Making Your Own Ketchup Is Idiotic

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Before we hit the Funbag, one quick programming note: there won't be a Live Funbag on Thursday. Having children on Spring Break means being around your children for 150 consecutive hours, and it's unlikely that I will be of sound mind by the time Thursday rolls around. You'll understand one day.

Your letters:


What do you think is the most popular food item that people have in their houses that basically everyone buys and more or less no one makes homemade? I think it might be crackers.


I think crackers would be up there, along with basic ingredients like ketchup, mustard, and soy sauce. You're not brewing your own soy sauce. That's idiotic. I read this book once (I don't really recommend it) and there was an entire chapter dedicated to the guy making his own ketchup at home. The fuck are you trying to prove, buddy? I can't imagine a more colossal waste of time than sitting there trying to make your own goddamn ketchup. Heinz ketchup is perfect. They make it so that you don't have to. I can't tell you how annoying it is to go to some bitchass hipster restaurant that serves only its own funky ketchup and not Heinz ketchup like the rest of the universe. My taste buds REJECT your stupid spicy ketchup. You could have spent that time in the kitchen braising pork or making my ass a chocolate pie. Instead, you made terrible ketchup.


The DIY ethos in the modern food movement, as you know, got way out of hand a long time ago. The idea that EVERY possible ingredient you use will taste vastly better if you make it yourself is wrong. The people at Williams-Sonoma (shocking) have online instructions for how to grind your own flour at home:

Requiring only a Kitchen Aid stand mixer with a grain mill attachment, grinding wheat and corn takes just minutes.


Oh, of course it does. SO EASY! And growing your own wheat field? ALSO SURPRISINGLY EASY. All you have to do is till the soil, drag a harrow across the field, remove all the boulders from the ground, plant the seeds in rows, do a rain chant using your own homemade buckskin drum, and then wait 12 lunar cycles. COULD NOT BE EASIER, YOU GUYS. Meanwhile, a 50-pound bag of flour at the supermarket costs two dollars. So annoying.


What would the social/sexual implications be if penises grew in size with weight gain similar to how boobs grow in size with weight gain?


I don't know that it would end up mattering much. I don't think you'd see every guy try to gain 200 pounds just to add a foot of length downstairs. Men worry about penis size about 50 times more than women do. I don't think the average woman is all that ecstatic about the idea of having to accommodate a 15-inch skin missile inside her body. She'd probably rather that you stay fit and have a garden-variety penis than watch you turn into an arrogant blob who thinks his big dick somehow makes up for his man tits.

Not that it wouldn't stop men obsessed with penile length and girth. You'd have to deal with extremely obnoxious fat men at the bar on a daily basis. I can't even imagine what a Jets tailgate would become if this were reality.



Spotted at a Clarendon 7-11 in Arlington, VA. I bought 9.

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Oh by the way, the website is somehow a thousand times worse. Can I really handle that ass let alone kill it? I just don't know, fella. I just don't know.



Recently I got on a treadmill, turned on the TV, and Rocky IV was on. Before I knew it I had watched the entire training sequence, the Drago fight, and then Rocky's speech that ended the Cold War. I ended up working out twice as long as I had planned. Can you think of any movie better suited for a workout?


Any sort of propulsive action movie like Skyfall would probably also do the trick. The joy of watching the movie has to continually beat out the misery of toiling on the machine, which means you can't have a movie with any lulls or lengthy talky parts. I would probably burn 700 extra calories if a Jason Statham movie were playing on the gym TV at all times. I'm sure there's a scientific study to be done on it.

It's amazing what you end up watching on the gym TV if you're bored enough. I think half of TNT's daytime ratings for reruns of Charmed comes from gym TVs. I try to stick with SportsCenter, but it's fucking awful now. I truly can't stand watching it. I just flip around, desperately looking for anything else to capture my attention. Half the time, I end up toggling between two completely random things. The other day, I was staying at a hotel and I worked out for 45 minutes alternating between watching Lincoln and watching some random rugby game on ESPN75. So now when I see pictures of Abraham Lincoln, I think of rugby. Nothing I do makes any sense at all.



I don't have an ice maker at home, so I have to make my cubes manually using trays. Is there anything worse than a stubborn cube that won't come out, no matter how much you bend and smack the tray? I swear I'll spend five minutes on that one cube until I give in to its frozen evil.


I also use ice cube trays and they fucking suck. It's like a jack-in-the-box filled with ice. I bend and I bend and I bend, waiting for that moment when the ice will break apart and go flying everywhere, and I'm never psychologically ready for it. The ice jumps out of the tray and goes skidding across the floor in 84 different directions. Then I end up picking it up and having hairy ice in my bourbon. It's awful. Sometimes I can't get the ice to break free and I feel like the weakest man alive. Beaten by a goddamn plastic tray. What a load.

And refilling them is no picnic either. I always give myself points if the water level in every chamber is equal, but half the time I get bored and just blast the water into one chamber, letting it overflow into all the other chambers. It's a flawed levee system.


My wife tried getting some fancy silicone ice tray that promised easier popping out and better shaped cubes. It was shit. The ice clung to that tray like it was its mother. I nearly got frostbite popping that shit out. Fuck ice trays. They suck in every possible way. Even cleaning them is bullshit because they stay wet in the dishwasher. Ice cube trays and cupcake pans can go to hell.


What one song would you bring back in time to blast over a loudspeaker in medieval times? "Back in Time," right?


That's always been one of the sub-fantasies of the whole time travel thing: going back and blowing people's minds with some serious rock from today. You would want a song that establishes the exact kind of fear and awe you're looking for. You want them to know THEY ARE NOT READY FOR YOUR FURIOUS LICKS, which is why something by Slayer usually fits the bill. I don't even like Slayer all that much. I'd just like to see the look on the King of England's face when he gets "Reign in Blood" blasted in his grill.

Also, for sentimental reasons, I nominate Vital Signs:

Perfect for when you want to teach Napoleon about water slides.


This has to be the worst person in the world.


Right up there with Manson, to be certain. I like that proudly screams out NIAGARA MOTHERFUCKIN' FALLS but isn't even a Bills fan. My rule of thumb is that pretty much anyone who has favorite teams that are not geographically consolidated is a piece of shit. If you grew up all over the place and have various loyalties, I get it. But if you grew up in the same spot for two decades? No. Fuck you. You root for your terrible local teams or you GTFO.


Have you ever found yourself in a dire situation where your own salvation was bread and milk? In the case of a "blizzard" (especially in the DC area), where one can only possible be expected to be, at worst, two days away from clear roads and open grocery stores, where did the insane necessity of scoring every last gallon of milk and loaf of bread develop? Is this just a clever ruse by all the cronies at BIG DAIRY, BIG BREAD, and the MSM to work the public into a state of insanity that could ultimately end with milk muggings and bread thefts?


I really don't understand the milk thing because if a big storm hits and your power goes out, all the milk will go bad. You just wasted four dollars for nothing. In the event of a 60-inch death blizzard that threatens to wipe us off the face of the Earth (this is how DC people react when a wintry mix is forecast), you probably should stock on shit that is NOT perishable. Like, I dunno, canned milk. People raid bread shelves and milk coolers because they see everyone else do it. It's an ongoing cycle of stupidity.

You can feel it trying to lure you in. People here in the DC area fucking morons about snow. And since they're morons about snow, YOU are in constant danger of becoming a moron about snow. Not because of the snow itself, but because you think, "Christ, I better not leave the house during this light rain mist because everyone else will be so stupid on the roads." You're engaging in stupid behavior essentially because everyone else is. It's awful. People who suck at weather should be drowned in a rain puddle.



Recently a coworker threatened to rub his balls on my wireless headset. This got me thinking, given said scenario, can you rank (in order of most vile to least) which you would prefer: A. Balls B. Shaft C. Head (aka the pink fireman’s helmet) Obviously all ass related scenarios (cheeks, taint, brown eye, etc.) trump these.


The balls are out because balls have hair and because balls smell terrible. And the head is out because the tip of it is usually moist with old piss, and your co-worker would almost certainly make sure he just urinated or ejaculated before contaminating your Beats by Dre. That leaves us with the shaft, but it obviously depends which side of the shaft is being deployed. The top of your shaft if relatively clean and pleasant, whereas the underside of it can be awash in filth and pre-fromunda. Ever feel around under there and get a good finger-full of residue? It can be really unpleasant (takes big whiff anyway). If it's been hours since the last shower (a shame since male genitals can really clean up nice after a shower, all soft and dry like that), the topside of the shaft is the best way to go.



What do you think is the most number of Presidents (only referring to the United States) any woman has ever slept with? I imagine someone has pulled off two, but do you think anyone has ever made it to three?


I think there are probably a number of women who have pulled off the two-fer, simply with JFK and LBJ alone. Just read this passage about LBJ:

When people mentioned Kennedy's many affairs, Johnson would bang the table and declare that he had more women by accident than Kennedy ever had on purpose.


LBJ was also known to whip out his dick, Charles Haley-style, and he nicknamed it Jumbo. If you don't think that LBJ purposely nailed every single receptionist JFK had slept with did just to prove a point, well then you don't know your history. I bet he also nailed Betty Ford out of pure spite.

There are women who have worked across numerous administrations who almost certainly served at least two Presidents and perhaps more. I'm sure things were even randier back in the old times, when Presidents fucked everyone and gave everyone siffy without worrying in the slightest about it leaking to the press. Who's to say there wasn't a Presidential harem back then? In 1820, you probably walked into the Oval Office the first day and an aide quietly escorted you to a nearby ballroom with two dozen working girls ready to help you cope with the stresses of the job. I bet there was a lady named the Jade Madame who worked many a Presidential shaft.


People who do not occupy high levels of power don't really comprehend just how much powerful people get off on their own authority. The Power Boner is a real thing. The more power these people attain, the more insatiable their sex drive becomes. They get off on being themselves, and that means that a sitting President probably walks around with an erection for 80 percent of the day. Which means everyone in his immediate radius is a potentially convenient lover: Cabinet members, secretaries, undersecretaries, dogs, whatever. Powerful men have out-of-control boners.


Is there any machine at the gym that makes you feel more like an athlete rehabbing from a devastating knee injury than the leg extension machine? Whenever I am on that thing I feel like I am Adrian Peterson or Derrick Rose planning my triumphant return. I imagine myself surrounded by newspaper clippings and ESPN First Take segments doubting my ability post injury as motivation to push myself to do one more rep on the leg extension machine. In reality I am probably just too lazy to actually lift some weights and the leg extension machine is perfectly placed to check out girls running on the treadmill in front of me.


You have to do only one leg though to really drive the injury fantasy home. Then you can pretend that the leg extension machine is one of those tortuous Cybex machines they keep in training rooms that they strap your leg to and make you do four million reps on. Those things are pure evil. You thought you had it made in the training room, with all your hot whirlpools and cute training students who all look like Lindsey Vonn. And then the head trainer makes you get on that Cybex thing and you're like, WHOA HEY THIS FUCKING SUCKS LET'S GO BACK IN THE HOT TUB YO.

The leg extension and leg press machines are great gym equipment because they allow you to lift the largest amounts of weight in front of lots of people. I get on the leg press and I feel like I'm pushing a limo up in front of adoring spectators, when in reality the machine does pretty much nothing for you. You get in better shape doing low amounts of weight or (BARF) resistance training, which is complete crap. No one looks like a badass working out with a giant rubber band. I wanna look STRONG. Like this guy.



How stupid do you have to be to put this on your car?

Pretty stupid. Let's hear it for Maine, everyone! By the way, I don't count the coast of Maine as real Maine, just like Miami isn't REAL Florida. The coast of Maine is just supplemental Massachusetts. Real Maine is the interior, filled with abandoned serial killer farmhouses and men and women who all look like Kathy Bates.



Who the hell do the hotels think they are kidding with those miniscule wastebaskets by the guest room desks and bathrooms? Nothing dropped from waist height has a chance of landing in those thimbles.


They're never located in the right spot, either. I need the wastebasket to be near the toilet or the sink. Instead, they put it underneath an ironing board in the back of the closet. I may as well just throw all my spunky tissues off the balcony.


What is the earliest year where you could take the best NFL team of that era and expect them to beat a shitty modern team? 1985?


Take a look at this chart listing out average heights and weights for NFL players by year. It only runs to 2006, but the differences are still striking. In 1985, wideouts weighed 15 pounds less, offensive tackles weighed 30 pounds less, guards weighed 46 pounds less, and defensive tackles weighed 40 pounds less. The only shocking stat is that, back in 1985, the average defensive end weighed MORE than they do now, because today's defensive ends are built almost exclusively for speed and little else.

With that in mind, you're talking about the '85 Bears going up against the 2012 Chiefs with a collective weight disadvantage of several hundred pounds. Not to mention they'd be coached by Mike Ditka, whose lack of at least one brain hemisphere wasn't crippling back then but definitely would be today. I don't know that the '85 Bears, romantic memories aside, would be able to overcome that. They'd obviously have the QB matchup and Sweetness in their favor, but they're still fighting out of their weight class. These dramatic shifts in player weight started right at the beginning of the 1990s. So I think the earliest you could go back would be about 20 years, to 1993. I would happily pick the '93 Cowboys to kick the shit out of Brady Quinn and the Chiefs. I think that's a fairly safe bet.



Did Pat Sajak and Vanna White ever bone?

O HELLZ YEZ. Email of the week time!


A while ago, I was playing basketball on a court outside a fraternity house which is right on the street with some friends and across the street there was a ripped black man changing T-shirts. My friends kept saying he must be an NFL athlete but I thought they were just being overly dramatic and a little racist. The guy walks up to us with two bottles of champagne and asks, “Is this a frat house?” We say yes and he hands us one of the bottles and tells us to have a good time. He then drives off and we continue to play our game until he drives up again with a female and her kid in the car with him.

The female and the child go into the apartment complex across the street as the man exits the car with an open bottle of champagne in his hand. By this point it’s me and one other guy standing out just shooting around and it's pretty dark out. The man comes up to us and, as it turns out, is an NFL player. I won’t reveal his name but he is not a big-time name (probably on practice squads or barely making rosters kind of guy). I’ll refer to him as James. James walks up to us and starts talking about anything and everything. He talked about how he got strippers to give him bjs without paying, how he has a bunch of chicks he fucks in the area like the girl he pulled up with, how he can usually dunk the ball easily but he was a little buzzed, how big his muscles are, and how parties at his school sucked and chicks were ugly.

Up to this point he has been laughing and smiling the whole time but then he asks up more specifically about what we do at our parties. His face gets serious and he looks me straight in the eye and says, “If you ever need any of that real nigga shit, just let me know”. He proceeds to give me his phone number and then he takes off. He has to be referring to coke or even stronger drugs right? Do I make contact with the guy?


This has to be Sam Hurd, right? I'll be so disappointed if this isn't Sam Hurd.


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