No time to waste. We go right to your letters.
So I have some people over on Saturday night for and get a keg at my place, which is sure to bring some strangers. A girl friend of mine brings a friend of hers from work (at a law firm no less) here in Miami, who starts telling a bunch of strangers a "funny" story of how her boss caught her charging her vibrator through the USB port in her computer. Minutes later, she proceeds pull said vibrator out of her purse after I expressed my disbelief that such a thing exists.
So many questions to ask here... 1) Did you know that a USB-charged vibrator exists?! 2) Why in the world would someone actually charge it while at work?! 3) Is it common for girls to not leave home without their sex toys?! Mind=Blown.
I did not know USB-compatible vibrators existed. Holy shit! Now I know why the line for the women's shitter is always sixty feet long in a crowded space. Anyway, it does appear that USB-powered dildos have been around for some time now. Witness this passage about it from The Frisky:
The LELO Mia is not your average vibrator in more ways than one. This lipstick tube-shaped sex toy recharges when you plug it into your computer's USB drive. You get four hours of playtime once it's fully charged.
Four hours! Sweet Jesus. Your labia would look like a goddamn coral reef if you spent four hours jamming that thing in and out of your hoohaa.
The LELO Mia is perfectly disguised to keep in your purse or luggage, but don't expect it to be wack like other lipstick-shaped vibrators that only have "on" and "off" settings. The LELO Mia has settings that go from a barely audible hum to an intense vibe. It's recommended for beginner toy users, but any woman who hasn't reached the super-advanced Magic Wand level will probably enjoy it. Practically perfect, but too bad you can't use it to store data, too.
That last sentence begs the question: Why CAN'T it store data? Why not make it a dual-use vibrator and memory drive? That way, you can charge it at work and if anyone asks you, "Hey, is that for diddling your twat?" you could say, "No, I have an important Powerpoint deck on here that I have to get printed by tomorrow. And I also diddle my twat with it." It just makes sense.
No need to stop there. You could have the USB dildo compatible with software in your computer that PROGRAMS a special customized vibrating pattern for you. So you ladies wouldn't have to adjust the setting every time you want to jack up the speed and let your vibrator take you to Poundtown. You could arrange yourself a symphony of self-pleasure. I know I wish I could program my blow up doll to do likewise. Instead, I have to TELL Miss Michelin to bend over. Why can't she do it in a more organic fashion?
Anyway, back to Muscle's questions about this particular LELO customer. Obviously, from the link, this thing looks like a lipstick or key drive, so you can probably charge it at work without someone knowing it smells like tuna salad served in an unwashed armpit. Second of all, it's obvious the girl who did this at the party is a writer for Jezebel in her spare time and is READY TO FUCKING PARTY. I suggest you get to know her better and then "pursue an intellectual property claim" against her, if you know what I mean. AND I MEAN SEX HER GOOD.
Why hasn't a billionaire built his own Transformer? What would a real Transformer cost? If I were a billionaire, I'll pass on the amazing yacht & go with my own custom-built Optimus Prime. Apparently a giant Carnival cruise ship will run you about $500,000,000. Surely you can get a Transformer for that price, right?
Uh, no. Listen, the government will happily spend $400 billion dollars in private defense contract money on planes that can't even fucking FLY. Don't you think the government would have invented Optimus Prime and had him go fuck shit up in Afghanistan by now if it were possible to engineer him? What Army is going to continue fighting against an Army that has operational Transformers? I'd lay down my gun in a fucking SECOND and bow down in eternal obedience at Prime's feet. $500 million wouldn't even cover the human resources budget for a Real Transformer initiative.
Which, of course, leads to the following question. Scarier army: one led by the Ark of the Covenant, or one led by Optimus Prime? I still say Ark of the Covenant.
Anyway, John's question touches on a much broader subject here, namely what we would all do with our money if we were rich. Part of the reason I resent super-rich people is because they spend their copious amounts of money on shit that's dumb. Expensive clothes and jewelry. Expensive handbags. Expensive lotions. Art. Fucking gurus and shit. All a complete waste of money. These rich people lack creativity. Look at those horrible women from "Sex & The City". They spend money like it's shooting out of their asses on clothing and they STILL all look like they crawled out of a Popeye's dumpster an hour ago. Even car whores like Jay Leno spend money poorly. They're cars. You can only drive one at a time. It's stupid to own and pay insurance on 200 of them.
I have big plans for when I'm filthy rich one day. BIG PLANS. You people reading this with no money know what I'm talking about. Those rich pricks don't know a goddamn thing about how to really spend the shit out of money, but you and I do. We have dreams. Oh, do we have dreams. I'm talking a mansion with NO STAIRS. In place of those stairs? ROPE SWINGS AND CATAPULTS. Oh, how I'd love a rope swing on my property. A rope swing that swings you into a vat of sweet tea. I would make that happen if I had a billion dollars. I certainly wouldn't buy malaria nets for AIDS babies with it. Can an AIDS baby build you a rope swing? No, because they're too weak because they have AIDS.
And I'd have my own deli slicer and bulk lunch meats. Think of it, men. The entire Dietz and Watson line of deli meats, all available at your disposal 24 hours a day. You want 37 slices of Virginia ham? BOOM! Yours in seconds. No going to the store. No waiting for the Token Retard Employee to call your number. None of that. Just HAM ON DEMAND.
Being rich would be solid. Not Transformer solid. But really fucking solid.
Check this shit out! Found this in a urinal at a local restaurant. Pisslot machine. Even more enjoyable than you can imagine.
That is the greatest thing ever. I want to marry that urinal.
So there's a Lowe's commercial where Nolan Ryan is shopping, and the Lowe's guy says, "You need some help there sir?" and Ryan says, "I need some big-league help." If you were Ryan, wouldn't you be dropping that phrase all the time? I mean, any former baseball star, really. I frankly can't think of ANY situation when I wouldn't say be using the phrase "big-league."
Agreed. I'd bring it up constantly. "That's a big league sandwich you made for me today, dear. Maybe later I'll stick it to you with my big league fuckbone." We always (rightfully) give ex-players shit for always talking about when they played, especially if said ex-player is Joe Theismann and is in the process of ruining the game you're watching. But, on some level, I understand why they do it. If I played in the big leagues, I would NEVER shut the fuck up about it. I'd wear my game jersey to the gas station. Or I'd spring it on people as a surprise at a cocktail party. It would just be such an awesome card to play.
"Say Drew, what do you do?"
"Oh, well I work in real estate. Mostly commercial properties. It's not the most exciting job in the world, but I needed something a bit sedate after all those crazy years playing for the Twins."
"Wait, did you say you pl…"
"OH FUCK YEAH I PLAYED RIGHT FIELD FOR THE TWINS AND I WAS AWESOME AND I HAD SEX WITH TONS OF GROUPIE ASS."
I'd never get tired of that.
Saw this when driving around with a buddy a few months ago.
Nice. I'd really love to see that license plate hanging from an actual camel.
Where do you place your cellphone while driving? I place it on the seat in front of me, but I make sure to rest the end of it against my nuts. I do this for 2 reasons:
1: I'll never miss a call or text b/c I feel the phone vibrate against my nuts, and most importantly 2: When I fart the stink immediately attaches itself to my phone and I get to pick it up and smell what my farts are like at ground zero. Everyone loves the smell of their own stink, and this is just about as good as it gets. If I'm lucky someone will call just as I fart and I'll get to talk to them and smell that shit at the same time.
I didn't consider the whole "use your phone as a fart smell carrier pigeon" idea. It's as new to me as a USB-charged clitwhacker. Anyway, I usually keep my phone in my normal front left pocket while driving, because I feel it vibrate there. But then the phone will ring and I'll have to do that awkward thing where you lean to the right and dig into your pocket, only the seat belt is holding the pocket down, so your hand has to work under the seat belt like you're digging under a chain link fence to escape from prison. And sometimes the pocket is twisted which makes the phone ninety times more difficult to get to. Ever have your phone or wallet get trapped in a twisted pocket? It's like someone put it in a straitjacket. Then you reach your phone and have to extricate it from the pocket before it goes to voice mail, which is always a tighter window than you think, and fuck is it awful when you JUST miss the call and have to call the person back and they think you were screening the call.
Anyway, I sometimes also put my phone in the cupholder, but then calls will just magically go to voice mail without the phone seemingly ever vibrating or ringing. And that is because my phone is a piece of shit.
/does not own an iPhone, and yes I'm a dinosaur and FUCK YOU
When at the gym, do you ever notice another guy using those adductor and abductor machines (you know, those inner-thigh workout machines that look like stirrups in a gyno's office but are meant more for exercising the inner-thigh and less for examining a vagina) and wonder what's going through his head while he's using this piece of equipment? I'm stumped.
When I rode the bench for my college's football team, we had an offseason weight training program. And the program always had about 70 different lifting exercises you had to do during the course of a session. Those abductor and adductor thingamajigs were always at the bottom of the list. Did I ever do them? FUCK NO, I didn't. If I didn't deem the exercise cool enough, I never did it. Like the neck machine. The neck machine was stupid. Nope, just the glamour lifts for me, thank you. Bench press? Oh, yes. Preacher curls? PREACH ON, BROTHER. Also, I liked doing shrugs and calf raises, because virtually anyone can do a shrug with a thousand pounds on the bar. LOOK AT HOW STRONG MY SHOULDER NUGGETS ARE.
How sweet is the unexpectedly strong ejaculation? Obviously there are those times when you haven't gotten off for a week and you've had an erection for 6 hours before you could take care of business. That's always gonna cause a mess.
But there are those times when you're only expecting a dribbler, and you get something out of Peter North's highlight reel. Fucking badass. Who cares if totally overshooting my target area is going to lead to my co-workers (correctly) thinking I jacked it all over my clothes at lunch, I AM A SEX GOD.
Agreed. It's always fun to get that initial spurt on a big one. Holy shit, my sperm must be going a thousand miles an hour! I could impregnate an 80-year-old with that kind of velocity! It's like someone put a Burnin' Key Car in your prostate. A real thrill.
Conversely, it's always something of a downer to get a dribbler. Even when you know it's coming. ESPECIALLY when you know it's coming. Oh, look. Looks like the cobra's out of venom. Not a terribly threatening skeet. I want my skeet to shoot through STEEL.
Just picked out my sandwich at lunch, and realized I spend an inordinate amount of time on chip selection. Specifically, once I've decided what type of chip I want, I start grabbing and squeezing at the bags to see which one feels like it has the most chips. My coworkers look at me like I'm insane when I do this. Am I insane?
No. Just passionate. The nice thing about chip selection is, you know you can't really go wrong. The chips you get are gonna taste good. It's not like ordering at a restaurant, where you never know if what you ordered might be underwhelming. If you're choosing between sour cream ‘n' onion, BBQ, salt & vinegar, and cheddar, you can't lose. Unless someone doodooed in the bag. Always check for doodoo.
As for chip amounts, those bags are weighed before shipping. So whatever difference you may perceive in bags is likely nonexistent or, at best, negligible. BUT, you may also be feeling around for larger chips, or chips with multiple folds in them. And that's a worthwhile reason to shake your presents. Just don't break the chips! The precious, precious chips.
I'm going to a bachelor party this weekend. I'm gonna eat a whole fucking bag of chips. And I can tell you I'm looking forward to doing that than just about anything else at the party, and I don't regret it at all.
I'm pretty sure I've seen people customize cars that cost WAY less than a mid-range toilet. How soon until I can get enlarged bowl injectors, a high-capacity water pump that can refill the tank in four seconds, and some cool flame decals on the seat to reflect the burning I experience? This is the 21st century, damnit!
You see? DK has smart plans for when he's disgustingly rich, and you should also have them. I definitely want a toilet that has a touch screen PC that comes out of the tank anytime I sit down to shit. It would make me feel like a spaceship pilot.
The other day I was sitting in class when a hot girl in front of me mentioned something that her boyfriend Brian bought her for her birthday. My name is Brian too, so when she said it my thought was, "Could it be that her boyfriend is me from the future?" It sounds unlikely I know, but it's not impossible, is it? My only problem with this theory is that if I was going to go back in time to date a girl I had a class with in college, why wouldn't I change my name to avoid suspicion from the me of today?
Also, doesn't future you look enough like present you for her to notice and say, "Oh, hi Brian! Love you, honey!" Or does future Brian have cool emo bangs?!
Anyway, time travel is apparently not possible in any practical sense. Which is good, because you wouldn't want future Brian banging your girlfriend, then present Brian comes along and fucks it all up, and then she dumps future Brian at the Enchantment Under the Seas dance and your future kids are never born, and then the universe is sucked down to the size of a corn flake.
I was chatting with a friend of mine and he tells me someone in his class just let out one of those nasty, rotten egg smelling farts, so naturally he's offended. It got me thinking that A) I hate those people who do this, even though it is myself from time to time and B) How awesome would it be if there was a fart tracking device?
It would be a fantastic device that would also happen to start wars. Let's say you're in class and you smell a fart. Then, you take out your laser fart sweeper and sweep the area. Imagine being about to visually show the concentrated area of smelly gas with that detector. Imagine a purple cloud appearing around the offender. This would be awesome. But so, so DANGEROUS. Because if you show up the wrong farter, he might go all Virginia Tech on you. I'm not saying that to be flip. I mean it. Exposing a disturbed person's offending fart could send them over the edge.
I'd also like fart GPS, which tells me if I'm about to walk into an area where a fresh fart has been laid. I could then walk around the fart and into a clear area. If I had an iPhone with this application, I would stare it all day. I wouldn't even go to bed. I'd be too busy being DREW MAGARY: FART HUNTER.
/will one day write a screenplay called DREW MAGARY: FART HUNTER that no one will buy
Besides being blackout drunk, does a bed ever seem more comfortable and warm than when your alarm clock goes off? When you get that first wake up in the morning and you are still tired, I have never felt something more comfortable in my life. I find myself re-setting my alarm just to be able to lay in it another 2 minutes.
Agreed. It's such a cruel thing. Your bed is never more comfortable than at that time and it's clearly a mental thing because that's the precise moment you HAVE to leave bed and don't want to. The bed is practically alive, it's so warm and caring. I'll just pull the comforter up to my neck and smile that big "I am comfortable" shit-eating grin you can only express when you feel that toasty and nice.
I do have one tip to replicate that feeling any time you are in your bed. Just alternate pointing your toes out (flexing your calves) and bringing your toes up (stretching your calves). Do it over and over and you can get a bastardized version of that feeling. Or, at least I can. I might be a freaky dipshit like that.
Also, how fantastic is the post-nap feeling? There's nothing nicer on Earth. You wake up from your nap, and you don't HAVE to get up. You can just lay there and soak in the afterglow of an afternoon blissfully slept away. That is the TITS, gang. If you're a college kid and you don't nap daily, you're not getting your parents' money's worth.
Worst part? This diknugget thought this license plate would be appropriate on a stock Mustang.
I certainly hope he has the requisite NO FEAR shirt and hat combo to go with it.
I had the opportunity to walk around quite a bit in the middle of the day last summer in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago. There are quite a few grassy areas which one can pass by and they always contain an hilarious mixture of hot bartender chicks sunbathing in bikinis, and homeless dudes gorging on cheap fast food. A wonderful dichotomy of leisurely narcissism and lack thereof.
Central Park has that mix as well. One of the only fun things about going there on a thousand-degree day if you live in New York in the summer. Oh, those sunbathing lasses are like found gold, aren't they? It can really make your week to stumble on a girl who decided to give herself a wedgie to give the interior of her buttcheeks more color. I think a girl who does that in a public park can record at least a thousand ogles in a single sitting. That would be an incredible accomplishment. I wish they could keep track of Ogles Obtained, or Spank Banks Infiltrated, or Times Masturbated To. Famous women and porn stars aside, I'd be fascinated to see which everyday women out there recorded the all time records for ogles, or times masturbated to. They've gotta be real peaches.
Again, this is the part of the funbag where I apologize to the female readers. Don't be too disgusted. This is just how we are. I guess this is why some ladies wear burkas.
Recently I found out that my Mormon Brother in Law has been having a side piece while my sister was pregnant with their first child. Now, 4 months after birth, he has kicked my sister out and made her file for a divorce (too lazy to do it himself) while he now lives with his new woman.
I can't stand by and watch my little sister be treated like this by this fucking douchebag. I'm the only one that feels a sense of family pride to do something and not let him off the hook this easily. But what? I've never been arrested before, but I would break that streak to cut this asshole down to size. I have to do something? Right?
Jesus. These fucking Mormons. MORMONNNNNS!
/shakes fist at Utah
Look, I'd want to beat the piss out of that guy too, but no one wants to go to jail. Or worse, get sued by that fucker. Horrible. I think you have to make his indiscretions public. I suggest putting his photo on flyers and distributing them across town. Use very straightforward language. THIS MAN, ORRIN HATCH(?) CHEATED ON HIS PREGNANT WIFE AND IS A BASTARD. HE A NO GOOD DOG Y‘ALL! Or something like that. Truth is a defense to libel, or so I've been told! PUT HIS PHOTO ON THE INTERTUBES! IN THIS COMMENT SECTION! HIS MISTRESS WILL DUMP HIS SORRY ASS!
I'm sure our commenters have other ideas to exact legal (but swift and brutal) revenge upon this man. I am, at heart, a total puss. I'm not good at things like this. But you deserve retribution. Oh, do you deserve retribution.
Finally today, a GREAT MOMENT IN TOILET PAPER FAILURE.
The other night I went out to bars with several of my friends, and had a few, or 10. Probably a 7.5 out of 10 on the drunk scale, I went home with a girl who I was predestined to leave with. When I got to her place, I needed to urinate, and went to her bathroom to perform said action.
Now, inside, her toilet paper dispenser was missing the rod that goes through the roll to keep it in place; instead, she had it holding on by one of the outside parts. Considering my intoxication, my aim was poor and the seat needed to be cleaned after.
Instead of calmly and gently reaching over for the paper, I swiped at it, taking it off its perch and into the toilet. I sat and stared at it for a solid minute before I figured the best course of action would be to pull all her garbage out, place the soiled roll in the bottom, and put the trash back in. I came out as if nothing happened, and have yet to hear anything about it. Did I really have a choice? What else could I do? "Um, I swiped at your toilet paper and now it's gone. Sorry. Now take your shirt off."
I think you did the right thing, sir. Unless you're the last reader's Mormon brother-in-law.