Jerking Off In Congress: A Bipartisan Debate

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Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Find more of Drew's stuff at KSK or on Twitter. Email the Funbag here. Today, we're covering semen, allergies, boogers, and more.

Your letters:

Mr. Met's Morphine:

How many people do you think have jacked it on the floor of the House of Representatives? I'm not talking about in their offices, I'm sure everybody does that. I mean on the floor of the House. Also, do you think anybody has ever done it during a debate?


I'm sure a few brave souls have pulled it off by going over the pant leg, which was how I achieved orgasm once in the middle of an 8th grade math class (still one of my prouder moments). The House chamber is an exceedingly large room, and often sparsely populated because many Congressmen abstain from voting in order to bang lobbyist-provided hookers over at the Mayflower hotel. So you could easily sit in the balcony or in one of the back rows and masturbate under a dossier without it stirring up much fuss. And would you expect anything less from a Congressman? I wouldn't. They look like the most sexually deviant people on the face of the Earth. I bet they keep chained gimps under the filibuster podium.


My girlfriend works as an interior designer for an upscale firm. A lot of their clients are socialites and upper-class fellows, which include a lot of professional athletes in my hometown. One athlete has hired her firm to renovate his house. He has stopped by her firm's office on a few occasions to check in on the progress, and often when he comes in he likes to chit-chat with about her after work-hour plans, especially if she is interested in attending a basketball game that evening (when he'll be playing).

He's offered tickets on numerous occasions (offering to set aside 2 to bring someone along), and she has continuously turned them down. I brought this up with some of my friends and there's a split on what would be the right thing. I say take them, and then take me to the game – you know they would be great seats.


Oh yeah. Take the shit out of those seats if you like. If he wants to fuck your girlfriend, that's his problem. You should at least reap some of the benefits of his covetousness. I think your girlfriend is refusing the seats out of respect for you (NICE!), and because she doesn't want to feel beholden to her client beyond her professional obligations. I kind of like her modesty in that regard. In fact, I bet she's rather fetching. What if I were to offer you a Tim Tebow-autographed football in exchange for one night with her in the back of a Chick-fil-A?


Who the fuck do these trees think they are? Every spring they wake up and start spraying their tree seeds all over the place. Sickly individuals such as myself have to spend three weeks hacking up our lungs while these trees jack off all over creation. If you could just raise some awareness about these arboreal rapists, my sinuses would appreciate it.


I do not suffer from seasonal allergies, apart from occasionally itchy eyes. But my wife does, so much so that she went to an allergist to get tested for allergies and receive a comprehensive system of routine shots to help alleviate the symptoms. This can include going into the allergist and getting a shot every week for FIVE FUCKING YEARS. Five years, and then MAYBE you get some relief. My wife lasted six weeks before giving up. Who the fuck can possibly complete a five-year regimen of weekly shots? I think the allergist knows this. I think the allergist is just like, "No one will ever know this program is a load of shit, because no one will ever have the persistence to finish it off." I bet allergists and chiropractors have a special happy hour every Thursday night where they get shitfaced and just laugh about their patients all night long. "Our patients are so stupid, Bob!" "I know, Chuck!"

Anyway, my wife will step outside at this time of year and immediately sneeze twenty times in a row. And I'm a terrible husband because instead of being sympathetic, I usually get annoyed right around the fourth or fifth sneeze. Like, could you stop that? Some of us are trying to enjoy our spring here, Sneezy.


My wife is not one of these people, but I fucking hate people who are sick all the time. I'm not talking about cancer patients or whatever. I'm talking about that one lady in your office who somehow has a cold 200 days out of the working year, and talks nonstop about it. She has allergies AND she's the one always talking about a flu "going around." I think there are people out there who love being sick all the time. I'm not talking about hypochondriacs, who are never actually sick. I'm talking about weak people who apparently spend their weekends licking doorknobs to ensure a steadily running nose at all times. Every building has one.


Does it ever bother you when villains give elaborate orders just by nodding? It seems like every movie/book/tv series with a bad guy has a scene where some poor bastard is giving a report and/or begging for his life when the main bad guy just nods his head or waves his hand at some henchman who acts immediately. They always know exactly what to do. Sometimes they drag him away for interrogation, sometimes they shoot him in the head, or sometimes they even play some kind of prank like pretending to lead him to his death only to open the door on a room full of hookers.

The pranks I can see them discussing in advance, but what about the other stuff? Do they work out a system like a manager and a third base coach? Does the content of the report even matter? It really bothers me and it happens all the effing time.


Well, it all depends on the chemistry between a villain and his henchman. If you've got a villain and a henchman who have been practicing killing people together for YEARS, then they can develop a rapport not unlike that between Troy Aikman and Jay Novacek. Only longtime gangmates know that a wink means you should take your thumb and scoop out that cop's eyeball.

My favorite instance of this movie cliché is in True Romance, when Walken is interrogating Dennis Hopper, and Hopper gives Walken a lousy explanation for where Christian Slater went, and so Walken gives James Gandolfini just the slightest (and I mean the slightest) nod, and BOOM! Knife to the palm, whisky poured in the gash…

God, it never gets old. You never expect that exact kind of punishment to come from an audible. "Oh, he's nodding! Definitely wants the palm slashing and whisky thing." Although perhaps Gandolfini's character was encouraged to freelance. Maybe the nod just meant HURT HIM and it was up to Gandolfini to instantly think of a fun and unique way of doling out the pain. If I had that kind of free reign as a henchman, I'd never do the same torture tactic twice. I'd slash a palm once, but the next time I'd take a pliers to the earlobe. Can you imagine how badly that would hurt someone? I'd sure like to find out.


I do this sometimes. I think about torture techniques I would deploy if I were an evil villain with absolutely no conscience of any sort, or if my family were kidnapped and I had to extricate vital information about their whereabouts from some asshole thug. The other day I nearly burned my arm over a steaming tea kettle and I instantly put it into my imaginary torture database. Boiling tea kettle water, right in your fucking eye socket. That's a great one for my wife's kidnapper.


Toothpaste wang!


Dude, look at how old that toothbrush is. Did you inherit it from your great aunt? Buy a new toothbrush, man. You're not supposed to keep it once it looks like a caterpillar.


I came across this army gummy guy one night at a friends. I didn't want to eat it at first because...well, look at the cocklauncher he's holding. Also, army guy gummy candy? What the hell happened to worms? Needless to say, we got high and that gummy guy was like finding a lake in the desert.


That reminds me: How long do you think it would take for you and you alone to plow through an entire five-pound gummi bear? There's no way I could finish it in one day. None. And by the second day, it would probably have hair and carpet lint all over it. I'm creeped out by something that large being gummi.


Sarasota Slim:

During a recent random conversation with my relatively new girlfriend we began to discuss different sexual things. Somehow it came out that she just assumed I had at one point in the past tasted my own sperm. I found the idea of doing that appalling and wondered out loud how she could possibly think I would do such a thing. Apparently according to her, most of her guy friends have, in fact, experimented with tasting their own handywork sometime in their life, and she now assumes all guys have done this. Is she right? Am I in the minority here?


I don't know. I can only use myself as a reference point and say that I have never tasted my own skeet, though there have been times when I've been curious, just because it's there and I'm usually hungry after a decent jerk. Shockingly, curiosity has never gotten the best of me and I've never ended up snowballing myself. I'm sure homophobia prevents many guys from even considering it. But then there's the matter of semen itself. Aesthetically, it's repulsive. Like someone decided to mix mayonnaise and anti-perspirant gel. It's not appetizing, certainly not as appetizing as my own blood or snot, both of which I've sampled on more than one occasion. Gotta love that savory snot flavor.

When I was in dipshit prep school, one of the freshmen told us he did it.

US: What was it like?

HIM: Salty.

US: Would you do it again?

HIM: Hell no.

I would venture to say the majority of men have NOT eaten their own sperm, just as they haven't tasted their own urine or eaten their own feces. Semen isn't a waste product (unless you're Lenny Dykstra), so it's not toxic the way piss and shit are. But the fact that it comes out of your penis makes it feel, instinctively, a little more filthy then just licking off a paper cut.


Also, you're totally gay if you do it.

Matt R.:

I just stubbed my toe, and now feel like committing about 25 murders.

I'm really shocked I still have a pinkie toe at this point in my life. It should have been crushed into oblivion by now. We have a couch in the house and somehow, I always manage to swipe my foot against the base of the couch, which is apparently made of wood that's been soaked in adamantium. AGONY.




Working in an office for little money has made me hate lunchtime. Is there anything worse than going to the fridge to get your cold sandwich made with stale bread and bottom-of-the-line ham and being engulfed in the fumes of a co-worker's homemade fried chicken steaming in the microwave? HOMEMADE FRIED CHICKEN! Are you fucking kidding me!! And the whole time he's nonchalantly telling someone how easy it is to make. Like everyone makes fucking fried chicken on Thursday night. Why can't I just kick him in the shin and steal his food like we're in kindergarten? I'm going to eat my sandwich and baby carrots now. Fuck.


Oof. Lunch envy. Even worse is when you're stuck eating your horrible lunch at work and your boss or someone with more disposable income comes back from eating lunch out at an actual restaurant. They always look so goddamn pleased with themselves after spending 90 minutes out at a French bistro while you sat there and jerked it in the shitter while they were away. They look so relaxed and refreshed, almost as if they just got back from vacation. It's incredibly vexing, unless somehow YOU were the one who managed to sneak out for a real lunch that day. Then you milk that shit for all it's worth. "Oh my God, this place had the BEST mussels I've ever eaten. ARE YOU NOT PLEASED THAT I DINED SO WELL AT MID-DAY?!


I was recently trying to think of a way to graph the timeline of a poop. I figure the best way to accomplish this would be to have someone straddle a conveyer belt going a constant 1mph and plot each log and the distance between them. Then I would compare the statistics of differing races, ages and sexes and see what trends I find. I had few friends growing up.

Of course, each plot would be heavily plotted near the beginning of the poop. I'm going to say the average poop timeline would look something like:

Comparing people's poop timelines would be like looking at one of those age tree graphs for developing countries. Amazing.


I think some of the constipation poop timelines could end up looking really bizarre, like so:


Wouldn't that just be horrible to look at? My heart already aches for someone subjected to that kind of grueling poopmarch.

I've had a terrible trend lately where I go to take a shit, I shit, I wipe, I stand up and put my pants back on, and then I realize I STILL HAVE MORE SHITTING TO DO. So I have to unbuckle again and sit down for a double header. I've even had a triple header, with TWO false endings to my entire bowel movement. It's been happening to me virtually every day now, and I think it's because I am now a terribly impatient person. Clearly, I am not spending as much quality time on the shitter as I ought to. Those surprise second poops are a sign from God that I really need to settle down with book and just let the moment happen.


By the way, one other thing about shitting this week: Have you ever leaned back while the shit is coming out? Most every guy has his elbows on his knees while the shit is coming out, almost like he's making an ice fishing hole in a frozen lake. But when you lean back instead, it's fucking WILD. You feel like you're riding a bull. I highly recommend sampling it, just for the oddness of it.

Isaac A.:

Would you opt for the death penalty or life in prison? I'll take the death penalty every single time, because I'd rather be dead than living everyday for the rest of my life worrying about getting raped.


I'd take life in prison. As horrible as the prospect of spending the rest of my existence in a cell is, I'd still rather NOT die. And if I ever feel like dying, I can always just go right ahead and hang myself in my cell. I might even get a little lucky and orgasm just as I'm choking to death, which would be awfully exciting.

I have a recurring daydream where I'm sent to prison and I spend all my time reading classic books because I have nothing else to do. After a long period of good behavior, the prison officials give me a typewriter and I start cranking out some seriously killer novels and shit. Real Nobel Prize type stuff. Then everyone is like, "He's so amazing! LET'S LET HIM GO!" Or I join a jailbreak and I'm gunned down by the tower guards. And then everyone after that is like, "Wow, he was such a genius. I can't believe he went to jail for murdering that Saturn driver."



Doesn't it feel awesome taking off a pair of latex gloves inside out? I feel like I just came out of surgery after removing that bullet lodged in The President's jugular.


True, but taking those gloves off requires initially wearing the gloves, and there are few things more unpleasant that having to slap on a pair of rubber gloves or dishwashing gloves. Your hands immediately swell up to five times their regular size. Your palms start gushing sweat. It's like you have a giant used condom on your hand. You can start to smell the sweat and the latex mix together. It's awful. I wash big dishes barehanded for this very reason. I'll take prune hands over the Playtex dishwashing gloves any damn day.

By the way, speaking of rubbers, it's always unpleasant to slap one on and lie there knowing that latex smell is all over your fingers. Pretty much ruins everything. And then, when you want to take the thing off, you get the smell on your hands AGAIN. Takes years to wash that smell off. Next time, I'm buying scented condoms. I hope they make ones that smell like cupcakes.


Cunt Scab:

I was on cross-continent flight from the States to Australia and I noticed a mother in the next row breast feeding her child. I was trying to sneak a peak of the action and not get caught, is this fair or foul?


I guess it's all right, though I find that breast-feeding completely ruins the allure of boob ogling. The boobs cease being objects of sexual lust in that scenario and become bodily fluid delivery systems for a screaming baby. In fact, if I were you, I'd ask that woman to stop feeding the child so that you can more properly appreciate the cleavage from afar.


What is the minimum safe radius I have to be away from my office on my drive home before I can start picking my nose? Obviously, I can't start digging for nose goblins in the parking lot, but I'm always unsure of when I'll be able to start going to town and getting some good booger extraction started with relatively little risk of being seen by a coworker.


I'm the wrong person to answer this question, because I'll pick my nose anywhere, even at work (when I worked in an office). I didn't care. Once I sensed a giant stalactite of mucus in my nose, I had to dig it out. I always sort of turned away so no one would notice, or at least trick myself into believing no one would notice. But I'm sure people noticed. I'm sure people were like, "God, I wish Drew would stop picking his nose." Then I'd get in the car and ALL FUCKING BETS WERE OFF. I pick with impunity in the car. I had no common sense as to physical location. I probably should have waited until I was a couple miles away.

One good way to disguise nose picking is to half-heartedly blow your nose, and then dig into your nostril with the tissue paper. I like this because the dryness of the paper gives you better grip on any booger you encounter. And, in my mind, it doesn't look quite as much like I'm picking my nose. BUT I AM!



In high school, I dated this guy, Chris, off-and-on for about 2 years. After his football game one night, he was supposed to go to my house after dropping off one of my friends, Anya, at her place. Chris was one of the last senior boys that had not experienced the "rite of passage" known as Anya's vagina.

After the boy didn't show at my place, I knew the dirty had gone down, but both parties denied wrongdoing. So I asked his best friend. Instead of answering me directly, the friend drew a picture of the fiasco in my copy of Dante's Inferno.


Hey, you gotta skeet somewhere. Is Chris wearing a ballcap? The drawing only hints at it. A crucial detail. Also, it appears that Chris ejaculates asteroids.


Time for your email of the week. Take it away, Mike…


About 4 or 5 years ago my buddy and I are having dinner at Outback in Troy, MI. As we're eating he says to me "Check out that white guy in the corner". I turn around see some scrawny white dude with a bunch of black dudes with baggy clothes and backwards hat. I brush it off. Well we are finishing up our meal and my buddy says to me "Hey, you know that guy I was making fun of? I think it's Eminem". I turn around again, take a closer look, and sure as shit it is Eminem. We were actually making fun of Eminem.

Eminem gets up to go to the bathroom. My buddy immediately gets up and says, "I'm going in". So he walks in the bathroom and his bodyguard, or whatever, is standing there, my buddy gives him a nod, and Eminem is in the stall taking a dump. As my buddy is taking a piss Eminem starts singing from the stall, "My dick is so small, that I piss all over my balls". How cool is that? My buddy got a firsthand look at the creative process of one of the greatest rappers of all time.


Gotta love that Enema Man.