Sports News Without Access, Favor, Or Discretion
FunbagTime for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag.

Your letters:


What's the worst crime a surefire #1 pick could commit one week before the draft and still go first overall (question void if Bengals have first pick that year)? Let's use this year as an example, and pretend that RG3 doesn't exist/didn't declare. It works well this year because the Colts have already passed the point of no return with Manning – so they need this guy. Luck is clearly the #1 guy, and there's no close second.

Clearly crimes like DUI, assault/bar fight, shoplifting, etc aren't going to prevent him from being picked first. But what about beating a girlfriend? Date rape? Kiddie porn found on his computer? For the sake of this argument, let's pretend that whatever the alleged crime is, there are lots and lots of vocal witnesses – so we know pretty much without a shadow of a doubt that he's guilty.


It's difficult to say because it would depend on the athlete involved. For example, if Andrew Luck were caught taking Ecstasy, I bet plenty of people would be more than happy to vouch for him. "That's okay! He's an architecture major! He's just expanding his mind! He probably knows how to use MDMA in ways that we haven't even considered!" But if it's RGIII doing the same thing? GLOREEEEE BOY.

I think it's hard in today's environment for a potential first-round pick to commit any kind of glaring fuckup, even one as gentle as being seen ripping a bong hit. There are too many entities out there like ESPN that would have a decided interested in keeping that story alive and turning into an empty, inane debate. You could picture Mark Schereth and Herman Edwards making violent jazz hands at each other while they run graphics underneath like, "Did Andrew Luck tarnish the shield?", "How long should Goodell suspend Luck?", and "Effect on Tebow?" Shit like that. The crime itself is almost beside the point once it hits that level of frenzy. It's just a thin idea blown out to an absurd proportion, which in turn ends up having a fucked-up influence over reality. I bet A.J. Smith would drop Luck two slots down on his draft board, just so people would know he didn't have a tiny penis. (He does.)


In the end, I think any crime that rose above misdemeanor status and threatened Luck with extended jail time would be enough to cause the Colts to reconsider drafting him at No. 1. That would include things like assault, rape, drug trafficking, etc. Any crime that crosses the line from "immature mistake" to "malevolent, shitty thing that makes you a lousy person" would be enough to scare many NFL teams away, unless that team was run by Mike Shanahan. If you've ever assaulted someone or stashed a hatchet in your trunk, Mike Shanahan knows you're a bargain!


One of my favorite feelings while driving is approaching a red light with cars waiting, and it turning green without me having to brake at all so I just fly by all the cars that were stopped. Every time it happens I feel a sense of superiority over those cars and that I AM ALL THAT IS MAN.


The other day, I was stopped at a light and I saw that my lane was about to get abruptly cut off by a row of parked cars up ahead, which is always aggravating. Now, the fun thing about a situation like this is that usually gives me a chance to gun my minivan once the light turns and blast past the car to my immediate left. That's how these things usually work: If you're determined to out-gun the driver next to you, and that driver has no reason to think this is some sort of drag race, then you usually win.

Except this time, the fucker next to me ALSO gunned it at the light, and didn't give me the chance to edge in front of him to avoid all those parked cars. He totally violated protocol by not letting me win. There are couple of lessons here. 1.) People who park cars that are in my way are ASSHOLES. 2.) People who don't let me win my imaginary drag race are also ASSHOLES.



I think that all men are gay and here is my theory: I have yet to meet a man who doesn't appreciate taking a huge dump and usually looks forward to it. Since a large crap means having something large in your butt, are we all secretly gay?


That should be a selling point on all gay literature: "Be gay! It's like taking a big dump!"

Nude Tayne:

Let's say one evening an alien spacecraft flies over your house and takes you aboard. After a lengthy battery of tests, the head alien guy says they want to keep you for a full year for further investigation. However, the one thing they desperately want to figure out is possible human/alien interbreeding. So they offer to set you free immediately if you agree to have sex with a (willing) lady alien. Do you join the 10,000-mile high club or wait out the year? Would your answer change if they gave you a video of your performance (guaranteed to be watchable on current Earth technology)? How much do you think a video like this would sell for?


Obviously, there would have to be some guarantees as it pertains to extraterrestrial intercourse. First off, you'd have to be assured that having sex with the lady alien was safe. Who's to say she doesn't have spaceAIDS, or some other kind of horrible galactic STD that causes your genitals to petrify? How do you know that space alien breeding doesn't involve the conjoining together of razor-sharp vaginal fins that would end up cutting an Earthling penis to shreds? All of that would have to be worked out in the contract language. The dilemma itself then depends on your station in life. If, like me, you're married and pledged to be faithful to your wife, you'd HAVE to take the sabbatical. The only way I wouldn't take the Sabbatical was if my wife said, "Oh no no. You're not leaving me stuck with these kids for a whole goddamn year. Grow a pair and stick it to that fish lizard."

If you're a single guy, the dilemma is entirely different. Do you have sex with the alien and return home in a short order, or do you risk taking the year away in space and experiencing things that no man ever could or will? Taking that trip would make you, arguably, the most important human being in world history. Plus, that alien world could have trees made of salted caramel, and alien gals could be hitting on you left and right. You could be turning down a chance at Shangri-La if you just take the quickie and head back home. On the other hand, the alien world could be lacking in oxygen and even basic food and shelter. And there could be space worms on that planet that kill you via mandible disembowelment. Awful big risk.


By the way, I'd pay exactly NO money to watch an Average Joe have sex with an alien. Besides, Xvideos would have it up for free within the hour.


Every time I watch an NFL game, I am always amazed at the accuracy of (most) kickers. So, my brother and I have been kicking around the idea of the Middle Pole.

1. Before either a PAT or field goal, the coach of the kicking team can opt for the Middle Pole. (He can throw a flag or something...I don't care)

2. When the pole is requested, it will slowly rise up in the exact middle of the goalposts. The Middle Pole will be the exact same circumference and height of the other two goalposts. A laser will also shoot from the top of the Middle Pole so that any ball higher than the pole will register a successful conversion. Also, "2001 Space Odyssey" will play over stadium speakers as it slowly rises.

3. On a PAT, if the kick hits any part of the Middle Pole, the team is awarded 2 points. A field goal will be worth 4 points. Also, sparks will shoot out of the top of the Middle Pole if struck.

4. If the kicker misses the Middle Pole, NO POINTS ARE AWARDED.

I think this would change decisions at the end of some games. Throw a 30 yard Hail Mary, or try for the pole? Go for two to tie the game, or go for the pole?

Plus, it would make the goal posts look like a pitchfork, which is kinda badass!

I think it would be easier to get a two-point conversion with your regular offense than to go for the pole on a conversion. The Middle Pole would have to be worth three extra points after a touchdown instead of two to make it worthwhile. As for field goal attempts, the Middle Pole would only ever be called on at the end of a game with the offense down by exactly 4 points. And even then, I think a lot of coaches might find a toss to the end zone to be a better percentage play than trying to hit the pole from 50 yards away. Also, coaches aren't fun, so they'd be hesitant to do anything new and exciting.


What if the pole were just always there? And instead of aiming for it, kickers had to avoid it? Everything you know about field goals and PATs would be exactly the same, only we'd add this extra obstacle to the affair. Nothing beats seeing a kick foiled by the goalpost. And now there would be three! Although, on the downside, announcers (particularly Chris Berman) go out of their fucking minds any time a kick hits the post or the crossbar. OH MY FUCKING GOD IT HIT THE POST DOINK DOINK DOINK IT'S THE MOST IMPROBABLE THING IN HISTORY!!!! Not sure I want more of that.


Suppose the likes of Jenna Haze or Nikki Benz decides to call it quits and move on to the next chapter of her life—settling down, finding a husband, and popping out a few kids. How exactly do they go about letting the kids know about Mommy's old job? You have to tell them before they find out for themselves, right? I'd imagine it's far better than little Joey performing a Google search of Mommy in his 4th grade classroom.


I can't even imagine the anguish that probably conjures up for the mother involved. Because there have been plenty of porn stars who retired and gone on to have families. So imagine having a child and knowing there's already a clock ticking, counting down the days until that kid (and everyone the kid knows) knows the full extent of your old life.

You don't even have to be a porn star to experience this kind of angst. We live in an age where people know more about each other than they EVER have. And that means that children will now know more about their parents than ever. Back in the old days, kids didn't know jack shit about their parents. They knew Daddy fought in the war, and that he enjoyed a nice bourbon at the end of a long day, and that was it. Now? Now, kids are gonna know just how large of a BM that Doritos Loco taco produced in Daddy's rectum three days ago. I have no idea if that's a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that it's something I and many other parents are gonna have to deal with at some point. Can't say I'm looking forward to it. "Daddy, can I say FUCK online like you do?" NO! No, you are a perfect little angel made of cinnamon chips and you always will be, dammit!




My mom told me that when she learned ASL as a child (her mother was born deaf/mute), the sign for "Mexican" was tracing your index finger along your upper lip as if it were a mustache; the sign for "Chinese" was rubbing the corner of your eye with your pinky finger; and the sign for "gay" was stroking an imaginary goatee, because apparently that's what homosexuals have.

Sadly, she doesn't remember what the sign for "blind" was.

THASS RAYCESS! I'd like to think the sign for BLIND is just a Stevie Wonder head roll. I have to think that those signs have been phased out in recent years for more culturally sensitive alternatives. There's no way the Chinese sign is still the same, unless American Sign Language was invented by an 8-year-old boy.


I've always wondered how detailed sign language can be. Is there really a sign for EVERY word? Like chimichanga? I highly doubt it. I bet if you want a chimichanga, you have to spell that out letter by letter in sign language, which I wouldn't have the energy for. I would just get a taco instead.

By the way, sign language is a big deal in the parenting world these days. Many new parents try teaching their infants sign language. They do this so that they can communicate with their kids before they learn to speak, but they also do it so that they can show other parents at the playground that their kids know sign language and that they are the greatest parents in the universe. Dicks. I did not teach my children sign language, unless quietly brandishing a belt in my clenched fist counts as sign language.



I just found out that I'm going to be a father for the first time…if all goes well. I'm 38, my wife is 39.

If you had the choice, would you have waited this long to have a child?

No, because that's less time you get on the back end of parenting. If you have kids while you're relatively young (not super young, like a Mormon), then you get all of the annoying years of parenting out of the way in advance. You don't want to be 50 years old and still dealing with a kindergartener. That would be horrible. Much better have the kid in your early 30s, spend your 30s and 40s eating shit, and then have a couple decades after that to enjoy your kids as fully functional (in theory) adults. I don't want to die still changing diapers and cutting up little pieces of chicken for a kid. I want to get to the endgame, where we're sitting in a pub and sharing a beer, and then getting into a HUGE fight over my child's gambling addiction and how I refuse to pay his debts for him. That will be a sweet, wonderful time.



Driving to work today I saw a hawk dive from the sky and pluck a rodent from the road in front of me. This got me to thinking, what if there were Giant hawks that occasionally fed on humans? I posed this question to a co-worker and he said we would kill them all. His argument was based on how terrifying it would be to be taken by a Giant hawk during your jog, the whole time knowing as your being flown to the nest you will be torn apart by the hawk's razor sharp beak, along with the occasional child being taken from the playground, combined with the sensationalized stories of those missing limbs who managed to fight off a killer hawk attack and escape that would drive mankind to wipe them out.

I feel like we would make excuses to ease our minds like "The hawk was just protecting its nest" or "The hawk mistook Jane for a deer" and "We have destroyed the hawk's natural habitat so they have no other places to go" go about treating them like bear, great white, and alligator attacks. He feels that this is impossible since the whole outdoor world would be the Giant hawk's domain and not just the woods, the sea, or southern waters. So my question is: How do you feel mankind would deal with Giant Killer Hawks?


/quickly writes terrible screenplay called DEATHHAWK

Anyway, I don't think animal rights people would let us murder all the death hawks. Instead, we would have to install some kind of national warning system for death hawks. When you go to the beach and there's a shark, they raise a red flag and you can't go into the water (when I was a kid, they also had a blue flag that signaled that there were men-o-war in the water, which scared me twice as much as sharks did).


Our national Death Hawk Watch System (DHWS) would have to operate in a similar fashion. You wake up and, before going to work, you check the DHWS to make sure there are NO death hawks spotted in your area, which means you're then free to run and frolic and have sex on the patio and what not. We could even have weathermen deliver this information, just as they do with allergy warnings. "Heavy pollen today. But some good news for you folks commuting out there. Not a death hawk in sight! So put the top down on that convertible!"

Now, if there is a death hawk sighting in your area, you will be forced to either stay inside (just as you would in inclement weather), or venture outside wearing your special death hawk-resistant birding helmet. You could even personalize it. Mine would have the Metallica logo on it.


Now, this seems like a pretty severe way of going about things when we could just shoot the fuckers down and get back to our normal lives. But wouldn't it be kinda fun to have death hawks in our lives? It would certainly ratchet up the drama. I'd feel like a real badass racing to the drugstore during a death hawk warning. I think we need to allocate more tax funds to death hawk defense. It makes all the sense in the world.


What do you think the average keycard loss is per hotel room? For my part, I came home from my bachelor party this past weekend with SIX keycards in various articles of clothing.


They always ask you if you want one or two when you check in, and I always say TWO, because I lack the confidence needed to go strutting around with just one. You gotta have real balls to turn down the extra keycard.

By the way, I dunno why they use key cards if every key card is in constant danger of being wiped clean by a nearby cell phone. Everyone has a cell phone. I shouldn't have to constantly be worried that my phone just pulled an Eternal Sunshine on the key to Room 126. That's crap.



Do you think male pornstars prefer jacking it to their own work or videos in which their talent was not utilized? Do these guys even jack it?


Not sure that they need to. By the end of the day, their dick has probably taken enough punishment. Plus, they have to take care of their penis, just as a singer needs to rest his vocal cords, or a hand model has to wear velvet gloves when not being photographed. I bet Peter North dips his penis in paraffin wax at the end of a long, hard day on the set. But if they ever feel the urge to fap, I'm sure they would enjoy referencing their own work. Wouldn't you?


Three days before the draft, at a routine physical, doctors find a tumor in Andrew Luck's brain. If it's benign, there's no risk to his health or his football career, and he goes on living life as though nothing happened. If it's malignant, he'll be out of football for at least 5 years during treatment and recovery, and there's no guarantee he'll ever play again. (Note: the tumor is not life threatening). There's a 50/50 chance that it's either benign or malignant. Where does Andrew Luck get drafted?


Is the tumor malignant because he watched kiddie porn? No? Then in the second round, maybe even late first. Someone would take the risk. The Colts would switch over to RGIII, but then other teams at the top of the draft would be forced to pass. Now let's all hope that Andrew Luck isn't a tumor-addled rapist.


I frequently dream that, out of the blue, I discover I'm able levitate in the same fashion my brain tells my arm to move. But what if I was unable to explain the physical mechanism that allowed me to fly? All of a sudden it worked, which is awesome, but it could all of sudden stop working just the same. Would this though inhibit you from flying where falling to earth would lead to death and/or jail time?


I think you would throw caution to the wind because you would enjoy the experience of flying so much that you would get wrapped up in the moment and forget all about the potential dangers. It's the same recklessness that allows Antonio Cromartie to have 97 children by 123 different women. Once you get into the Zone, you don't give a shit about what comes next. I might occasionally freak out and fly real close to the ground, just in case the spell broke and my shit got ruined. But otherwise? I AM CLOUD GOD.

Scoop and Slam:

At a Mexican place with a salsa bar (ie. Moe's or some other non-chain fast food place), what's to stop people from tampering with the mild salsa and mixing in the incredibly spicy habanero stuff by the ladle-full? I feel like we're one major incident away from salsa labeling and distribution getting federally regulated.


If Andrew Luck did that, I would drop him down five slots on my board.

Time for your Emails of the Week. The first is a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY.


I was over at a buddies house playing poker after a run to Taco Bell. At around midnight, I decided it was time to head home so I headed home in my Explorer. About 5 minutes into the ride, I feel it, the Crunchwrap supremes hit me like a ton of bricks. It was one of those poops where it feels like shards of glass are sitting in your intestines ready to shred your rectum. I'm still a good 15 minutes away from my house so it's evident that I will not make it home in time. So I did the only thing I could think of, I pulled over on the side of the road, opened the door and laid down a big old fudge dragon right in the street. Well in all my agony, I had forgot to put the car in park so as I'm wiping with leaves (surprisingly not so bad) the car is slowly rolling down the street. I hustle down there with my pants at my knees and am able to stop it. I throw some leaves on the poo and got the hell out of there.

The best part was the next day I drove by it, and saw some squirrels checking it out in all of its glory. Fuckin' squirrels you leave my shit alone.


And now, an important historical fact about truckers and fapping.

Clay Davis:

Back in college, I actually took an entire semester class focusing on the work of Frank Zappa (Z402 - The Music of Frank Zappa). So, one lecture we are focusing on Zappa's Over-Nite Sensation, when the professor busts out this story about the album cover and title...

"Back in the 60's and 70's, there was an act that was dubbed the Over-nite Sensation, named so for the Over-nite Trucking Company. Basically, in order to get their rocks off while still making time, truckers would partake in masturbation by procuring a fleshy melon, gouging a crude hole in it, and essentially fucking it while driving. That is why there is a melon on the cover of the album, with a gash in it and semen flowing out of it."

I would imagine this practice still goes on to this day. I imagine that now you know you simply won't be able to go on without trying it. Word to the wise, stay away from citrus.


Well, I've tried peaches. A melon couldn't hurt.

Share This Story

Get our newsletter