Before we get to the Funbag, one thing: my new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, is due out May 16. You can find links to pre-order it through my shitass homepage. It's all new Dadspin material. There's nothing republished from Deadspin, so you won't be spending your money on shit you've already read. There will also be a few book tour dates, but I'll annoy you with those later on. I think we're all very excited for a whole new cycle of repulsive book-whoring. Now, your letters.
What if they made the NFL Draft an auction draft? Each team has 100 (figurative) dollars for the 7 rounds. If you run out in round 3? TOO BAD.
You can't hold a real auction draft like that for a handful of reasons. First of all, it would take forever. I know the Draft already takes forever, but you're talking about parading 250 guys up there for individual bidding and then giving every team a chance to either bid or decline to bid. Logistically, it would be a mess.
And that's just with 250 guys. The real rookie pool is about four to five times that size. You and I both know that teams have wildly different interpretations of who is a third round talent and who is not. There's nothing more dispiriting than when your team drafts some random shithead in Round 3 and EVERYONE then says, "He was projected to be a rookie free agent!" I wanna throw my phone through a window when that happens, and it happens EVERY DRAFT (NOTE: The flipside of this is when your team grabs some dude in Round 6 and Mel Kiper is like, "Well, he would have been a second rounder if not for that assault charge." I pump my fist whenever that happens. SUCH GREAT VALUE).
Anyway, the NFL would essentially have to determine the entire auction pool, which could total thousands of players. When you have a few marquee players (like RG3 and Andrew Luck), those auctions would be a blast. But once you get into the bowels of talent pool, it would become a real slog. And I say this as someone who would love to watch Jerry Jones spend $75 on his first player year after year after year. Also, it's probably unwise for the NFL to parade a bunch of young men—most of whom are black—onto a stage and then have elderly white men bidding for them. That looks... bad. I say all this as someone who has never participated in a fantasy auction draft. I know it's better than a snake draft, and one day I'll get to it. But you auction draft people are like fans of The Wire. You just push and push and push. "You've haven't done an auction draft yet? WHAT ARE YOU, A FUCKING ASSHOLE?"
With a paper coffee cup, do you recycle the cup in the paper bin, the lid in the plastic, or trash the whole thing?
I usually pick the material that the object is made the most out of (paper in the case of the coffee cup) and throw it in there. In general, recycling materials are all sorted after you dispose of them anyway. So it's not THAT irresponsible to add the occasional bit of plastic to the paper bin and vice versa. It's when you start throwing banana peels and old diapers into the bottle deposit that you become a bastard. Frankly, any time I walk by a bin that says COMMINGLED RECYCABLES, I get far more excited than I have any right to be. Commingled recyclables are the shit. I can put a bottle and a magazine into the same bin? FREEDOM.
This is why toy manufacturers are the most evil people on the world. Not only do they make toys impossible to get out of the packaging—as every parent has noted—but the materials they use are ALWAYS some alien hybrid of 33 percent cardboard, 33 percent plastic shell, and 33 percent unknown radioactive foam. What do I do with this material? And why is it always too wide to fit in ANY proper receptacle? Fuck you, Mattel. You are the worst.
One more thing: recycling plastic bags and wrappers is awful. There's ONE bin outside the grocery store for recycling plastic bags and it's always full, or the opening to stuff your plastic bags into is the size of a Cheerio hole. My wife makes me recycle all the plastic wrappers in our house, and these things come LEAPING out from the master plastic bag every five minutes. My whole life now consists of bending over in agonizing pain to fetch an empty Fig Newton sleeve from the floor. And when I finally toss all that shit away, I always realize that I forgot to save one plastic bag to hold the next round of random plastic shit. It's like a starter for bread dough. You always gotta save one bag. Sometimes, I just throw wrappers away when my wife isn't looking. The fate of Earth isn't worth the effort.
I have "irritable bowel syndrome" which means from time to time, my body forgets how to take a shit for like 3 days. The constipation is uncomfortable as is the actual voiding process. I deposit small, polished stones which require maximum effort to pass. I have a medication, but I don't take it all the time because it causes severe, unpredictable diarrhea. I get about 30 seconds to disarm the bomb before the end of the world. I haven't been able to figure out a pattern and it makes doing anything away from a reliable toilet difficult. If you were in my position, which would you prefer - chronic constipation or uncontrollable diarrhea? For the first day or two not having to worry about going to the bathroom isn't so bad, but by the third day I am so weighed down by waste I feel like I'm going to explode. When I'm on the medication, I've shit myself a couple times, which isn't the best.
I'd take the constipation. At least you get those two days of relative comfort. Constant, explosive diarrhea is a terrible burden. You have to run to the toilet constantly, and you end up wiping so many times that you feel as if you've sanded your asshole off. It's like you're wiping raw intestine. I've had bouts of the flu where it felt like there was a canyon opening between my asscheeks. It's the worst feeling in the world. You get a picture in your head of this massive anal fissure that will never close back up. You feel like you're cleaving yourself in two. That is NOT a good feeling. Besides, with the advent of iPhones, I welcome the occasional chance to sit on the toilet for 90 minutes.
So dry heaving is attempting to puke but nothing comes up. Is farting technically the dry heave of the shit?
No, because you're not always TRYING to shit when you fart. Also, dry heaving is never amusing. You don't get to dry heave in your friend's face and then have a good laugh about it. Dry heaving is unpleasant in virtually every aspect. You get all of the pain of vomiting with none of the closure. You WANT something to come out. You WANT to know that whatever evil lurking inside you has finally been ejected from your stomach. Without tangible proof spewing out of you, you know that MORE dry heaving is coming. There will be no boot-and-rally for you.
What's the best way to deal with a boner you get running on a treadmill or elliptical?
The standard "tuck into the waistband" move should get you out of trouble. By the way, that moment represents the greatest disparity between how sexy you feel and how sexy you look. Sometimes you'll be working out and be like, "God I'm so hot and sweaty and READY FOR ACTION." You feel like a porn star laying on a beach. Turns out you look like a dying baby Sasquatch No one is picking up the pheromones you're giving off right now. You're just gonna have to settle for a quick jack in the steam room. John Travolta can finish you off if you're comfortable with it.
What are there more of in the US today…people whose favorite football team is the Eagles, or people whose favorite band is the Eagles? Please show your work.
First, I hate the fucking Eagles:
Second, the football Eagles have the NFL's fourth-largest Designated Market Area. Outside of Philly, we know that the Eagles also have monopolized fan loyalty in Eastern Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Southern New Jersey. Eastern Pennsylvania is home to roughly seven million people. Delaware is home to roughly one million people, or one person for each toll booth. New Jersey is home to eight million people, though I have to think that a majority of them live in the North and are Jets/Giants fans who like to yell at women to take their tops off. Call it two million people in the south. That's a pool of ten million people to work with.
The Eagles average a 50 share when they play, which means about half the people in Philly are watching them on game day. So let's take that percentage and apply it everywhere. You've got roughly five million people then, plus maybe an extra million in fans living elsewhere in the nation and abroad. That's a lot of disgruntled, shitty, horrible people ruining your time at the sports bar.
By contrast, 29 million people bought the Eagles' greatest hits album. Let's assume 10 million of those people are now dead. And let's assume another 10 million are now so fucking sick of "Hotel California" that they'll claw your eyes out if you queue it up on a jukebox. That still leaves nine million people who still like the Eagles, which is nine million people too many. If it's between ridding the world of the band or the team, I'll take the band every time. If I hear "Already Gone" one more time at the grocery store, people WILL die.
Which active pro athlete has slept with the most women? The lame guess would be Derek Jeter, but there has to be somebody better out there.
I don't know a better candidate, frankly. Derek Jeter has been obscenely rich and famous and single for two decades now. He's had sex with EVERYONE, including you while you were sleeping. I was watching a football game at a friend's house when that DirecTV genie ad popped up on the screen.
ME: Whoa hey, that lady's not unattractive.
FRIEND: Jeter slept with her.
ME: He did? Already?
FRIEND: Mmm hmm.
ME: Jeterrrrrrrr!!!!! (shakes fist)
Derek Jeter's sex life is the heroin of sex lives: It's a thousand times better than you could possibly imagine it to be. I guess there COULD be some random basketball or football player out there who will sleep with any woman and has (many of these guys do not exactly have high standards when it comes to bedroom partners). Jeff Pearlman's Boys Will Be Boys, which is a really good book about the Cowboys teams of the '90s, detailed the sex addiction of Joe Fishback. So if Joe Fishback can spend every night sticking his dick in any available orifice, you can imagine how many other guys there are like him out there (one of the book's great quotes is about Michael Irvin: "Mike didn't have a drug problem. He had a pussy problem").
So, maybe some random idiot like Kurt Thomas has slept with 4,346 women to Jeter's 3,908. But really, shouldn't Minka Kelly and the genie lady count as 100 women each? I say yes. Also, I don't think infamous baby daddies like Antonio Cromartie get any extra credit here. Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean you have tangible proof of greater coxsmanship. Frankly, all those babies are a drain on your ability to keep up with Jeter. Cromartie could have slept with twice the number of women if he wasn't getting phone calls from lawyers every week.
Is there any worse feeling than getting to the bottom of a bag of snacks (mini muffins, M&M's, Butterfinger BB's, etc.), reaching for the final 1 or 2, and realizing there are none left?
Yeah, but karma balances that out. Sometimes you think the bag is empty, and then you feel around to discover that one final chocolate chip was trapped in the folds of the bag. It takes seven hours to get it free. But when you do... HEAVEN.
My husband and I were discussing the relative attractiveness of college football coaches when I mentioned that I thought [Nick] Saban is attractive. My husband replied, "Yeah, but I bet he'd treat you like shit in bed." Which got me wondering. Are there any elite football coaches (NCAA or NFL) who would not be total dicks in bed? I mean I can handle some degradation, but review notes would fucking kill me.
Oh, I can think of more than a few who would be kind and generous lovers, particularly if you have nice feet. Not only will Rex Ryan treat you well in bed, he'll give your labia a friendly slap on the ass before the action has even begun: "You listen to me, pussy, and you listen good. We're gonna fucking cut it loose tonight. Forget all that shit I told you about discipline and playing by the rules. I WANT US TO HAVE SOME FUCKING FUN OUT THERE [sprays you down with fire hose filled with baby oil, high fives your clitoris]. Are you with me? Bring it in. HOT SEX ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!!!"
And don't forget about Pete Carroll. Sure, his cocky strut might infer a bit of chauvinistic selfishness in bed, but I'm betting that Pete, like Rex, would give you the motivation you need to get out there and bang like a champion today. I think you want a bit of joyful cockiness from your NFL coach road beef. Much better than Norv Turner walking out of the bathroom wearing the gimp mask. Also, I bet Chip Kelly's open to a lot of different ideas. HURRY TO THE FUCK WEDGE NOW NOW NOW THIS THRUST HAS TO GET OFF WITHIN EIGHT SECONDS.
I tend to masturbate at the end of my morning shower, as I feel it gives me the right amount of pep to start my day. One thing I've noticed is that right after I turn off the water, the fruits of my labor float in the remaining water as 2 or 3 independent globules that are instantly attracted to my feet. If I don't pay close enough attention, I end up w/ semen crusties on my foot hair, which isn't very cool. My question: is this physics and do other men experience this, or am I like the T-1000 where any part of my body tries to reattach itself?
You just happen to be standing where the drain is. If you're standing in the center of the shower and the drain is right there, of course you will end up being attacked by your own semen. You need to stand back for a second and then angle the showerhead so that the leftover seminal residue reaches the drain. The problem is that semen is a particularly stubborn fluid, and you could blast it with a fucking firehose for 12 minutes and find it still stuck to the tiles. It's like you just ejaculated a lamprey. Sometimes it has to be removed manually, which is just awful. Sometimes I try to move it with my foot and then mash it into the drain, and then the drain looks like it has a spider living in it. It's a rotten mess.
The only real remedy is to fap before or after your shower, directly into the toilet. There's far less angst involved. And besides, lotion beats soapy lather every time. Far less wear and tear. I spent the past week traveling and the room I stayed in had NO complimentary body lotion. I can't begin to tell you how much this ruined me. You gotta have that free lotion. I'd take that over a working television.
Would it be better if the NFL season lasted for 12 months instead of 6 months with an off week between every game?
I wanna say no, because I hate bye weeks and because the week between Sundays is bad enough already. NFL players would probably also note that taking two weeks off between every game would destroy their rhythm. You might end up with a much sloppier on-field product, much like when a college team plays a bowl game after a month off. Then again, that could all be anecdotal bullshit. From 2007 to 2010, NFL teams coming off a bye week had a cumulative record of 65-54-1. So you could then assume that if every team had two weeks off between every game, they'd actually play much better.
The two weeks off prior to the Super Bowl hasn't hurt the game any in recent years, as much as I hate the layoff. You get used to anything after a while, and I'm sure NFL players and fans would eventually adjust to the new reality of the situation. Plus it would piss off all the other sports, which would be fun. The English Premier League runs from August to May, which means that soccer is essentially a year-round enterprise. And I don't see soccer fans bitching that they're getting too much soccer, or that they're tired of it. So long as the product is high quality (which means keeping a cap of 16 regular-season games) and there's beer to be had, people can tolerate a whole shitload of football. The only problem is that the NFL would end up scrambling the schedule so there would be NFL football on every week, with half the league taking every other week off. You would then have to make your fantasy football matchup a two-week affair, with half your team going this Sunday and the other half going next Sunday. But again, I could get used to anything, especially if it means no more fucking Joe Lunardi updates on ESPN's ticker.
My wife farts throughout the night. The moment she slips into a deep sleep, her butthole relaxes, loosens and lets 'em fly at a rate of about a toot per hour. I, on the other hand, am pretty sure I have never farted in my sleep in my life. My butthole remains tighter than a snare drum when I'm out. Naturally, my morning gas could probably raise the dead, both in smell and volume. We both think our way is superior, so which one of us evolved correctly?
No one is dry heaving out of their butthole at night, yes? I think you're each perfect for your respective genders. You, the man, get to fart loud and proud while you're awake. And your wife, the woman, gets to secrete away her lady-farts during a peaceful slumber. It's the perfect arrangement for both of you.
Seriously though, I'd never want to fart in my sleep. I want full creative control of my farts at all times: when to release them, when to hold them in, etc. Ever been around an obese person who farts in their sleep all the time? It's terrifying. You never know when they're gonna strike. It amplifies their fatness.
Whom would you be most surprised and/or saddened if you were told by a credible source that the person is an asshole? I don't know why, but I gotta go Bob Ley, and not just from the world of sports pool. He's number one, globally.
Bob Ley? Really? I was not expecting that to be your choice. I think the obvious choice would be the President. I know his detractors think he's the scum of the Earth, but hippie dippy liberal folks like me assume that he's a clam, levelheaded, generally pleasant man. If it turns out that he screams at the White House chefs for overcooking his omelets and beats his wife, I'd be a touch disturbed.
Of course, that's what I get for buying into ANY public persona. Usually, a person's brand has nothing to do with their actual personality, a lesson you learn time and again when Tiger Woods sends filthy texts to Joslyn James and what not. In general, it's much better to just assume EVERYONE is a breathtaking fuckhead. Frankly, I'm more dismayed now when famous people DO turn out to be pleasant. I don't want Beyoncé to be a kind, generous, giving person. I want her to be a vapid sack of shit, and I will remain convinced of that until proven otherwise.
I am broke and living at my grandmother's house, like every other 25-year-old Journalism major. For the first time since I moved in, I have a serious girlfriend. When we're done having sex, we clean up the cum with tissues and throw them in the little garbage can in my room. But for some reason, instead of letting the plastic bag in the garbage can fill up, my grandmother will later go into my room and pick up whatever garbage is in the bag with her hands, and throw it away downstairs. The thought of her handling my (possibly still wet) cum-soaked tissues is horrifying, but part of me feels as if it's her own fault for picking through my garbage. Your thoughts?
She's a grandmother. She knows what she's getting into when she's digging around in your garbage can because she's washed out more cum stains in her life than you could possibly fathom. She probably doesn't bat an eyelash when she accidentally sticks her hand in your clarified manbutter: "Oh dear! Better wash that off." She's too old and seen too much of the world to give a shit. Or, she's senile, in which case she's probably tried to eat the tissues as well.
But let's go with the "old and indifferent" explanation for the sake of comfort. The real question is if it bothers you, because it clearly doesn't bother her. If you can't bear the thought of your grandma's hands getting sticky with your basting juices, I would just throw your tissues in the toilet from now on. There's no reason not to. Nothing good can come from cum in a garbage can.
Email of the week time. Ian:
Back in high school (12 years ago), there was a girl who gave amazing handjobs. She wasn't a girlfriend, just a hookup. We'd have sex every now and then, but I always wanted one of those incredible handjobs. Often I would turn sex down to get one. I don't know what it was about them and I haven't had anything like that since. It was...amazing. Well recently I began to have these weird present-day handjob dreams about her and thought I'd look her up on Facebook to see how her hands were doing these days. Turns out she's dead. Car accident a few years ago. "Welp," I figured, "there go the awesome handjob dreams." Wrong. I keep having these very vivid, very real dreams of her giving me a handjob. Only now in the dreams I am cognizant of the fact that she's dead; I say, "You're dead" and she goes, "I know." She isn't a zombie a la Walking Dead. She isn't any different from the first dreams. It's just that she is dead but still pretty normal. I've never been a necrophiliac (that's a weird thing to write on a company computer) or had any feelings but "ICK" towards dead humans, but what the fuck is my brain doing? Am I headed down a really, really, really weird path here? I'm married with a kid, by the way. Oh, and I shit you not, the charity they wanted us to donate to in her memory was called "Helping Hands."
How can a handjob be that good? I MUST KNOW HER SECRET.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also order Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.