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The Joys Of Very Large Old Public Urinals

Time for your Deadspin Open Mailbag Tuesday. Email us here or submit your questions via Twitter. This week, we're covering old urinals, candy, baby wipes, and more.

Before we get into this week's batch of emails and tweets, let us all gather to congratulate our own Bobby Big Wheel for scoring a column over at the National Football Post. It's always heartening to see lawyers find a creative outlet and take a moment away from being horrible, horrible people. Kudos to you, good sir. I've never met you, but for some reason I assume you look like Philip Seymour Hoffman. I always assume anyone online – male or female – looks like Philip Seymour Hoffman.



Drew, attached is a photo of a urinal at NYC restaurant PJ Clarks (above). Please comment.


Hey, I've pissed in that urinal! It's fun. It feels like you're pissing in Ancient Rome. I bet Sinatra banged a girl in one of those urinals. Giant old urinals, these days, can only be found in restaurants or very old municipal buildings and schools. It's practically worth getting arrested just so you can pee in an old courthouse. Like pissing directly into history. I bet that urinal weighs 75,000 pounds.

Sometimes you get old bowl urinals that are 500 years old and six feet deep. They're impervious to splashback, and I cherish them when I happen upon them.



Did you hear Gumbel/Dierdorf mention Favre could still throw far and was having fun??!! NFL announcing = full frontal lobotomy.


I thought those two were fairly restrained during the first half. Then the second half arrived and it all went to shit. As Laremy points out, you will NEVER make it through a Vikings telecast this year without closeup shots of Favre throwing up both hands and smiling, and then going to hug his teammates, followed by the word FUN used in many various iterations. And you won't make it out without the analyst telling you that last throw by Brett Favre PROVED that he's still got it.

There was also this chestnut from Dierdorf on Sunday: "There is no doubt now that Brad Childress is an offensive mastermind." He also castigated fans for booing when the Vikings settled for a field goal at the end of the game. Also, Dan Dierdorf has AIDS. It's true. He has full blown AIDS and you shouldn't touch him unless you want his AIDS breath on your skin.



Is there a better movie theater snack than popcorn with a box of Bunch A Crunch thrown in? My high ass has yet to find one.


Craig, as you may have surmised, was recently kicked out of the Kwik E Mart for sneaking Jolly Ranchers onto his donut.


Stephen B. Awesome:

Since you know shit, I figured I'd ask you this question about Halloween. My wife and I have a child who is ready for his first time trick-or-treating. When this happened with your daughter, did both you and the wife go with her? Or did one of you have to stay home for other trick-or-treaters? If we do both go, I'm considering buying a terrible candy to put in a bowl and leave at the door while we're out. Is this the best solution? And what terrible candy would you recommend that is bad/cheap enough that you wouldn't care if it was gone? Because we know someone will just take the entire bowl for themselves.


Congratulations, buddy. You are about to be FUCKED. My kid never ate fucking candy until her first Halloween. Now, EVERY FUCKING DAY, it's all, "Can I have a lolly? Can I have a lolly? I can have a lolly." No, you can't have a lolly, you little shit. YOU ARE BANNED FROM CANDY FOREVER. Halloween is just another example of the world fucking parents over. I had this kid under firm control. Now I have a lollipop stalker. God DAMMIT.

Anyway, my wife and I both went with the kid trick or treating in a large group of other kids and parents. Someone usually brings beer, which is awesome. I like drinking enough during trick or treating to not care whether or not my kid gets nailed in the dark by an oncoming motorist. At the beginning of the night, you stay close to the kid and try and rein them in. But after a six pack, you'll happily let them scale pool fences and disappear for hours at a time. It's a delight.


I leave candy out in a dish at the front stoop. Most every kid who trick or treats early is accompanied by a parent who will fucking murder them if they try and take more than two pieces. And even if someone did hog all the candy, I could give two shits. That's candy I don't have to worry about anymore. Whatever you do , DON'T GET SHITTY CANDY. Kids aren't fucking stupid. They'll leave that shit and stick it with you for eternity. Don't think you can get away with leaving out Smarties, or plain Hershey bars, or rusty razor blades. You'll never get rid of it. The whole goal of Halloween is to have no candy left at night's end.


What's up with all the frosting the put on cupcakes now? If I wanted that much buttercream, I wouldn't bother with the cake part.


You're complaining about extra frosting? What are you, a fucking Mennonite?


Once I asked George Wendt, "What's the best candy?" He replied "Caramel and toffee." Your thoughts?


Together? In some sort of Skoramello product?

It's hard to single out one candy as a favorite above all others, particularly if you're as girthy as George or myself. I enjoy all of it. But you know what's a solid candy that doesn't get a lot of play? Chocolate Reisen.


Oh, Chocolate Reisen. I will make chocolatey love children with you.


The UPS guy is a Creative Director at The Martin Agency. I don't know which I hate more. The ads, or the jackass he cast to star in them... Himself.


I was aware of this, and have actually seen Andy Azula walking the streets of Richmond on occasion. The story is that Martin Agency couldn't find an actor who did the whiteboard stuff as well as Andy did. That's a standard ad world trick. "Christ, none of these guys can do it as well as me. Tell you what, guys, why don't I do it for you? You'd only have to pay me SCALE AND A HALF!"

Bobby Big Wheel:

Have you ever had pumpkin beer? To paraphrase Dave Attell, it's for when you're thinking, "I want to get drunk, but I also want some pie." You'd love it.


I got a lot of pumpkin beer recommendations this week, a couple weeks after getting bitched out for having an apricot beer in the Jamboroo. So to recap: Fruit-flavored beer = gay. Gourd-flavored beer = acceptable.


If you google Will Leitch and cat pee, you get over 5,000 results.

Drew Magary and cat pee yields over 260,000 results. My name and cat pee gets 18,000 results.

... and that bastard published a story about cat pee.

Yes, but google Leitch and Ankiel pee, and you get over 5,000,000 results. DON'T IMAGE SEARCH IT.



As I'm sure you read The New Yorker, whilst casually sipping of the finest port, you're familiar with Malcolm Gladwell's new article about how linemen are basically guaranteed brain trauma, and no doubt you're familiar with the recent wave of studies saying the same thing.


I didn't read it, but I assume it all ties in with the mating habits of Chilean llamas.

I've always between a little uneasy enjoying a sport that exposes its players to such injury, but before these recent reports I could at least plausibly tell myself that the risk was limited to really serious blows, and that hopefully some new helmets would fix most of the problem. But now it turns out that even limited-contact practices are a non-returnable ticket to dementia.

How do you personally deal with this sort of unwelcome knowledge?


I'm sure you're not boycotting the NFL anytime soon, but do you feel guilty? Watching the games this week, I kept wincing on every snap and mouthing "Easy, easy!" to the players.


No, I don't feel guilty. I don't even think twice about it. Those players are compensated handsomely to bash each other's brains out for my amusement. And thankfully, once they become old and infirm and punch drunk, they're cloistered well away from the public spotlight, so that I may conveniently ignore the devastating effects of the Faustian bargain they have stricken. Good stuff. LET'S WATCH THAT WESLEY HIT AGAIN. IT WAS DIRTY AND ILLEGAL AND THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SO VERY SEXY.


Help a fellow father out? How do I change a shitty diaper when my daughter is kicking more than a kangaroo on crystal meth! Do I need some sort of crane to hold her feet up? Now that her arms are longer, she can reach down and grab a nice, big handful of iron laced, black gold.


Oh, that's the worst. The second they grab that poop, it's all over. And the little fuckers NEVER stop turning. They won't stay on their back, even if you try and nail them to changing table, which I've attempted. Your only hope is a distraction. Give the fucker a toy and pin them down with all your might.


Fuck the Jersey DMV for calling it the MVC when the rest of the world calls it the DMV, sperm burpers


Maryland also doesn't call it the DMV. They call it the MVA. I assure you this is a cheap branding exercise, because they think the initials DMV connote negativity and changing the initials will somehow lesson the blow. WORDS ARE EVIL THINGS, PEOPLE.


Just writing to say that I ate this shit called Pasta Al Forno, which is rigatoni with vodka (cream sauce), meat, and an insane layer of cheese. It tasted like an orgasm, but my stomach is about to say fuck this shit and explode all over the fucking place.

Do you subject yourself to unhealthy fare like me at such an alarming rate?

Sure do! Like Louis CK says, "I eat until I hate myself." Every weekend, I eat and drink until I feel like my heart is going to burst into flames and send boiling plasma shooting through the rest of my body. And I always swear to myself that I'll never be so piggy again. And then I take a Zantac and do it all over. HEY, SOMEONE DIDN'T FINISH THIS BAG OF CHOCOLATE CHIPS. THAT'S A MISTAKE THEY WILL SOON REGRET.


Bellwether Johnson:

I have eliminated home shitting. Completely. I now shit exclusively at work. My friends can't understand this, and despite my very well thought out and salient points (of which I will shortly espouse), they continue to be dumbfounded by the very thought.

1.) I work in a small retail environment, which means that we get cleaning crews three times a week. Do you clean your shitter three times a week?? Fuck no, you don't.

2.) I only work with one other guy, which means only one other person is using my work toilet. I have the "public" toilet in my apartment, which means visitors are always pissing all over it.

3.) My body has adapted to a shit schedule that consists of one large post-lunch dump per day, which is glorious.

So what do you think?? This epiphany of work-shitting has changed my whole life, and yet everyone I talk to is so skeptical as to outright dismiss the thought as lunacy. I feel like Bill James circa 1981. Please help!


I once roomed with two other guys in a studio apartment in Manhattan, and one of my roommates steadfastly refused to take a dump in the place. He found the conditions appalling and saved all his pooping for work. Frankly, I think any male toilet snobbery is fucking stupid. You're a man taking a shit. You're already filthy in ways far too numerous to count. What makes you so important that you need a fancy shitter to unload in? I'll shit anywhere: restaurants, gas stations, home, the gym, at the stadium. My ass, which is repulsive, has no right to complain about anything.


When I watch a show on demand, it saves automatically for 24 hours....Showtime, as you probably know, has soft core porn on demand. I happen to like free porn so I watch it when I can....since I also put on a lot of my son's shows from on demand...if I accidentally forget to manually erase my DVR, sometimes I'll go to the saved feature and it will look like this:

Sesame Street
Mickey's Clubhouse
Lust Sessions
Super WHY

Needless to say, it's sort of embarrassing when say, the babysitter is over and puts on TV for my kid.


No Happy Scrappy Hero Pup?


Oh what I wouldn't give for DirecTV. I'd gladly take the couple minutes of disruption here and there over the daily ass raping I get from Time Warner. My cable bill is $150 a month. ONE HUNDRED FUCKING FIFTY A MONTH. It's high crime. This is bullshit. Not to mention I can't get the Sunday Ticket. So I'm forced to watch Broncos games in the company of drunk, middle aged, overweight, douchebags in replica Steelers jerseys pounding leaky nachos and yelling. These assholes have taken over every sports bar and it's hell. HELL. So fuck you and your winey disruption in your palace in Maryland. Stop turning into Peter King.


Good response. Lofty response.


Here's an item to add to your unknown/surprise benefits of having a kid: wiping your ass with baby wipes vs. regular toilet paper. Unbelievable. Pre-kids, a perfectly good shit could be ruined by an extended wiping process. I'm talking about those ones where you keep waiting for the toilet paper to come back clean, it never does, and you finally just say fuck it and pull up your pants.

Baby wipes cannot be defeated by even the worst wipers. It's like taking a shower after every shit.


I too enjoy using baby wipes (Daulerio also swears by them when shitting). Very cool and refreshing, AND they prevent chafing. Also, they're excellent for scouring for dingleberries, because you get a better crack feel with them. One time I caught a berry that was the size of a RAISIN, I tell you. I could have had it bronzed. Looked like a Furby. BUT BEWARE. Baby wipes don't degrade in water the way toilet paper does, which can end up clogging your pipes and forcing you to pay some plumber to snake the toilet. I know some people who use baby wipes and then throw them into the garbage afterwards, and that is sickening.


For the second day in a row, I am making for a late breakfast/brunch/work from home special:

leftover pork loin
fried up
with diced potatoes
mixed later with
salsa verde
left to simmer, then adding
three-to-four scrambled eggs
thus tying the whole thing together
salt and pepper to taste


Rand wrote it out like that. I think he was trying to make it look like a poem. Best goddamn poem I've ever read.

It's the kind of thing that makes me so happy while I'm eating it that I am alternately praising myself for the concoction while also trying to simply enjoy it. Ever have that problem?


Yes, and my wife always gives me shit for it. I'll cook something and then, as I'm eating it, I'll keep saying, "Damn, this is REALLY fucking good," or "I think this turned out well," or some other insufferable shit like that. If I could bang a pot of chili while eating it, I would. AND I HAVE.

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