I'm out on vacation next week. Your guest Funbagger, once again, is Justin Halpern. Email him your questions here. He'll answer them in between eating Chinese food and going to the movies. Now onto your letters:
Bobby Big Wheel:
My friend and his wife are looking for a new place and the real estate agent sent them a listing. It was big, had all new appliances and a hot tub on the back deck but was still in their price range. So they asked the real estate agent what the catch was, and she admitted that the last two people who lived in the house were murdered. You can check out the story here.
My question to you is: would you live in a (double) murder house even if it were a huge bargain?
Hell, yes. I wish real estate website had an option to search ONLY for murder homes, because you know they're such good value. I want murder houses, molester houses, bankruptcy houses—why be a sucker who pays full price for marble countertops when you can get murder countertops for half the price? Plus, the murder part would help keep out unwanted houseguests. "Oh, you want to stay an extra day? No no, that's fine. Oh hey, did I ever tell you about the man who was strangled to death in your room?"
The house-shopping process is the worst. You have to consider 50,000 different factors when buying a house: schools, traffic, numbers of rooms, building materials, mold, utility costs, termites, lighting, making sure the neighbors aren't weird old people (the neighbors are ALWAYS weird old people), etc. You have to hire a lawyer. You have to take out 20-year loans. You have to wait for some asshole owner to accept your offer and then not bail on it. You have to move. You have to rid your new house of the old owner's smell, and convert his cat-shrine room into a playroom. You have to sink yourself deep into unfathomable debt, the kind of debt that you know you can't repay unless nothing goes wrong for the the next 30 years of your existence. By the end of the house-buying process, you want to kill yourself. Knowing you saved $300,000 by springing for a murder house is your only solace after enduring all of that awfulness. If any of you people have a good murder house, send it my way.
Two weeks ago, my family flew in from around the world to attend my grandfather's 100th birthday. While a mean SOB, he's in good physical shape and mentally all there. The day after we left, he let my aunt know that he was going to stop eating and let himself die.
2 questions come to mind:
1. Badass or pussy move?
2. Is there any possibility you would have the willpower to starve yourself to death?
Why would he starve himself to death if he was in perfectly good shape? I guess a hundred years on Earth is enough to make you throw up your hands and say, "Screw this, I'm out." He's probably bored to tears by life at this point. I know that feeling. I know what it's like to wake up and be like, "Christ, another day of this?"
But I don't why he'd choose to kill himself in the most excruciating way possible. Starving yourself means subjecting yourself to weeks, even months, of slow torture. Your muscles begin to eat themselves. Your body withers. You shake and pass out from low blood sugar. Your loved ones spend days and days having to watch you waste away, pleading with you to reconsider. It's more of a dick move than anything else. Why not rent a convertible and then drive it into a canyon while shitfaced? Now THAT is fun way to go.
And, as you said, you'd have to have the willpower to starve yourself to death. I had a late lunch the other day and I was so hungry by the time I finally got to eat that I ate twice my body weight. If you go six or seven hours without eating, you feel entitled to eat 36 pieces of cold chicken. That was your reward for your suffering. So the old man can talk a good game all he likes. On Day One and a Half of his hunger strike, stroll into his house with a batch of warm chocolate-chip cookies and see if he can resist. He'll eat, unless he's Gandhi.
It probably isn't going to happen for a while, probably at least 25 years, but at some point future Presidential candidate's Twitter/Facebook pasts are going to come out, and it will be hilarious.
You laugh, but wait until that becomes a reality and we have to spend entire election cycles going over each and every tweet that potential candidates made. The media will pick a new one each week to get all pissy about and then find a new one the minute the old one loses steam. You'll wanna cut your wrists by the end of it. The voting public will then probably reject any candidate with a Twitter or Facebook past, which will leave us with three viable Amish candidates to choose from.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at email@example.com.
Then again, most people are willing to forgive candidates for youthful indiscretions: doing weed, snorting coke, being a member of the Hitler Youth, etc. We all have our warts. But there's a vague cutoff age where the candidate can't do that shit anymore. For example, if Chet Haze ever wants to run for public office (let's hope so!), he needs to stop bro-ing it up on Twitter right about now. That would give him about 20 years to rinse out all the douche and become a model citizen. Then he could run for office and win, and on the night of his victory speech, he could bust out a bottle of Ace of Spades and turn his hat sideways and be like FOOLED Y'ALL BITCHES. MY FIRST PRIORITY IN OFFICE WILL BE TO CRUSH SOME HEAVY PUSSY.
Can I get this done on my Honda civic?
You can! For a small $50,000 detailing fee. Car paint is expensive. How many dogs have died trying to run down that truck?
I bought a new dress shirt for work today. While pulling out all 50,000 pins that were stuck in the collar, one fell into the shirt and has yet to be found. I can never wear this shirt for fear of being stuck now, right?
Right. And you WILL be stuck. The people at BIG SHIRT don't care about you getting 17 puncture wounds. That's why they embed needles on BOTH sides of the collar button, plunging them so deep into the fabric that you need the jaws of life to extract them. And then they cover those needles with industrial grade plastic so that you can't get to them. I would like to know what Congress is doing about Shirt Control. People are getting hurt.
With his soccer career clearly winding down, do you think David Beckham could have a shot at being a successful NFL kicker?
Not really. He's 37 years old. He could hire a private kicking coach and attempt to get into NFL shape, but I dunno why an NFL team would want a 37-year-old rookie kicker who has no game experience on their roster when they can probably find a better, younger, more-tested kicker right away. Beckham's fame would also be counted against him. No NFL coach would want him. NFL coaches are freaks. Anyone that could be a possible "distraction" or isn't all about the team is seen as a GLOREEEEE BOY who will not help the team win. The NFL isn't exactly welcoming of individualism. That Beckham boy sure can kick, but I don't like the way he gays it up in those magazines!
I moved into a new house about two months ago. It's the first house in the town I've had that actually has a nice, working fireplace that won't burn the house down. I don't have the heat turned on, so I've been having fires every night.
My new post-fire starting ritual is to whip my nuts out of my sweatpants and warm them standing by the fireplace. There's a low probability of sparks, but it could happen.
Try it. It's absolutely glorious.
Well, now I'm gonna have to figure out how to do this with three kids around. What happens if you fap into the fire? Is semen flammable? I would like to live in a world where ejaculate has the same chemical properties as Sterno.
I have a fireplace and my kids don't appreciate fire the way I do. I light the fire and the paper burns up underneath and the kids stare at it for five seconds before demanding to watch Doc McStuffins. And I'm standing there with a Maker's in hand going No. We must stare at the fire. It is so very important for morale. They could care less. One day they will leave this house and I will get drunk and stare at fire every night. One night when I am very old, I will get too drunk and fall into the fire, burning myself to death. Beats starving.
NASA detects a giant alien space craft approaching planet earth... what actions would be taken by the humans in response to this?
Mass chaos. People terrified of hostile aliens would stock up on guns and ammo and shutter their homes to protect themselves. Some people would demand the spaceship be nuked as a defense measure. Twitter would crash due to the influx of 50 million Twitpics of the sky. Grocery stores and hardware stores would be cleaned out of goods in a matter of seconds. School would be canceled but your boss would still demand you come into work the day of First Contact because he SUCKS. Gregg Easterbrook would have a picture of Jesus ready with a sign that says, "DO YOU ALIENS KNOW THIS MAN?"
If NASA can pinpoint where the spaceship will land, there will be a flood of humanity toward that spot. Scientists and politicians and alien tourists and people on acid will all rush to the location to witness the First Contact. Traffic jams would extend for hundreds of miles. People would get stampeded in the rush to the site. World leaders would squabble over who gets to be the official spokesman for Earth. By the time the aliens arrived, they would see us elbowing and shooting and stabbing each other to get a better look at the ship. Then the aliens would say SCREW THIS and turn around and go home.
That's what would happen. Can't wait!
What monetary value would you place on not having to adhere to any speed limits for the rest of your life? The stipulations are that you would still be held accountable for any sort of accident/damage or injury/loss of life caused by reckless driving. So if you blow through a school zone going 90 and wiping out some little kindergartener jumping in puddles on the side of the street, you are still going to federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison. You would simply be immune to all speed violation laws.
I wouldn't pay much for it because I have a wife and even if I had the pass she'd still bitch at me to drive slow. In fact, the speeding pass would drive me nuts because I would have sit there KNOWING I could tear ass down the freeway but have to refrain. It would be torturous. I don't even bother driving with my wife in the car anymore. I let her drive and take a nap. Sometimes I bitch about HER going too fast, just to even the score. Take that, missy!
If I were single, I'd pay $500 for it.
What if each NFL team had one player on their team who was invisible but they were only allowed to use them for 10 plays a game? How do you best utilize the invisible player? I have given this way more thought than I should and I have to think invisibility would have to be most beneficial to the secondary because the QB wouldn't know if their player was open or not.
That's true. You need your invisible player to be someone who usually never has the ball (like a QB) because if you can see the ball, you know where the player is. Invisible Troy Polamalu could also blitz the shit out of the QB and get a strip/fumble.
On the flipside of that, you could make one of your wideouts invisible and the secondary would have no clue where he is. The problem is that the QB wouldn't be able to see the wideout either, so he and the invisible wideout would have to get their timing down perfectly in practice in order to hit the invisible go route. But that would be a kickass payoff to watch the QB drop back and then throw deep to an empty swath of grass and everyone suddenly freaks out because OH GOD IT'S THE INVISIBLE DOUG BALDWIN NOOOOOOO. And the only way the defense could stop it is if they're invisible DB happened to be on the field at the same time. INVISIBLE ON INVISIBLE COVERAGE. Pass interference calls would become very complicated. Disguising your invisible Michael Crabtree would become a coaching obsession (It would be great on a fake punt). And don't even talk to me about what happens once alien players are introduced.
Now I'm all upset. Here I am watching NFL games with VISIBLE players when we haven't invented invisible Ed Reed yet. What a waste.
How much more interesting would voting be if they put headshots of the candidates next to their names on the ballot? Harvey Winklestein for School Board? Look at his fabulous toupee and 3 chins... Fuck yes I'm voting for Harvey!
It would be a big help to me because then I could form a horribly misinformed opinion of that person merely by looking at them and vote accordingly. I'm not voting for any guy who has the traditional politician helmet head or molester glasses. And it would be a HUGE help to racists and sexists the world over. Are you telling me Pat Jansen is a WOMAN? God, I almost voted for her. That was close!
I live in Seattle and finally bought a jacket with a hood in order to deal with the rain. Which NEVER FUCKING ENDS. When I enter a bar, I always imagine myself as Obi Wan as I take the hood off - this is ok, right?
Not only is it OK, it's mandatory. "Hello there. Come here, my little friend. Don't be afraid!"
I have a hoodie as well and if I'm not pretending I'm Obi Wan, then I'm pretending I'm about to enter the most important rap battle of my lifetime. "Look, if you had one shot ..."
Is there anything more enjoyable than farting on an escalator?
No. The DC Metro has some of the longest escalators in the world, and so not only is it fun to fart on them, but I also daydream of being in the middle of a Bourne-style cat-and-mouse showdown while riding on one. Here comes Karl Urban up the opposite escalator with a kendo stick!
By the way, I have a great fear that someone will turn a switch and the escalator I'm on will flatten out and send me sliding to my death. It's not out of the realm of possiblity.
What if the NFL replaced the two-point conversion with the option to kick it, unopposed, 55 yards for two points? The only restriction is the play clock. Do you think teams would take it?
Depends on the kicker. Jeff Fisher would take it every time because he apparently believes that Greg Zeurlein is a mortal lock from 63 yards in. Most other coaches would take the one point and go about their business. I wouldn't like this change. I like the two-point conversion and I hate the PAT. I don't want the two-point option to be a kicking play. I want it to be a REAL play, with hitting and fumbling and HARD MEAN ACTION.
I was watching Drugs Inc. on Nat Geo and in the background of a scene at a rehab center I noticed a poster with a guy shitting into a laundry basket.
You sure did.
Is there a time limit on how long a dude can stand in front of a mirror and adjust his hair, shirt, pants, etc in a public bathroom? I was taking a leak earlier today and this guy was standing in front of the mirror when I walked in and WAS STILL THERE when I walked out.
That's unacceptable. He's a douchebag. Oh sure, I'd LIKE to spend that much time standing front of a public bathroom mirror. I would like all the time in the world to stare into my haunting blue eyes, tousle my hair just so, say a couple of lines of dialogue from Miller's Crossing ("Johnny, you're exactly as big as I let you be and no bigger and don't forget it ever."). But I can do that at home, and I do. In a public bathroom, you get ONE second. One second to make sure you look presentable to the world. Linger any longer and you are a self-absorbed ass. Move out of the way, fucko. I have hands I have to pretend to wash.
Would you rather have a penis that looked like a baby carrot with a portabella mushroom on the end OR a penis that looked like a soda can with a pen cap on the end of it?
The latter. At least it wouldn't prohibit initial entry. The mushroom-head penis would make penetration all but impossible. Only the guy in the Goatse photo could accommodate it. Now excuse me while I go throw up.
Are ghosts excruciatingly aware of each passing second or is it possible for them to zone out and boom a century has just passed?
I have to think it's the latter. Like I've said before, I'm not so much afraid of death as I am afraid of the idea of FOREVER. Just standing there as time goes on and on and on and on, with no definitive end and no proper resolution. Terrifying. That's why I have to assume that if ghosts DO exist (and remember, Gregg Easterbrook says they're way more likely to exist than zombies), they exist in the kind of elevated state where time doesn't mean much of anything. Perhaps they can jump around in time if they please. That would be a blast, hopping from dinosaurs to Hitler and back again, without anyone ever eating you or shooting you. I would like that.
On the other hand, it could be that ghosts are eternally damned, which means they DO have a keen sense of time, wandering around bored shitless. Oh God, that would be awful. I would starve myself to second death.
If you woke up tomorrow and every girl behaved like they did in a porn movie would you be able to stay in a relationship?
Wait 10 years. We're almost there. These YOUNG TEENS are prancing around wearing barely anything at all! It's a disgrace, and I say that because I couldn't get laid until I was 20. Goddamn internet-driven sexual liberation. Where were you when Sad Fat Drew needed you?
Time for a GREAT MOMENT IN RAT-KILLING HISTORY:
One of the negatives about living in Baltimore (there are many) is rats. A few days ago, my fiancee spotted a rat walking in our kitchen, and under the oven. We placed rat traps around the kitchen, to no avail. Finally, after finding the courage to open the drawer beneath the stove, we found that it had decided to make that drawer its home. I placed a glue trap in the drawer even though glue traps are utterly useless.
Two hours later I hear the rustling. I was uncertain whether the rat was actually stuck, so I had to take precautions while opening the drawer to avoid being struck by what I assumed was a flying MUTANT rat. To my dismay, the trap was gone. I banged on the drawer and there was a slight fidget. I saw that the trap was under a baking sheet, and I could see part of the rat itself, hiding. I decided it would be best to crush the rat. I took a rifle and struck the baking sheet with the stock as hard as an Ndamukong Suh stomp.
The rat immediately tried to bolt for the kitchen, but it's foot was broken and its tail (just the tail) was stuck to the trap. It scurried around, and wrapped its tail around a piece of the drawer, finally hiding underneath the baking sheet again. My roommate decided that my crush method was not working. He opted for STABBING THE TRAPPED RODENT WITH A BAYONET. As he drove the stake through the rat, it unleashed a terrifying scream. Though my roommate was content to let the rat die slowly, I hit it a few times with 3-iron, and the ordeal was over. We placed it in a shoebox and put it out with the trash. Attached is a photo. It's not a large rat, but I'm sure it would have become one had I allowed it to live under my oven.
Here's the photo. Between the rats and the people who have bayonets lying around, let's never go to Baltimore.