FunbagTime for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? [Email the Funbag](   

Before we get down to business, I must note that the bottom of this post contains video of the money scene from "Blown Away," which is NSFW, but well worth you risking instant unemployment. Now, to your letters.


Are guys really grossed out by menstruation? My uterine wall has produced some pretty amazing shit and my husband never wants to come check it out.


I pride myself on not being the squeamish type, but I want nothing to do with whatever comes out of a woman's body during the ENEMY WITHIN days. It's just… unnecessary. I can't speak for all of mankind on this, but I've yet to encounter a guy who says to his lady, "Wait! Don't throw out that tampon. Let's bust out the microscope and see what you got going on."

Now, I realize this is somewhat hypocritical. I'm completely hypocritical when it comes to male and female body functions. Like, I could spend all day ripping farts at home and laugh my ass off while my wife is covering her nose. But if SHE lets out a whopper? I act completely offended and grossed out. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT? YOU'RE A GIRL AND YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SMELL LIKE ROSE WATER AND COTTON CANDY. Complete double standard. It's like boogers. I find my own boogers fascinating. But if someone tried to wipe one of their boogers on me, I might throw up. That's just how it is. Our own bodily quirks are interesting because they're our own. ("I SAW MY ASSHOLE IN THE MIRROR TODAY. IT BLEW MY MIND!") Someone else's… no thanks.



Here's one for you: the armored truck fantasy. I'm so paranoid when I'm near one (especially if we're in a parking lot) I'll start assuming maybe these guys are on high alert and they might suspect me of trying to jack them. Do they think I will crash my car into the truck or the guy walking from the store? Could I really make a break for it and somehow take out the money collector as he's about to enter the truck, grab the loot and make a get away?


I have to think all armored car drivers are aware, at all times, that anyone who sees their truck will immediately, reflexively, envision jacking it. I know that's what I'm thinking. Ram the fucker with my car, back door flies open, BOOM! Giant sacks of money with dollar signs emblazoned on the front there for the taking. They shouldn't even use armored cars anymore. They should just use a shabby-looking Mayflower truck that's outfitted inside with state-of-the-art security equipment. Maybe that's what they already do. Maybe every armored car you see out there is just a very clever decoy set up by the Brinks corporation. COCKTEASES.

Dan C:

Is there anything worse than the first time you use a new stick of deodorant? It's like putting a sharp block of wood in your armpit and moving it around. Granted, I use the white solid stick, not the gel stuff. But anyhow, not only is the top of the stick sharp around the edge, you get tons and tons of flakes and excess crust that falls off, thus ruining your shirt. I should just mold the thing over the trash can first and then put it under my arm, but who am I kidding, I'm too lazy to do that.


I press the stick against my palm to get rid of the ridges around the rim, then I wipe my hand on my armpit just for the sordid thrill of it.

There are deodorants you can buy that aren't so horrible on the first swipe. Old Spice will fuck you on your initial use, but some deodorants come pre-rounded, and they are a delight. Like the reader who savored breaking the surface of a new peanut butter jar, there's an immense satisfaction to be had from taking off that little plastic shield on the new stick, marveling at the smooth top, and then jamming that shit right in your bagpipes. So, so wrong.


I remember when clear deodorants were all the rage and I first got one and you dialed it up, and the gel would squiggle out of the little grate at the top. Those sticks did NOTHING. If anything, they were perspirants. But dialing up that little Play Doh fun factory each morning was tremendous.


How delicious is a shamrock shake? I am going to the liquor store tonight and getting a bottle of Baileys and a bottle of Creme de Menthe and then stopping by my second home to get a Shamrock shake. McDonalds should just get a liquor license and make this process easier for us all.


I used to dip my fries in my McDonald's shakes on occasion. Is that wrong? Because it didn't taste wrong, I'll tell you that.

If you didn't know, by the way, Burger King is opening a restaurant in South Beach that serves booze. So you can get drunk AND shit yourself all in one convenient location.



Whenever I'm in a busy public space and I see someone I know in the distance I play this game of pretend where I don't know said person is approaching. I do the check of the cell phone. Then you get maybe 20 yards away from the person and can't ignore them any longer but saying anything to them just gets drowned out and you awkwardly both say what. Then you finally stop and talk to each other causing a major traffic jam of pedestrians. Stop and chats should be illegal.


I also prolong dealing with the acquaintance as long as humanly possible, which I think is perfectly normal. If you saw them 20 yards away, screamed out their name, and ran to them like it was The Sound Of Music, that would be fucked up. There's a time and place for lengthy conversations, and anyone with a brain knows the middle of the grocery store, with your kids tugging at you, isn't fucking it. This happens in front of me all the time at the store, and I always want to break the chatters up by ramming them with my cart.

I try and wrap up stop and chats and surprise phone chats in a very quick manner. I just say, "Okay, well say hi to (whoever) for me. I AM NOW SIGNALING T YOU THAT I AM READY TO END THIS SHIT." Most people take that lead and wrap it up.


In college, if someone I knew was walking toward me on the paths, I'd keep my head down, then mouth HI to them as I walked by. I wouldn't even say the word out loud. I was an awkward teenager.


I was about to cross the busy street I live on to get to the train, which is in the very wide median. There's a crosswalk spanning the two lanes, with blinking lights activated by two bollards that you pass through. I stepped into the crosswalk, and I see a city van, a parking ticket-writer van, barreling toward me in the left lane. The van slams on its brakes, starts to fishtail, and then swerves into the right lane where there were no cars, blows through the crosswalk and keeps going as if nothing had happened.

It missed me by no more than 2 feet and was going 35-40 mph, close enough that I felt the breeze from it. The thing that messed with me afterward is that I did nothing. I DID NOT MOVE. If that van hadn't corrected after the swerve, or if it had skidded sideways, I would have been pinned against a building by two overweight, chain-smoking piece of shit ticket writers. I've been thinking about this for days and have really beaten myself up for not jumping out of the way in heroic/acrobatic fashion.


Don't worry about that detail of the story. What's important here is that YOU ALMOST DIED, and you must breathlessly tell anyone you find how close you were to the Great Unknowable, and let them know this has shaken you to your core.

When I lived in New York, I stumbled out of a bar shitfaced one night at 2 or 3AM. I was walking down Park Ave. South when, from out of nowhere, a taxi careened off the road and crashed into a street lamp. If the street lamp hadn't been there to block the taxi, the taxi would have run me over. AND I WOULD HAVE DIED. And you can bet your ass I told everyone at the office the next day about my harrowing experience. YOU FOLKS ARE LUCKY TO SE ME TODAY. I WAS NEARLY ROADKILL. Oh, sure, I was shitfaced and in no shape to get out of the way, but that's beside the point. So don't bother with the part where you stand there like a retarded deer while this is unfolding all around you. Get the amount of concern that will make you feel loved and wanted.


Another near-death story: When I was three or something, I came across a pool in the winter that was uncovered. There were floating chunks of ice in the pool. Naturally, being three, I assumed if I jumped onto the ice, I could stand on the ice and surf around the pool. So I jumped. The ice immediately tipped and I slipped down into the water. My brother, who was with me, jumped and dragged me out.

To this DAY, I still bring it up on occasion. "Hey guys, remember when (my brother's name) saved me in the frozen pool? I COULD HAVE DIED. YOU SAVED MY LIFE! I AM HARRY BAILEY, MIRACLE CHILD."


All that said, I do occasionally get afraid some car or bus will go flying off the road and bash right into me. Ever have a bus coming down the street really fast? It always feels like it's about to jump the curb and take you right the fuck out. Unnerving. I remember when that dude from the Lions was killed in his own yard when a car jumped the curb and hit his ass. He was just in his yard, mowing his lawn, and BOOM! That completely freaks me the fuck out.


Did you ever have the feeling as a child that your parents actually kidnapped you at birth? While they might have done a decent job, they ultimately stole the awesome childhood you were meant to have as the son of FAO Shwartz?


I remember that, when I was a kid, I always hoped we had a rich uncle or cousin that we never knew about who showed up one day to tell us he was bequeathing us millions of dollars. Oh, and he was also CEO of Nintendo, so free Power Gloves for all. That rich uncle never showed up. The fucker.


Have you ever been set up for something perfect and just nailed the moment? 7th grade English class, grading a spelling test, one girl asked out loud, "How do you spell RELIEF"? R-O-L-A-I-D-S, I yelled. I may have peaked right there.


There are few greater thrills than bringing down the house in the middle of a 6th to 8th grade class. I pulled it off once (at the expense of hundreds of failed attempts that ended with me being branded as the kid who tries to be funny but is not, which is not that far from how I'm perceived right this instant!). I felt like I had just won the fucking World Series. Everyone in class laughed, even the girls. I thought to myself, "THIS is the moment. I have finally turned it around and am now on my way to popularity! TALLY HO!" That never occurred.

The joke was this. 7th grade science class. The teacher is explaining how the male testicles work.


TEACHER: So the testicles are like the kidneys. If one shuts down or is removed, the other can pick up the slack.

ME: So my balls are kinda like one of those Dual Start Diehard batteries?

And BOOM! Laughter. That joke isn't even funny, but I didn't give a shit. I was KING OF THE WORLD.



I sleep on my back so I like to have the covers at the end nice and loose creating a roomy little foot tent so there's no pressure on my feet, ankles or toes.


I like where you're going there.

The wife, on the other hand, likes to tuck everything the fuck in tantamount to shrink-wrapping the bottom half of the goddamn bed like it's a palate of cereal boxes at Costco.



She mostly sleeps on her belly, which naturally points her toes, thus causing no foot discomfort, and hates how the bed looks when the sheets are untucked. I hate having pressure on my feet when I sleep. I suspect we're both silently annoyed at the way the other sleeps, but since sleep is so important, we've managed to keep a "live and let live" policy in the face of our vague, mutual annoyance. Does this happen to you?


This does not happen to me, because the Mrs. and I are both back sleepers. I have a solution for you, though. One of the first things a doctor tells you when you have a shit back is to NEVER sleep on your stomach. Ever. Totally fucks up your shit. So tell that fine lass of yours that, if she treasures her posture, she needs to sleep on her back or side. IT'S FOR HER BENEFIT! And why does she care what the bed looks like when you're in it? You're fucking asleep. Town And Country aren't going to show up to photograph you.

I've said this before, but hotels are the fucking worst for toe confinement. They pack the sheets into the bed as tightly as humanly possible, so there's never adequate space for my feet when I first get in bed. Then I have to kick and thrash to get the sheets loose, then the whole sheet and blanket structure goes to shit. FIX YO SHEETS!



While trying to fall asleep, I think about what would happen if I actually played the lottery and won. All the cool shit I'd buy, stuff for my parents, cars, houses- specific models, colors, locations. If I were to actually win the lottery all the surprise would be gone because I'd already have like the first 5 years planned. I've done it so many times I already have investment strategies in place.


I only do this when I buy the Mega Millions tickets. If the jackpot goes over $100 million, I always buy one ticket. Then I spend the next 20 hours thinking about all the things I'll buy. AND I make a point to give a little bit of the money to AIDS babies, because that makes me a good person if I give money to AIDS babies. I also have instructed my wife to tell NO ONE in the event that we win. Don't want any hangers on showing up and asking me for dough. So pathetic of them to look for a fucking handout.

I have a list of people who are okay to tell, and a list of people to whom I'd be willing to give our money to: mostly family, but IMMEDIATE FAMILY ONLY. I don't want cousin Bob knowing about this shit. He's not getting a fucking penny.


I also always do the tax calculations. "Okay, so we'll definitely take the lump sum payout, minus the taxes… We'll only have $42 million left! That's barely anything! We need to be judicious with this money!"

I have been known to buy Powerball tickets and deliberately misplace them around the house, so that I will forget about them. My theory: Everyone who has won the lottery has done so forgetting they even bought the ticket. It's always the first thing you hear in the interviews. So I make it a point to forget that I have bought the ticket. Increases my odds exponentially, I tell you. THIS IS MATH.



How ballsy are the Mexican guys that stand outside of Home Depot waiting for some "under the table" work? I mean you'd think if it was a slow day for immigration officers, they'd just cruise over to the local Home Depot and grab as many of them as they could. I mean more power to 'em but how the hell do they not get in trouble? Is it just overlooked?


I assume it's overlooked on purpose. Who else is going to install my septic tank for five cents on the dollar?

I figure most people will either A) Do contract work on their house with cheap Mexicans, or B) Do no contract work if there are no cheap Mexicans around to do it. What's that? Pay full American wage for this new doorway? I THINK NOT! We can live without a front door for a few years, honey. That's how I approach home improvement, because fuck me if I'm gonna do any of that work myself.


(NOTE: Do not take this as an invitation to start seriously discussing immigration.)



Have you ever had a big veiny one going and thought to yourself, "I have the biggest cock on planet Earth"? Even being at the national average I do this all the time.


YES. And it happens at the most random times. Just sitting around watching the game one afternoon, BOOM. Fucking concrete dildo right in my pants. I mean, rock hard. The kind of boner where you think to yourself, "Jesus, I'm NEVER getting harder than this. I wish a porn movie camera crew was around right now, BECAUSE I WOULD ROCK THAT SHOT." The kind of boner that pokes your bellybutton. It actually hurts, it's so solid. I never that superection at the RIGHT time. Just a plain old erection when I do my business. Annoying.


Have you ever tried to drive to a destination without ever coming to a complete stop? It's a great driving game, especially when your trip involves town/city driving and your lady doesn't know you're playing it. Amazingly, if you drive with this in mind, I've found you can make it hundreds of miles without ever feeling that small jolt of inertia where the car completes to a complete stop.


Hundreds of miles? Really? I mean, I've tried to pull it off, but inevitably I get to some stoplight where I don't leave enough distance between my car and the car in front of me, so even as I dribble along, I still get too close. It's like a little game of chicken. You see juuuust how close you can get without touching the fella, all the while staring up at the light, praying it will change in time.


Have you ever wanted to randomly go A-hole co-worker on someone at a meeting? I thought about it today.


I've wanted to tell off any number of co-workers and bosses, and I've always had an evolving script in my head of the withering speech I would deliver to them. I even speak it aloud in the car on occasion. Do I ever end up delivering that speech? Nope.


I love stealing from Walmart! My swipe of choice has been bite-sized candy! I could easily steal a $3 DVD of Daylight or travel size shampoos, but who really gets a thrill doing that!? I go for the 10-pack of Almond Joys! Carefully, I open the pack, steal about 6 bars and reseal the 10-pack! It is exciting and gives me the feeling that I am "sticking it to "The Man"". Sometimes, I get real ballsy and eat a couple bars while perusing the aisles! Have you ever stolen something? And I am not talking a lame piece of Bubble Yum from the 7-11!


OMG! I don't know! You're not actually sticking it to The Man when you do that! You're actually fucking over the poor asshole who gets paid ten cents a day to stock the shelves! The Man doesn't give a shit if you steal Tic Tacs! He's just happy to now have an excuse to fire Paco and call INS on him! So maybe you should stop!

I used to steal porn when I was 15, because stores wouldn't let me, you know, BUY it. So I did what I had to do. But opening up a pack of Almond Joys and swiping half the pack? That's fucked up. Sure, we all steal loose candy or the occasional car, BUT YOU WENT TOO FAR! LET'S ALL GIVE EVA A DISAPPROVING SCOWL.



One of my favorite things about moving in with my girlfriend is being praised as the hero for the most mundane things. Last week I got a text saying that there was something wrong with the toilet. I come home, close the bathroom door to ensure that the ease of my success isn't too obvious, and...BOOM! I am the epitome of masculine ingenuity.

Three days later the toilet is surely forgotten, but I get home from work late and she tells me there is something wrong with the TV. We don't exactly pay full price for cable, so we're always afraid they will cut us off at any moment. Turns out, one of us hit the picture in picture button by accident when we turned off the TV and there's a big black box taking up half the screen. One push of a button and I'm back on top.


That's always a fun part of being married or having a girlfriend. "Step aside there, little hussy. THIS IS MAN'S WORK."

Last week, I was watching District 9 (fucking ruled) at home when I realized the TV was cutting off the alien subtitles on the bottom. Something was fucked up with the DVD player's picture ratio, so I looked up how to properly adjust it online, then changed the settings. So now I could see the subtitles and the DVD menu wasn't cut off anymore (I had kept the menu settings in standard def ratios by accident). So when my wife got home, I made SURE to tell her the entire saga of how I magically improved the DVD player by doing something I should have initially done three years ago. She was pleased, and I was pleased that she was pleased. I had a cookie as a way of rewarding myself.


I like doing very small tasks around the house, like drilling coat hooks into doors. It takes minimal effort, I can milk the clock, and when I am finished, I have an excuse to sit in the recliner for two hours with a beer in hand. That's a great time, the post-house project afterglow. LOOK AT WHAT I HAVE CONSTRUCTED.


Whenever I'm driving in the car alone I always play out an announcers' call if I ever had a game winning score. As a hockey fan I love doing Doc Emerick or Bob Cole. It never gets old.


And why should it? Who doesn't dream of getting in the booth and showing Jon fucking Gruden how it's done?

I have gone from imagining myself as the lead play-by-play guy (childhood) to strictly imagining myself as the analyst. AND the studio analyst. "Rich, when I look at the Detroit Lions, I see a team that is pure SHIT."


In the car, I also have a habit of talking back to the sports radio hosts, even though it's clear that can't hear me. This is especially true if I stumble on Doc Walker's show here in DC, because Doc Walker is retarded. "Now I looove Antwn Randle El." YOU DO? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID? HE SUCKS, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

Enrico Palazzo:

How awesome are silencers? That sound it makes rules and I've never understood why anyone would want a gun without one. I have already asked the wife to get me one for Christmas next year. I must have a silencer. I would kill everyone that I even remotely did not like. It would be a glorious yet quiet bloodbath.


Agreed. I have no interest in starting some gun debate, but I do wonder how silencers could ever possibly be legal to sell on the open market.

ME: I'd like a silencer.

CLERK: Okay. What are you gonna do with it?

ME: Uh… play it like a recorder?

I'm sure they're useful for legal things like, I dunno, killing a deer without alerting other deer in the vicinity to the murder. If I were a hunter (No moral reason I'm not, I just never have had the occasion to do it. I'd totally hunt if asked to tag along), I would hunt strictly with a handgun with a silencer screwed on, and pretend every deer I killed was a fugitive terrorist. DEER ASSASSIN. Because why shoot a deer if you can't imagine it being a person while you kill it? PEW PEW PEW.


I'd also take my handgun and silencer, buy 100 teddy bears and a hundred pillows, and spend a whole day smothering the teddy bears with a pillow and shooting my gun through the pillow. So, so wrong. God, I hope that Mega Millions ticket comes through.


So, every time I come tearing down the stairs in an attempt to board an NYC subway car that has already arrived in the station, I face a quandary. Do I sprint to the car as fast as possible and try to jump on before the doors close, or do I casually walk over to the car, acting cool as shit, and just hope they don't close?


Pfft. Who does the latter? There's no choice. FUCKING BOOK IT. I am a complete nutjob in any subway station. If I'm coming down the stairs or escalator, and I hear that train coming, I will fucking plow over children and the elderly to make sure my fat ass is on that train. It doesn't matter f I don't have to be anywhere urgently. Ever wait on a subway platform for more than three minutes? It's like being in prison.


Why do CBS and other networks mention a show's great ratings in their promotion? Take NCIS for example. Yes, CBS, I know that NCIS is TV's #1 rated show. It still doesn't mean I'll watch it, though. Is it used to just peer pressure me to watch it since a lot of people are watching it too?


That's pretty much exactly it. And it often works. It's the same reason Duracell says they're the number-one selling battery, or Ford says they have the best-selling truck. If everyone else is buying it or watching it, it must be good, right? It's not always the case, of course. Especially when it comes to "NCIS". I've watched that show. It's shit. I wanna punch that phony goth chick in the fucking nosering.

I still haven't seen "Avatar," not because I take some kind of perverse, Simmons-like pride in not having seen it (ZOMG! Such a nerrrd movie!). I just haven't had time to see it. But I know damn well it's the number one movie of all time, and it kills me I haven't seen it. EVERYBODY saw it. It's gotta be pretty cool, even if AJ hated it.


So yeah, peer pressure works.

Brian H:

The Internet let me down today. I paid a premium price for a TV stand from a website. It looks like the picture but it's so poorly constructed I fear it will collapse and crush the children. My only hope is their soft bodies would cushion the fall and save the TV.

No more Internet furniture. What other items should never be bought on the internet?


Most clothing items. Brides. Pets. Steroids. Death rays. Never buy a death ray online. It won't work. Trust me.


There was one time we debated how much of our own feces we'd be willing to eat to get out of one week of work (I'd eat a fork full).


Really? A full fork full of your own shit? And you have to swallow? I don't think I'd risk it. I would only eat feces for money. And really good money. $10,000 isn't enough. It would have to be six figures.


Was just wondering if you can put any scent into candle form to tantalize your nostrils, what would it be? I've always wanted one in pipe tobacco form, classy without the increased risk of cancer.


Oooh, or that apple tobacco they put in hookahs! That would be nice. Most scented candles are annoying. One time I went into a girl's apartment. She had a cinnamon bun candle burning. It smelled amazing, BUT THERE WERE NO GODDAMN CINNAMON BUNS. What a fucking tease. Scented candles are like torture. I want the actual item. Not its waxy essence.


So I was at a social gathering with some friends; sitting around, drinking heavily and watching a movie. I over-consumed, blacked out and do not remember the last 20 minutes. Yet somehow, this was acceptable with everyone, because it was a 10+ person event. Is this absurd to anyone but me? I know I'm only 24, but shouldn't I be at least mildly chastised for blacking out during a casual movie Friday?


"Do you drink until you black out?" is one of the questions they ask you to gauge if you need to go to AA. So cut down to get rid of that internal guilt. That always ruins drinking. I'm of the mind that blacking out is acceptable on special occasions. Cousin's wedding? BLACKOUT. Bachelor party? BLACKOUT. Tuesday? BLACKOUT. All acceptable.


Ever notice the completely random nature of music at the gym? For my freshman year of college, I would always deal with it because I didn't get an iPod until sophomore year, then I recently lost my iPod and it was about three days or so before I got a new one. During the times that I went to the gym without an iPod, they'd usually play one god awful dance or R&B song after another, and then completely out of the blue comes "Your Love is Driving Me Crazy" by Sammy Hagar, or "Armageddon It" by Def Leppard. Then another hour of dance or R&B.


It's a real problem. My gym plays the same song by Squeeze every hour. Sometimes they play Spoon. Sometimes they play "House of Stone and Light". It makes no sense. And it's not an actual radio station. It's some cable or satellite station they have tuned in, like a JACK FM channel that went rogue.

The worst part, by far, are the emo cover songs. My gym plays the Ataris' version of "Boys of Summer" all the time, intermingled with some other dipshit emo band covering "Time After Time". This always happens while I'm in the locker room, so I have to hurry to get my headphones on and turn on the Black Keys to drown it out. But by then, it's too fucking late. I've heard enough of the song for it to get stuck in my head at a later date. It's horrendous. I hate you, gym music supervisor. I hope you pull a DJ AM.


They also play this song…

I know it's a song for kids, but holy shit that is the worst fucking song I've ever heard.



Why in the hell do I have to walk over to the fridge every 20-30 minutes and open the doors just to check the status of things?? I have already looked 100 times and I know what is in there. Of course, there is the extremely rare occurrence when someone slips something into the fridge without my knowledge, which is pure elation. Last night, I had a friend over and didn't pay a lot of attention when my wife came in, therefore I did not notice she had brought home her Chinese leftovers from lunch. When I discovered this unexpected treasure in the fridge I mowed through that shit like a fat kid in a doughnut shop.


I check the fridge and cabinets all the time, just to see if I missed anything. Because I do miss things. My wife will be like, "Can you get me a lemon?" And I'll look, but I won't see it. So I tell her, then she checks, and it's sitting right fucking there.

So checking the fridge repeatedly, for me, is a demonstration in the faith I have in my own obliviousness. Maybe I didn't look hard enough. Maybe there's a whole smoked turkey in there I missed. Maybe I can make it appear in there WITH MY MIND POWERS. Usually though, I do it because I'm bored. I also check the fridge to see if there's something I can cook. And usually, we're just one ingredient shy of something awesome. I could make oatmeal raisin cookies right now, IF WE FUCKING HAD EGGS! GAHHHHHHH!!!!



I watch a bukkake porn the other day. The guy that was next in line was awful close to the action and appeared to get hit with friendly fire from the guy in the front of the line. If that were you would you tough it out and stand there for another 45 seconds to a minute knowing full well some other guy just shot his load on you or would you lose your place in line to get a towel and wipe it off?


Well look, you can't participate in a bukkake video without expected SOME skeet ordnance getting to you.

That leads to another question: Is it normal practice for two guys who are tag teaming a chick to agree beforehand that there has to be to a safety bubble to avoid a catastrophic collision of cock?


Ask Daulerio.


What is your favorite "before they were commonly known as this one guy" cameo from a film or TV show? Mine is the one in "True Romance" when you got to watch Patricia Arquette be savagely beaten and brutalized by a pre-Tony Soprano James Gandolfini. Hands down.


Don't forget Samuel L. Jackson in that SAME movie. "I eat the pussy, I eat the butt." That's a fucking blast. AND BRAD PITT AS FLOYD! The cast of that flick just grows in legend by the year. It's the most astonishing job by a casting director ever. Kudos to you, Billy Hopkins and Risa Garcia. Kudos.

Other than that, Chris Rock in "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka". ONE RIB.

I'm also partial to Alec Baldwin, pre-"Red October," playing scumbags in "Working Girl" and "Married to the Mob". Save me some soap, baby. Because I'm feeling EXTRA dirty tonight.



Let's assume sexbots become common and affordable parts of our culture: Is it possible in any scenario to convince your average long term gf/wife to have a threesome with you and the sexbot?


No. Unless your wife is in a coma and you are designated her mouthpiece or something. But that would kind of ruin it.


Based on your age, I assume you were a big fan of the Two Coreys classic Blown Away. Of course the best part of the film was finally seeing Nicole Eggert naked after years of watching her on "Charles in Charge." Isn't a nude scene with someone you never imagined you would see in a nude scene ten times better than when a chick gets naked in every movie?


I actually dated a girl once who claimed to be childhood friends with Eggert. I kept hoping there would come a day when she would introduce me to Eggert, we'd hit it off, and then I could engineer a diabolical switch over to having Eggert as my girlfriend. That, uh, never happened.

I also found Katie Holmes' nudity in "The Gift" completely thrilling. AND SHE TALKS DIRTY. I never would have thought she'd do that. That made my glands happy. There should be a term for an actress' first career nude scene. "Breaking the Shymen," or something like that. In the case of Eggert, it was awesome. Speaking of which… BAM!


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