in the house. IT DANCED WITH ME…



What does a head coach taking a new job do with all the old team stuff they used to wear? What happens to all of Charlie Strong's Louisville swag? Goodwill? Thrown out?


College and pro coaches get so much free swag that I just assumed they wore everything once and then threw it out just because they could. I know I would! I would bust out a newly minted hoodie for every game. "New hoodie smell" would be my good-luck charm.

Obviously, a coach taking a new job has to divest himself of all his old merch, because if Charlie Strong walks around wearing a Louisville hat now, then HE AIN'T LOYAL or something. Those clothes hopefully get auctioned off for charity or donated to Goodwill. You should be able to give them to the players you leave behind, but obviously that would violate NCAA bylaw B976 (xii, subset 12), which prevents Louisville players from earning $7.25 an hour working the dining-hall griddle.



My roommate's laptop is broken, so I let him borrow mine. I had a new Chromebook, so I let him use my old Macbook Pro for a few months, knowing that he'd give it back eventually. So yesterday I asked if I could have it back to do some work, and he gave it back to me. You can see where this is going — I opened it up and immediately found some porn he downloaded, along with video players necessary to watch said porn. This is the worst part — the screen even has some very questionable stains on it. My question is: Do I confront him about this, or simply burn it, throw it out, burn my hands, and never talk to him again?


Stains? Who literally jizzes ONTO a screen? I mean, I like to make jokes about jizzy keyboards and pages sticking together in the porno mag as much as the next guy, but you're not supposed to actually DO that. There are an infinite number of other places to bust your nut. Why would you choose the computer screen—which you need to keep operational—to target? That's insane.

I think it's perfectly reasonable to confront him about it, even make him feel humiliated about it. If you're gonna watch porn on a foreign computer, you risk that exact type of public shaming, and you deserve it if you can't even be bothered to cover your tracks. I would simply tell him what you found, and then tell him he can't ever borrow anything of yours again. Then I would tell him that you are entitled to jizz on one of his possessions when he least expects it: his toothbrush, his hair, his mom, the steering wheel of his car… you get one vengeance sliming. That's only fair. We should ALL get into the habit of conscientious filth consumption, people. Treat other computers as you would want yours to be treated. NO JIZZING ON THE SCREEN.



What if a successful Muslim NFL player did the Muslim equivalent of Tebowing every time he scored a touchdown? Say he faced Mecca and dropped to his knees with his forehead on the ground. Seems like the refs would allow it (otherwise it would be clear religious discrimination, since they allowed the Christian celebration). But would the viewers go apeshit? Would sponsors pull out?


Oh man, now I really want this to happen. Viewers would go 100 percent apeshit. "What is that guy doing? Is he praying to Allah? IN AMERICA?! What is he planning? What if he has a bomb strapped to his body under his pads? ARREST THAT MAN." You could milk 1,000 pointless SportsCenter debates out of it. It would cross over to CNN and FOX News instantly. And then Roger Goodell would ban ALL end-zone celebrations—even Christian ones—and then Civil War would break out. It would be a disaster. We should pay a player to do this. I'll even pay the insurance fee if someone in the stands at Cowboys Stadium throws a bottle at him. Find me Najee Mustafaa, stat.


Would you rather be 5' 6 " 160 or 6' 6 " 360?

You'd rather be small and light. Always always always. I know short guys are testy little fuckers hellbent on ruining the world to compensate for their adorable tininess, but you don't want to be a very large, tall person. The world is not built for you. Clothing-store stocks are an outrage. Car seats are miserable. Your back hurts all the time. I'm 6'2" and over 200 pounds, and I'd probably be better off long-term if both those numbers were cut down to size. It ain't worth the strain to hear the occasional "Wow, you're tall!" compliment (#humblebrag!). I want to pick people up and juggle them when they say that, just to AWE them with my not-all-that-remarkable height. But otherwise, I would rather walk into a Gap and find pants that are actually my size. They have four million pairs of size 30 jeans and one pair in size 38. And it's in the back. And in purple. I should probably not shop for clothes at the Gap.



I'm 28, engaged and getting married in the summer. My fiance and I both do OK with work and have managed to build up a bit of savings to put towards a down payment for our first home.

She wants to move out to the suburbs where you can get a much bigger house, and I want to stay relatively close to the city center where you are on the subway line and close to things like cool restaurants, shops and general "downtown" stuff.

She claims that once we settle down and have kids we won't care about going out to "cool restaurants" anymore and having a bigger place further out of the city (easier parking, lower property taxes, big box stores, longer commute to work though) is well worth it. Is she right? Will that new, authentic Neopolitan Pizza/Ethiopian/Molecular Gastronomy place really not mean anything more to me once I have a toddler running around?


I think it depends on when you plan on having children. If you're gonna have kids right away, then by all means, pack up shop and head out to the suburbs. Because once the kid arrives, you are a face on a milk carton for two decades. You will never be seen again. Friends will wonder if you're dead. All of that is perfectly normal, mind you. You'll get so tired that even thinking about going out to a bar will exhaust you. I can't even fathom it anymore. Where do these young people find the ENERGY, I ask you? You won't want or need to be in a city. You will want to fuck off to the suburbs and huddle with other yuppies in a gated community where public schools aren't complete dogshit. I ate at Denny's the other day and ENJOYED it. That's how uncool I've become. I didn't even see anyone be racist to anyone there. Shocking, really.

But if you're not gonna have kids for a couple of years, stick around the city! Have fun, man. Be a freewheeling childless married couple that eats nice meals and walks around on sidewalks arm in arm, making other people sick. You need that time before you have kids. It's nice.


But when the kids come, suburbs.

Email of the week!


In the Fall, our college town has a big block party on Friday nights. I had a bunch of friends in town and we decided to head down there (*Side note: We never do this because it is usually a bunch of little kids, facepainting, cheesy fight song chants, and washed up country music artists).

There are a ton of food vendors and I see this one vendor: Cake Pops. I fucking love cake pops! They had crazy flavors too. Bacon, salted carmel, you know, the real yuppy shit. So I buy a few and I house these things and we decide to stop in and have a sit down meal with my fiance, friend, and his fiance.

I didn't realize this at the time, but I ordered the sugar free ones. Sorbitol is a natural laxative and I'm CRAZY sensitive to it. Like I eat a piece of sugar free gum and I instantly just sit on the toilet waiting for the inevitable. So I'm going to this sit down meal with a timebomb ready to detonate my colon.

So we order our first round of drinks and we decide to do warm tequila shots for "fun". The nano second the shot hit my stomach, it felt like bomb went off. Instantly, my hands got ice cold and sweaty. I turn white. My fiance looked at me and asked if I was ok (*side note: up until that point, we did not cross to poop barrier). I told her I had to step out and take a phone call.

I go to the front of the building and walk around the side, pinching my ass cheeks with every ounce of strength. I go in through the back entrance and find the restroom. This is a busy restaurant/bar so naturally, there is a line for the bathroom. I do the awkward waiving everyone through who needs a urinal. I wait for the stall and I barely got my pants off before a gallon of liquid unleashed in the toilet. I come back to the table and my fiance is extremely pissed off because she thought I was on a business call. I made up some story about grandma being sick and got out of the dog house. I'm going straight to hell.


Sugar-free cake pops? The person who sold those deserves jail time.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at You can also order Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.


Art by Jim Cooke.

The Concourse is Deadspin's home for culture/food/whatever coverage. Follow us on Twitter:@DSconcourse.