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Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering showerbation, recycling, coach sex, and more.

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.

Robert:

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?"

James:

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.

Nate:

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.

Ben:

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.

Packman Jon:

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.

Bob:

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.

Allan G:

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.

HALFTIME!

Lewbone:

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.

PDXLady:

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.

Jake:

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.

Dan:

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.

Chris:

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.

Brian:

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.

Max:

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 drew@deadspin.com. You can also order Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.

Time for your weekly LIVE edition of the Deadspin Funbag. To submit a question to the live Funbag, you gotta post down in the bowels of the discussion section below. As always, we begin with our question of the week: Brian:

When looking through history, we measure years with B.C. and A.D. but you have to imagine that in some time in the future we'll have a new abbreviation, right? Unless we just keep on going to the year five thousand or something. What would be the event that would most likely put our clock back to zero in terms of counting years? Jesus coming down and making a long awaited sequel? A nuclear war that blows half the world away? Aliens attacking us? Maybe if the Mayan prophecy worked out, that would have been a big one.

It would have to be some kind of apocalyptic event that essentially rendered modern calendars pointless. It was easy to change your calendar back in the time of Christ because A) Most people didn't possess calendars and B) Commerce was nowhere near as dependent on a proper calendar. You just set up your gourd stand when the sun came up and you were good to go.

Consider how entrenched the modern calendar is. Your cell phone relies on it. Your pay cycle and bill cycles rely on it. Your TV programming relies on it (though Netflix would like that to no longer be the case). You schedule flights and catch trains and arrange business meetings all based on that calendar. Computer servers and submarine data systems rely on it (which is why the world totally ended during Y2K, if you recall). Resetting the calendar would be a logistical nightmare that would cost billions of dollars and create millions of hours of pointless busywork.

So even if fucking ALIENS came down and we had first contact, that wouldn't be enough. You may be dazzled that the Quranians have arrived from Alpha Zyphoxx K, but not enough to reschedule your date with that OKCupid chick to March 25th, 0000. To reset the modern calendar, one of two things would have to happen:

1. The passage of time on Earth would have to be altered in some fundamental way. For example, if the rotation of the earth slowed to 25 hours a day (NOTE: Will actually happen 150 million years from now) or if our revolution around the Sun sped up to, I dunno, 360 days. Neither of those things are likely to happen anytime soon. And if they did happen right away, we would all die. Speaking of us all dying, the other scenario would be...

2. An apocalyptic event wipes out virtually all of humanity and its infrastructure, rendering your phone and your work schedule and your social life irrelevant. If you've ever read "The Passage," you know that the calendar resets after genetically altered super-vampires have taken over the Earth and mankind has been forced to moved into fortified bunkers that keep the vampires from feasting on their flesh at nightfall. So something like that, basically. You're talking about a scenario where the entire history of Earth is of little matter to you anymore, where you're simply trying to survive in some kind of bleak postmodern hellscape where the only time that matters is the time since your wife and children were cruelly taken from you by the risen Antichrist and sealed in a tomb of flames. Pretty sweet, if you ask me.

Or Kate Middleton's baby could turn out to be Kanye's. That would also do it.

One more thing: You people that use "Before Common Era" instead of "Before Christ"? You're fucking annoying. I'm not religious, but even I know that BC is what it ought to say. There's no point in hiding the reason WHY the calendar was reset 2,000 years ago. You don't have to worship Jesus to know that he kickstarted the whole thing. Quit giving rednecks a justifiable excuse to bitch about oversensitivity. WILL WE HAVE TO RENAME ALL THOSE JOHNNY HART COMIC STRIPS?!

Now, down into the comment section for the your live funbagginess. I'm sure the new comment system will have no impact on us whatso... OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering lettuce, plane handjobs, mosquitoes, and more. Your letters:

VZE:

Do you think we will ever have another two sport athlete such as Bo Jackson or Deion ever again?

No. Sports have become so specialized over the years that they often don't allow supremely gifted athletes play two sports in fucking high school. Insane parents—who want their children to become multi-million dollar athletes so that they can then siphon millions of their kid's endorsement deals—can't abide the idea of little Junior playing separate sports and thus falling behind in whichever sport he "excels" at. And, more often than not, the kid is usually willing to go along with the plan.

It's funny because I don't know that there's tangible proof that committing to just one sport dramatically increases your odds of becoming a future All-Pro. I mean, how many times have you seen a guy like Jason Pierre-Paul take up a sport late in life only to become dominant at it? "Hey, we found this 6-foot-6 kid hanging out with the swim team and asked if he wanted to play defensive end. Turns out he got a hundred sacks per quarter for us." That shit happens all the time.

Forcing a kid into one sport too early probably backfires more often than it succeeds. The kid gets worn out from playing the same goddamn sport year-round. He overworks a specific set of muscles. He never develop skill sets in other sports that can actually translate back to his chosen field. And the kid usually become an insufferable prick by age 15. All of that is bad, but control-freak parents are too bound up in the irrational fear that their child will be left behind to have the sack to just let the child play a sport seasonally.

Coaches and team execs also are to blame for this. As you know, coaches are freaks, and they can't stand the idea that their star player is wasting his time in another sport when he could conceivably improve at a faster rate (and therefore win more games and earn the coach more money) by working out with the football team all season long. This is what happened to Seattle QB Russell Wilson, who transferred from NC State in part because his then-coach, Tom O'Brien, wanted him to drop baseball (Wilson was in the Rockies farm system). Wilson ended up transferring and then dropping baseball anyway. I would have liked to see him try to do both, but there's no way team executives in either sport would ever allow it. NFL execs are not the sort of people that like you having outside interests. They want to know that you don't give a fuck about anything other than football. If you say to them, "Boy, I love painting!" during your pre-draft interview, they will knock you down five rounds on their boards. You're supposed to be some kind of obsessive football gritbot who watches tape 18 hours a day and can barely make time to have sex with other people. #STICKTOSPORTS.

Seasonal overlap is also a problem. When Deion Sanders played a Braves playoff game and a Falcons game all in the same day, it was seen as a kind of glorious stunt, not the sort of thing an athlete could (or, to many people, should) be done with regularity. If you're an NFL draftee who also plays baseball and therefore cannot be available the first month of the season, no one will ever draft you. You'd miss five games AND you wouldn't have had time to master Coach Asshole's 900-page playbook. YOU'RE A GLORY BOY. With all this in mind, the idea of a modern athlete competing in two of the major team sports is basically an impossibility. No pro team sees a commitment to another sport as a valuable asset, and no player has the sack to let his stock be downgraded in the face of sticking to two sports. The only potential scenario would be a player who plays in one sports league and then dabbles in an individual sport like golf during the offseason. I'm sure Tony Romo has won a very large number of imaginary Masters titles. It's far more realistic than him actually winning a meaningful NFL playoff game. (ZINGGGG.)

This is all a shame, because two-sport stars are fucking awesome. How much would you pay to see someone like Bo again? I'd pay at least FIVE dollars for Bo II to materialize out of thin air and break baseball bats over his knee. And imagine the hype you'd get as a two-sport star in 2013. It would be Tebow times 10. Actually, now that I've said that, forget it. That sounds unbearable. ESPN ruins everything.

Brad:

This was seen in the parking lot of Fleet Farm in Alexandria, MN.

That is none more rock.

Kevin:

You're walking to get your car in a packed lot with tons of drivers circling the lot looking for any spot. Is there anything more rewarding than when you pull out your keys, make eye contact with the closest driver, and point to your car? I feel like I really made a difference in that driver's life and in society. It's on par with how Oprah feels when she gives those poor assholes cars.

I agree. It's the same feeling you get when you give a lost person proper directions. I feel like Gandhi for five minutes. SO MUCH POWER. Of course, usually when people ask me for directions, I have no idea, and I have to stammer out a, "Sorry, man" to them. God, I feel like I let them down in that moment. They were counting on me to help them find the CVS, and I fucking blew it. It's awful. Here are some other daily moments of do-gooding that I give myself far too much credit for:

Helping an old lady retrieve a can from a high shelf in the supermarket. "Say. sonny boy, could you reach those tomatoes back there?" God, that makes me feel young and strong. LOOK AT ME WITH MY EXTENDABLE ARMS. Reaching your tomatoes is nothing to me MWAHAHAHAHA
Collecting your neighbor's mail for them when they're away. Dave's gun catalog will NEVER get soaked in the rain while he's in the Bahamas. And it's all because of ME!
"Excuse me, sir! You dropped this dollar bill while you were running down the street." They never give you a finder's fee for this.
Giving someone change for a dollar. You would have been up shit creek with the meter maid if I hadn't been Johnny on the Spot with my roll of quarters, buddy. YOU OWE ME A BRO HUG.

Sam:

I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa - it's relevant to the question, I'm not just showing how fucking holy and selfless I am - and I thought of this query: What's the worst/best mosquito kill-splat: a) Clean kill. Just a mosquito corpse. No bites. b) Bloody kill and YOU have been bitten, presumably by that selfsame fucker. c) Bloody kill BUT you haven't been bitten. Someone you know (OR weirder, someone you DON'T know) clearly has.

I like staring at a bleeding, exploded mosquito corpse as much as the next guy, but that doesn't make up for being actually bitten. I'd much rather take option A and remain bite-free than marvel at the amount of plasma that son of a bitch was actually able to Hoover up in the 30 minutes he perched on my arm without me noticing. Standing in triumph over a gory mosquito murder scene isn't worth the ensuing hours of endless scratching, working the bump on my arm over and over again until I've broken the skin anew.

Mosquito season is bearing down on us, with bigger and more terrifying bloodsuckers coming to ruin our patio drinking. It's remarkable how easily you forget about the onset of mosquitoes during the winter. Once spring arrives, I'm focused on sunshine and halter tops and grilling vast quantities of meat. It never occurs to me that, as always, mosquitoes will show up to ruin every goddamn thing. Oh well. At least I'll get to light citronella torches that don't end up actually doing anything. I like to pretend I'm part of an angry lynch mob whenever I hold one. TAKE US TO THE MONSTER.

Kevin:

If you possessed the magic ticket from Last Action Hero, which three (non-porn) movies would you step into?

If we go by the logic of that movie (NOTE: I saw that movie a shitload of times when I was a teenager and I do not recommend you do likewise), once you step into the movie, movie rules apply. If you're a good guy, bullets never hit you (or when they do, they don't do much damage). Hot women walk around everywhere, even in the most mundane places. And, much to Gregg Easterbrook's chagrin, you never get checked by customs if you're an FBI agent entering a foreign jurisdiction.

With that in mind, you're gonna want three completely different experiences from the movies you choose. You're gonna want the thrill of an action movie. You're gonna want the intimacy of being inside some kickass historical or futuristic epic. And, of course, you're gonna want to have sex with a really attractive actress. You can pick a whole lot of movies and not go wrong. Off the top of my head, three good ones would be:

Ocean's 11. You get to wear nice clothes AND rob a casino and get away with it. And it's done in a relatively tidy running time.
Return of the Jedi. Preferably aboard the Falcon as it escapes from the Death Star. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWWWW!!!
Mischief. I have my reasons. Don't I, very young Kelly Preston before John Travolta convinced you to be his beard?!

Also a dark horse candidate: The Fall. Be sure to be stoned off your ass when you get the magic ticket.

Alex:

Is there anything worse in the world of shitting than having to take a shit right after putting a suit on?

Raise your hand if you've ever pissed on the tip of your tie because you accidentally let the tie dangle in front of your penis when you sat down on the bowl.

/raises hand

/sees no one else has raised their hand

/quickly puts hand back down

Obviously, taking a shit after putting on your finery can be a real buzzkill. Any time you put on a suit (NOTE: a clean suit; it doesn't count if you're throwing on a crumpled suit on Friday morning to stagger into work hungover), you get that suit buzz. You straighten your tie. You walk in front of the mirror and marvel at yourself. MY GOD, WHO IS THAT HANDSOME FUCKER?! It's a really nice moment, especially if there's a wife or girlfriend there to be like, "Look at you! You clean up so nice! SUCH A GOOD DOGGY!"

Anyway, taking a shit in the middle of your suit buzz ruins it. You have undo all the good that you just did. You have to take off your jacket and throw your tie over your shoulder and make sure you don't shit on your shirttails. It's a reminder that, underneath all that Egyptian cotton, you're still a loathsome pig.

Also a ruiner of your suit buzz: Getting in a car. You dressed up all nice for that wedding. Now it's time to throw your jacket in the backseat so it gets wrinkled and then sit in the driver's seat for 40 minutes so that your ass and lower back get all nice and sweaty. GAHHHHH!

HALFTIME!

Pete:

I don't know about you, but to me, there is nothing more rewarding than kicking loose all the snow that has accumulated on the bottom of your car in the winter. When it really builds up in the wheel well and you have to kick the shit out of it a few times, the feeling of accomplishment is unrivaled when a huge mound of ice and snow falls to the ground.

Wait, what about when the top of your car is covered in that wet snow that has a frozen crust? You can push CONTINENTS of snow off the top of your car when that happens. I feel like I'm breaking apart the West Antarctic ice shelf when I do that. Look at the chasm I have formed with only my bare hands! And then the whole thing goes crashing down to the ground and I get snow all over my new suit. It was worth it. I also like sliding snow off of my car hood and watching it crumble in front of my car. Not so tough now, are you, snow?

Alex:

What is it about restricted entry/employee's only areas that make me so jealous? I'm not just talking about that "RESTRICTED ENTRY" door at the airport where you know that pilots are doing lines of coke and getting BJ's from flight attendants while the baggage handlers are rifling through my belongings. The big swinging double doors at Best Buy give me the same emotions. What's going on back there? Are all the employees laughing and having a good time without me? I'm a loyal, hassle free customer, why can't I be invited back there?

Trust me, you don't want to go in the back at Best Buy. If you go in the back at Best Buy, then you're even more surrounded by Best Buy salespeople, who are the worst people on the face of the Earth. NOTHING will stop them from getting you to plunk down $600 on a Samsung LCD right this instant. Walk in and they'll pick your bones clean. It's not like the restricted areas at the airport, where you get to watch the luggage go on giant roller coasters and watch as undercover air marshals wear bandoliers of armor-piercing bullets.

The only time I get angry about restricted areas is when I have to piss really badly in a restaurant and the bathrooms and restricted areas are unmarked, so I have no clue which is which. I always end up trying to piss in the supply closet. It should always say NOT A BATHROOM on the door. By the way, GQ did a story last month about urban explorers, these crazy motherfuckers who break into restricted areas and walk around sewers and shit for weeks at a time. I can't get down with hanging in a sewer, but climbing up suspensions bridges? THAT'S ALL ME. Every time I drive over a bridge and see a little catwalk running up it for utility workers, I have to fight the urge to stop my car and go running up that shit to have a life-and-death duel with Christopher Walken.

Frank:

I feel that the golf commentators truly do ADD something to the viewing experience. As someone who has played golf competitively, I still enjoy listening to many of the commentators (although there are still a handful that are completely awful).

You're right, in some ways. Golf NEEDS announcers to tell you what kind of club the guy is using, and they need to tell you the slope of the green because it's hard to tell when you're watching it on TV. I'm always amazed at how well someone like Nick Faldo can explain exactly how and where the grass is undulating. "The green is gonna slope down to the right 5.6 inches right in front of the ball and then swing back up. He's going to have to apply about 43 pounds-per-square-inch of pressure on his swing to get past that dip and, swinging at a 32-degree angle, gently deposit the ball into the cup." And then the golfer leaves it short and the announcer is like OH GOD HE FUCKED IT ALL UP! That's always a blast to watch.

By the way, I've always thought that golf broadcasts should do the Mario Golf 64 thing and put a grid down on the green so that I know where Tiger Woods is supposed to aim.

Ky:

I'm mounting a TV in our new house this weekend so I just bought this laser level from Home Depot for like $15. It got me wondering, if I had a laser level in, say, the Dark Ages, would I instantly be revered as the Grand Master Stone Mason of All Europe? I mean, it took hundreds of years to develop the technology to build a cathedral. I betcha my $15 gadget would cut that time down a few thousand percent. If I went back in time with just minimal modern tools, would I be able to re-build the 8th wonder of the world or something?

In theory, yes. You would become king of the freemasons and have access to all of the society's secret Jesus assassination papers. But, in reality, people would see your laser, accuse you of necromancy, and then have you stoned to death. And then your level would be thrown into a pit of fire and rendered useless. People back then were fucking morons.

Besides, you wouldn't be able to rebuild Notre Dame on your own because you're a modern American and you despise manual labor. You'd go to the middle of Paris looking for Ecuadoran day laborers to do all the building for you and you'd come up empty. It's a real rude awakening. (By the way, if you use a laser level and don't pretend that your laser can wipe out hordes of invading aliens, you're not human. Lasers are awesome.)

Kenneth:

For the Super Bowl, both teams stay in separate hotels. But, what would happen if terrorists blew up one hotel, killing an entire team? (Let's say the 49ers this year) Most people think Comrade Goodell would cancel the game and not award any champion, but I tend to think they'd postpone the game for a week and invite the Falcons to fill in for the Niners and wear SF uniforms as some kind of "tribute" shit.

That sounds like an NFL move: commerce wrapped in patriotism's clothing. But man, I dunno. Playing the Super Bowl a week after 50 men (and presumably a great number of hotel and team staffers along with tourists) have been murdered? I have a hard time believing that even the NFL could get away with that. You're talking about a major act of war, something that would cause us to re-invade Afghanistan (because it totally works!) and spur major global conflict. It would reverberate almost as much as 9/11 did. You would remember exactly where you were and what you were doing when Jim Harbaugh died in an explosion. I don't know that you'd give a shit about the Super Bowl after that.

I always thought one of the small miracles of this century was that 9/11 wasn't followed up by smaller-scale attacks all across the country. I spent a lot of time worried that someone would walk onto a bus with a nail bomb and blow the thing up, or something like that. But it never really happened. Turns out, we do a much better job randomly killing each other than terrorists do. GOOD JOB, ERRBUDDY!

Emily:

So, last night I had my first squirting orgasm!!! That's pretty badass of my pussy, right? Is this totally amazing? Or is this just weird for guys to deal with? Are they just gonna think I pissed myself? Do I warn them beforehand, or just let it rain?

Let it rain, girl. Let him think he made that happen. I HAD THE KEY TO THE FLOODGATES!

Kyle:

Can we all join hands and agree to replace lettuce with baby spinach in all salads/sandwiches? It's healthier, it tastes better (it actually has taste) and it is much easier to control. There's nothing worse than getting a burger with a 4x4 plank of romaine engulfing the meat.

Yeah, but I don't want spinach on top of my burger. The bitterness would overwhelm everything else. The only reasons I put lettuce on my hamburger are A) To give it the fabled "textural element," and B) To give me the illusion that I have included vegetables in the meal. That's why a decent burger usually includes a couple leaves of iceberg lettuce, which has zero nutritional value but at least maintains its integrity. There's nothing worse than trying to put some mixed lettuce onto a sandwich or burger only to watch it all go falling off instantly. Sometimes I put the top of the bun over the burger immediately to trap the lettuce, then I smoosh that shit down to keep the lettuce from going anywhere. It's not a great way of doing things.

Too often, lettuce causes mass chaos. I can't toss a salad (yes, yes) without eight different bits of baby lettuce flying out of the goddamn bowl. And the size of the bowl doesn't matter. You could use a satellite dish and that shit would still come flying out.

I was watching Chopped Champions last night, when it dawned on me that the different stations the chefs use offer distinct advantages during the competition. I will outline below:

Station closest to the Judges/Ted Allen

PRO: Closer to the plates and dishes. This is obviously a huge advantage in a timed competition when plating always comes down to the wire! Think about how quickly you can snatch those ramekens and get your bread pudding into the oven!

CON: Being closer to the judges you're under their constant supervision. I sure as hell don't need Scott Conant eyeballing me while I make my tortellini. The pressure could be intense, enough to crack even a veteran chef.

Station closest to the Pantry/Fridge

PRO: Obviously your closer to the necessary ingredients and appliances. This will amount to a huge time savings as you run back and forth looking for the smoked paprika.

CON: Your station is constantly being invaded by your competitors also heading the pantry. BEHIND! HOT BEHIND! BEHIND YOU! Shut up, grab a hotel pan and procure all your necessary ingredients in on shot, there's no reason to be going back and forth to the pantry. Why don't the chefs ever run on the other side of the table. Is this area out of bounds? I DEMAND Ted Allen provide us with these answers.

I assume that you can't run in front of the table because it's too close to the cameras. Every room on television looks bigger than it actually is, so those cameramen are likely right in the chef's faces as they're cooking, which means there's probably little to no room in front of the table. Or there are massive wires running in front that could cause you to trip and fall to your death as you're heading for the ice cream maker.

As for the station advantages, I think they could influence the competition to a certain degree. The problem is that the clock turns virtually all the contestants into complete fucking idiots, which means they don't feel like they have time to make ONE thoughtful pantry run, and instead make a million of them. And they forget about the plates until the last second, too. OH RIGHT! I HAVE TO ACTUALLY SERVE THIS HORSE TAIL. That kind of idiocy under pressure means that contestants probably don't take advantage of their station situation as often as they ought to. They're too busy butchering the Puffer Fish. All we can agree on is that the middle guy gets fucked.

Email of the week time.

Ian:

I was flying back home to Vegas from a business trip late Friday night. I had an aisle seat and in the seats next to me was a couple who had apparently just met, were quite tipsy, and really liked each other. Shortly after takeoff they start making out. After a while the guy looks up and asks me politely to turn off my overhead light (I was reading) so they can have some privacy. I comply, and they start going at it even more hot and heavy.

I'm trying to be cool so I'm staring out of the corner of my eye and can see, over her shoulder, that he has one hand down her shirt, and is fingerbanging her with his other. Eventually they went to the restroom and tried to consummate the relationship but the attendants were having none of that and sent them back to their seats, where they resumed their heavy petting. So my question is: since I had to be inconvenienced by turning off mylight and being forced to sit in the dark for hours, would I have been in violation of rules by openly staring at the Cinemax show next to me, or did I do the right thing by pretending to ignore it while straining my eye muscles staring out of the corner of my eye so bad they hurt for days?

Shouldn't you have been allowed to take photos?

Dave:

What time should I sneak out of work today to drink beer and watch as much basketball as possible?

The obvious answer to this is NOW NOW NOW, because the first game (Valpo vs. Michigan St.) starts at 12:15 p.m. EST, with Bucknell-Butler following it up at 12:40. You go at noon, you order your beer and wings and nachos, and then you settle in for the next 52 hours. But it's always a fine line you walk, trying to get out of work early. Some people have the luxury of blowing off an entire afternoon of work. But for those of us who have Bill Lumbergh as a boss, it's a bit dicier.

If leaving at noon for the rest of the day is an impossibility, you have to prioritize. You want to be able to see the end of any tight game, yes? AND you want to be able to NEVER go back to work ever, right? There's a careful way of going about this. I always like to keep an eye on the early scores. Valpo and Bucknell have both pulled off tourney upsets in the past, so maybe they'll keep the two early games competitive.

But if they both start the day getting blown out of the water (what a letdown), you're essentially able to stay at work for an extra two hours, which sounds terrible but could help you finish all the shit you gotta get done while constantly checking scores or going into the conference room to watch little snippets of the action (NOTE: Getting peeks at the tourney on a TV at work SUCKS. You never feel like you can stand there too long, and you can't drink. It's the worst of all worlds).

By 3 p.m. the third game (Pitt-Wichita State) will be in the second half and two other games will be underway, with a fourth tipping off at 3:10. If Pitt-Wichita State sucks (and it's never all that interesting anyway when 8/9 games are close because they're supposed to be), you can even push it to 3:30. NO ONE will expect you to return to work if you slip out at 3:30. And if they do, fuck them in the ear. You're done. It's pint after pint after pint of luscious beer for you the rest of the afternoon. Your non-sports fan boss (they're never sports fans) will have to collate those PowerPoint decks his own damn self. For you, the night is young and you are mere hours away from drunkenly groping a flagpole and throwing up in the street. Good on ya. Now, down into Kinja (cross your fingers) for some hot Live bag action.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com. You can also order Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering weekends, power boners, and more.

Before we hit the Funbag, one quick programming note: there won't be a Live Funbag on Thursday. Having children on Spring Break means being around your children for 150 consecutive hours, and it's unlikely that I will be of sound mind by the time Thursday rolls around. You'll understand one day.

Your letters:

Steve:

What do you think is the most popular food item that people have in their houses that basically everyone buys and more or less no one makes homemade? I think it might be crackers.

I think crackers would be up there, along with basic ingredients like ketchup, mustard, and soy sauce. You're not brewing your own soy sauce. That's idiotic. I read this book once (I don't really recommend it) and there was an entire chapter dedicated to the guy making his own ketchup at home. The fuck are you trying to prove, buddy? I can't imagine a more colossal waste of time than sitting there trying to make your own goddamn ketchup. Heinz ketchup is perfect. They make it so that you don't have to. I can't tell you how annoying it is to go to some bitchass hipster restaurant that serves only its own funky ketchup and not Heinz ketchup like the rest of the universe. My taste buds REJECT your stupid spicy ketchup. You could have spent that time in the kitchen braising pork or making my ass a chocolate pie. Instead, you made terrible ketchup.

The DIY ethos in the modern food movement, as you know, got way out of hand a long time ago. The idea that EVERY possible ingredient you use will taste vastly better if you make it yourself is wrong. The people at Williams-Sonoma (shocking) have online instructions for how to grind your own flour at home:

Requiring only a Kitchen Aid stand mixer with a grain mill attachment, grinding wheat and corn takes just minutes.

Oh, of course it does. SO EASY! And growing your own wheat field? ALSO SURPRISINGLY EASY. All you have to do is till the soil, drag a harrow across the field, remove all the boulders from the ground, plant the seeds in rows, do a rain chant using your own homemade buckskin drum, and then wait 12 lunar cycles. COULD NOT BE EASIER, YOU GUYS. Meanwhile, a 50-pound bag of flour at the supermarket costs two dollars. So annoying.

Matt:

What would the social/sexual implications be if penises grew in size with weight gain similar to how boobs grow in size with weight gain?

I don't know that it would end up mattering much. I don't think you'd see every guy try to gain 200 pounds just to add a foot of length downstairs. Men worry about penis size about 50 times more than women do. I don't think the average woman is all that ecstatic about the idea of having to accommodate a 15-inch skin missile inside her body. She'd probably rather that you stay fit and have a garden-variety penis than watch you turn into an arrogant blob who thinks his big dick somehow makes up for his man tits.

Not that it wouldn't stop men obsessed with penile length and girth. You'd have to deal with extremely obnoxious fat men at the bar on a daily basis. I can't even imagine what a Jets tailgate would become if this were reality.

Austin:

Spotted at a Clarendon 7-11 in Arlington, VA. I bought 9.

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Oh by the way, the website is somehow a thousand times worse. Can I really handle that ass let alone kill it? I just don't know, fella. I just don't know.

Joel:

Recently I got on a treadmill, turned on the TV, and Rocky IV was on. Before I knew it I had watched the entire training sequence, the Drago fight, and then Rocky's speech that ended the Cold War. I ended up working out twice as long as I had planned. Can you think of any movie better suited for a workout?

Any sort of propulsive action movie like Skyfall would probably also do the trick. The joy of watching the movie has to continually beat out the misery of toiling on the machine, which means you can't have a movie with any lulls or lengthy talky parts. I would probably burn 700 extra calories if a Jason Statham movie were playing on the gym TV at all times. I'm sure there's a scientific study to be done on it.

It's amazing what you end up watching on the gym TV if you're bored enough. I think half of TNT's daytime ratings for reruns of Charmed comes from gym TVs. I try to stick with SportsCenter, but it's fucking awful now. I truly can't stand watching it. I just flip around, desperately looking for anything else to capture my attention. Half the time, I end up toggling between two completely random things. The other day, I was staying at a hotel and I worked out for 45 minutes alternating between watching Lincoln and watching some random rugby game on ESPN75. So now when I see pictures of Abraham Lincoln, I think of rugby. Nothing I do makes any sense at all.

Dave:

I don't have an ice maker at home, so I have to make my cubes manually using trays. Is there anything worse than a stubborn cube that won't come out, no matter how much you bend and smack the tray? I swear I'll spend five minutes on that one cube until I give in to its frozen evil.

I also use ice cube trays and they fucking suck. It's like a jack-in-the-box filled with ice. I bend and I bend and I bend, waiting for that moment when the ice will break apart and go flying everywhere, and I'm never psychologically ready for it. The ice jumps out of the tray and goes skidding across the floor in 84 different directions. Then I end up picking it up and having hairy ice in my bourbon. It's awful. Sometimes I can't get the ice to break free and I feel like the weakest man alive. Beaten by a goddamn plastic tray. What a load.

And refilling them is no picnic either. I always give myself points if the water level in every chamber is equal, but half the time I get bored and just blast the water into one chamber, letting it overflow into all the other chambers. It's a flawed levee system.

My wife tried getting some fancy silicone ice tray that promised easier popping out and better shaped cubes. It was shit. The ice clung to that tray like it was its mother. I nearly got frostbite popping that shit out. Fuck ice trays. They suck in every possible way. Even cleaning them is bullshit because they stay wet in the dishwasher. Ice cube trays and cupcake pans can go to hell.

Ty:

What one song would you bring back in time to blast over a loudspeaker in medieval times? "Back in Time," right?

That's always been one of the sub-fantasies of the whole time travel thing: going back and blowing people's minds with some serious rock from today. You would want a song that establishes the exact kind of fear and awe you're looking for. You want them to know THEY ARE NOT READY FOR YOUR FURIOUS LICKS, which is why something by Slayer usually fits the bill. I don't even like Slayer all that much. I'd just like to see the look on the King of England's face when he gets "Reign in Blood" blasted in his grill.

Also, for sentimental reasons, I nominate Vital Signs:

Perfect for when you want to teach Napoleon about water slides.

Bert:

This has to be the worst person in the world.

Right up there with Manson, to be certain. I like that proudly screams out NIAGARA MOTHERFUCKIN' FALLS but isn't even a Bills fan. My rule of thumb is that pretty much anyone who has favorite teams that are not geographically consolidated is a piece of shit. If you grew up all over the place and have various loyalties, I get it. But if you grew up in the same spot for two decades? No. Fuck you. You root for your terrible local teams or you GTFO.

Patrick:

Have you ever found yourself in a dire situation where your own salvation was bread and milk? In the case of a "blizzard" (especially in the DC area), where one can only possible be expected to be, at worst, two days away from clear roads and open grocery stores, where did the insane necessity of scoring every last gallon of milk and loaf of bread develop? Is this just a clever ruse by all the cronies at BIG DAIRY, BIG BREAD, and the MSM to work the public into a state of insanity that could ultimately end with milk muggings and bread thefts?

I really don't understand the milk thing because if a big storm hits and your power goes out, all the milk will go bad. You just wasted four dollars for nothing. In the event of a 60-inch death blizzard that threatens to wipe us off the face of the Earth (this is how DC people react when a wintry mix is forecast), you probably should stock on shit that is NOT perishable. Like, I dunno, canned milk. People raid bread shelves and milk coolers because they see everyone else do it. It's an ongoing cycle of stupidity.

You can feel it trying to lure you in. People here in the DC area fucking morons about snow. And since they're morons about snow, YOU are in constant danger of becoming a moron about snow. Not because of the snow itself, but because you think, "Christ, I better not leave the house during this light rain mist because everyone else will be so stupid on the roads." You're engaging in stupid behavior essentially because everyone else is. It's awful. People who suck at weather should be drowned in a rain puddle.

Peter:

Recently a coworker threatened to rub his balls on my wireless headset. This got me thinking, given said scenario, can you rank (in order of most vile to least) which you would prefer: A. Balls B. Shaft C. Head (aka the pink fireman’s helmet) Obviously all ass related scenarios (cheeks, taint, brown eye, etc.) trump these.

The balls are out because balls have hair and because balls smell terrible. And the head is out because the tip of it is usually moist with old piss, and your co-worker would almost certainly make sure he just urinated or ejaculated before contaminating your Beats by Dre. That leaves us with the shaft, but it obviously depends which side of the shaft is being deployed. The top of your shaft if relatively clean and pleasant, whereas the underside of it can be awash in filth and pre-fromunda. Ever feel around under there and get a good finger-full of residue? It can be really unpleasant (takes big whiff anyway). If it's been hours since the last shower (a shame since male genitals can really clean up nice after a shower, all soft and dry like that), the topside of the shaft is the best way to go.

HALFTIME!

Dan:

What do you think is the most number of Presidents (only referring to the United States) any woman has ever slept with? I imagine someone has pulled off two, but do you think anyone has ever made it to three?

I think there are probably a number of women who have pulled off the two-fer, simply with JFK and LBJ alone. Just read this passage about LBJ:

When people mentioned Kennedy's many affairs, Johnson would bang the table and declare that he had more women by accident than Kennedy ever had on purpose.

LBJ was also known to whip out his dick, Charles Haley-style, and he nicknamed it Jumbo. If you don't think that LBJ purposely nailed every single receptionist JFK had slept with did just to prove a point, well then you don't know your history. I bet he also nailed Betty Ford out of pure spite.

There are women who have worked across numerous administrations who almost certainly served at least two Presidents and perhaps more. I'm sure things were even randier back in the old times, when Presidents fucked everyone and gave everyone siffy without worrying in the slightest about it leaking to the press. Who's to say there wasn't a Presidential harem back then? In 1820, you probably walked into the Oval Office the first day and an aide quietly escorted you to a nearby ballroom with two dozen working girls ready to help you cope with the stresses of the job. I bet there was a lady named the Jade Madame who worked many a Presidential shaft.

People who do not occupy high levels of power don't really comprehend just how much powerful people get off on their own authority. The Power Boner is a real thing. The more power these people attain, the more insatiable their sex drive becomes. They get off on being themselves, and that means that a sitting President probably walks around with an erection for 80 percent of the day. Which means everyone in his immediate radius is a potentially convenient lover: Cabinet members, secretaries, undersecretaries, dogs, whatever. Powerful men have out-of-control boners.

Sundeep:

Is there any machine at the gym that makes you feel more like an athlete rehabbing from a devastating knee injury than the leg extension machine? Whenever I am on that thing I feel like I am Adrian Peterson or Derrick Rose planning my triumphant return. I imagine myself surrounded by newspaper clippings and ESPN First Take segments doubting my ability post injury as motivation to push myself to do one more rep on the leg extension machine. In reality I am probably just too lazy to actually lift some weights and the leg extension machine is perfectly placed to check out girls running on the treadmill in front of me.

You have to do only one leg though to really drive the injury fantasy home. Then you can pretend that the leg extension machine is one of those tortuous Cybex machines they keep in training rooms that they strap your leg to and make you do four million reps on. Those things are pure evil. You thought you had it made in the training room, with all your hot whirlpools and cute training students who all look like Lindsey Vonn. And then the head trainer makes you get on that Cybex thing and you're like, WHOA HEY THIS FUCKING SUCKS LET'S GO BACK IN THE HOT TUB YO.

The leg extension and leg press machines are great gym equipment because they allow you to lift the largest amounts of weight in front of lots of people. I get on the leg press and I feel like I'm pushing a limo up in front of adoring spectators, when in reality the machine does pretty much nothing for you. You get in better shape doing low amounts of weight or (BARF) resistance training, which is complete crap. No one looks like a badass working out with a giant rubber band. I wanna look STRONG. Like this guy.

Stephen:

How stupid do you have to be to put this on your car?

Pretty stupid. Let's hear it for Maine, everyone! By the way, I don't count the coast of Maine as real Maine, just like Miami isn't REAL Florida. The coast of Maine is just supplemental Massachusetts. Real Maine is the interior, filled with abandoned serial killer farmhouses and men and women who all look like Kathy Bates.

Doug:

Who the hell do the hotels think they are kidding with those miniscule wastebaskets by the guest room desks and bathrooms? Nothing dropped from waist height has a chance of landing in those thimbles.

They're never located in the right spot, either. I need the wastebasket to be near the toilet or the sink. Instead, they put it underneath an ironing board in the back of the closet. I may as well just throw all my spunky tissues off the balcony.

Tobias:

What is the earliest year where you could take the best NFL team of that era and expect them to beat a shitty modern team? 1985?

Take a look at this chart listing out average heights and weights for NFL players by year. It only runs to 2006, but the differences are still striking. In 1985, wideouts weighed 15 pounds less, offensive tackles weighed 30 pounds less, guards weighed 46 pounds less, and defensive tackles weighed 40 pounds less. The only shocking stat is that, back in 1985, the average defensive end weighed MORE than they do now, because today's defensive ends are built almost exclusively for speed and little else.

With that in mind, you're talking about the '85 Bears going up against the 2012 Chiefs with a collective weight disadvantage of several hundred pounds. Not to mention they'd be coached by Mike Ditka, whose lack of at least one brain hemisphere wasn't crippling back then but definitely would be today. I don't know that the '85 Bears, romantic memories aside, would be able to overcome that. They'd obviously have the QB matchup and Sweetness in their favor, but they're still fighting out of their weight class. These dramatic shifts in player weight started right at the beginning of the 1990s. So I think the earliest you could go back would be about 20 years, to 1993. I would happily pick the '93 Cowboys to kick the shit out of Brady Quinn and the Chiefs. I think that's a fairly safe bet.

Brandon:

Did Pat Sajak and Vanna White ever bone?

O HELLZ YEZ. Email of the week time!

Alex:

A while ago, I was playing basketball on a court outside a fraternity house which is right on the street with some friends and across the street there was a ripped black man changing T-shirts. My friends kept saying he must be an NFL athlete but I thought they were just being overly dramatic and a little racist. The guy walks up to us with two bottles of champagne and asks, “Is this a frat house?” We say yes and he hands us one of the bottles and tells us to have a good time. He then drives off and we continue to play our game until he drives up again with a female and her kid in the car with him.

The female and the child go into the apartment complex across the street as the man exits the car with an open bottle of champagne in his hand. By this point it’s me and one other guy standing out just shooting around and it's pretty dark out. The man comes up to us and, as it turns out, is an NFL player. I won’t reveal his name but he is not a big-time name (probably on practice squads or barely making rosters kind of guy). I’ll refer to him as James. James walks up to us and starts talking about anything and everything. He talked about how he got strippers to give him bjs without paying, how he has a bunch of chicks he fucks in the area like the girl he pulled up with, how he can usually dunk the ball easily but he was a little buzzed, how big his muscles are, and how parties at his school sucked and chicks were ugly.

Up to this point he has been laughing and smiling the whole time but then he asks up more specifically about what we do at our parties. His face gets serious and he looks me straight in the eye and says, “If you ever need any of that real nigga shit, just let me know”. He proceeds to give me his phone number and then he takes off. He has to be referring to coke or even stronger drugs right? Do I make contact with the guy?

This has to be Sam Hurd, right? I'll be so disappointed if this isn't Sam Hurd.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering dating, swords as gifts, flesh-eating viruses, and more.

Your letters:

Sarah:

Which youth sport produces the most insufferable parents? I have to think baseball only because I've witnessed a dad shout horrible insults at a teenage umpire while sitting on the hood of his truck drinking beer (alcohol wasn't allowed in the stands).

It's hard to argue with baseball, because it's a sport that seems to naturally attract overly competitive dickheads (see: Clemens, Roger). As we've noted before, baseball is anecdotally known as being the sport with the most assholes per capita, and it stands to reason that those assholes come from asshole parents. If you Google "baseball dad arrested," you get nearly seven million results. Compare that with hockey, a sport with its own rich history of asshole parents. "Hockey dad arrested" turns up fewer than a million results, which is astonishing given that hockey dads have committed assault, blinded opposing goalies with laser pointers, attacked refs, tripped 13-year-old opponents on the ice, and committed outright murder. And yet, baseball apparently has more asshole parents by a mile.

Here is how I would rank the worst sports parents:

Baseball
Cheerleading. Cheerleading is both a sport and a beauty pageant, so you get a hybrid of sports mom and stage mom. Terrifying.
Tennis. So many sterling examples of awful tennis parents, from Emmanuel Agassi to Jim Pierce. It's remarkable, frankly. Individual sports tend to have the most insane parents because there are no other teammates to focus on. Your child is performing alone and that means they are subjected to ALL of your scrutiny. There's no teammate to blame. There's no way for your child to hide behind a more talented peer. They're all alone out there, attempting to prove themselves to you in front of everyone. Christ, that's terrifying.
Gymnastics. Gymnastics is the kind of sport where, to become an Olympian, you have to ship your three-year-old off to some IMG academy to train with a disgraced Romanian pederast. It's a different kind of parental insanity than the baseball dad, but no less toxic.
Hockey
Figure skating. See cheerleading. Olympic sports seem to attract the highest ratio of nutjob parents. I think there are a handful of reasons for this. I think you need time and resources to make the Olympics, and so it weeds out the less determined nutjobs. Also, the Olympics are an all-or-nothing proposition. If your child doesn't make the team or medal, you've wasted years of both her life and your own. And that kind of internal pressure only exacerbates the batshit craziness of certain folks.
Football. This probably belongs higher up the list because, you know... Texas. That Tim McGraw sure is one lousy father.
Golf. The thing about golf is that it's a sport that seems to offer you the best chance of becoming an elite player without you necessarily having any natural athletic talent. Which means you have an awful lot of daddy golf coaches out on the range correcting Little Johnny Manboobs' swing every five seconds.

Steve:

If you got divorced/widowed and had to re-enter the dating scene, what would be your least favorite part about it? Mine would be having to hold in farts again. Those first few months when you're dating someone and you have to let the farts bubble up and cause all that pain and discomfort were the absolute worst. I don't miss that one bit.

I would hate having to sit through bad dates in general. The whole idea that you gotta go back and sift through the detritus in the dating pool to find one human being who won't make you want to punch yourself in the face after 10 minutes in their company... that's unpleasant. I mean, I know that every guy constantly daydreams about being a swinging bachelor and CRUSHING poon left and right. But man alive, if you're a relatively unassuming dude, there's a whole lot of work involved: making phone calls, choosing restaurants, trying to come up with interesting conversational topics. It's like having a second job.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com.

This is why people who have been on the dating circuit for an eternity sometimes pressure mates into marriage. They know exactly what's at stake. They know the endless toil involved with being dumped back into the singles scene. As you get older, you get more and more tired with having to present yourself for people, with being "on" during conversations and having to eat full meals with people who you may not even end up liking. It's a whole goddamn thing. And it's even worse in the modern age now because people treat dates like job interviews. I'd rather have a nail driven through my penis than have to deal with that again. I once made it through a whole date only to have the woman in question spring the, "Oh, I have a boyfriend" thing, which was CLEARLY false and made it clear that I repulsed her in every way. You can HEAR your life being wasted away in moments like that. Couldn't you have simply told me to fuck off before we ordered entrees?

David:

My good high school friend is getting married. I don't want to get him pillows or other crap. I have the best gift idea...the cold steel sword (see the video below). Can I ask how you feel about the "man-gift" wedding gift? Do you think it is appropriate? Most women say no, but they think that crystal champagne flutes is a gift for "us."

Just make sure to throw out the receipt, because she'll make him return it anyway.

I think there's an age limit to giving novelty wedding gifts like this. When I was 23, my brother got married and I got him and his wife a Razor scooter for their wedding gift. This was back when Razor scooters were, like, a thing. This was a shitty, horrible wedding gift, but I could be more or less excused for it due to my youthful impetuousness. If I gave that as a gift NOW, as a 36-year-old, I'd be the biggest dipshit on the planet.

I'm not saying this because I approve of champagne flutes. People register for 16 of those things, which is egregiously stupid. As if you're gonna have lavish cocktail receptions every weekend for the next 60 years. But as you get older, you appreciate having things like, I dunno, plates. Swords are awesome, but they also happen to be useless (at least, hopefully they're useless). Think of it as a home decoration and the appeal of giving it to someone is suddenly less attractive. It's like giving someone a vase, only the vase might later be used as a manslaughter weapon. So if you're under 25, go ahead. But past that? Just give them some money. Money trumps everything.

Dylan:

A person at my local hunting club had this happen to him.... Apparently the arrow was cracked and when he drew back and let go it cracked and the rest is history.

Okay, well that's horrifying in every possible way.

Sid:

Say you were forced to decide between contracting a grotesque flesh-eating virus on your face or on your penis, for a period of 3 months. Full recovery, no scarring after the three-month period is up. Obviously, reflex will cause all men to say "face" without thorough consideration, but I don't know. We're talking GROTESQUE here, as in people dry heave in their mouths at the sight of you grotesque.

I want to say FACE, not because I treasure my penis (though I do), but because your penis has so many nerve endings bundled together that the virus would be more painful and your suffering intensified.

But then again, it's not like your face is lacking in nerve endings. Ever try to eat with chapped lips? It's agony. Talking and eating with Darkman's face would almost certainly be hell on Earth. Whether that beats out having to piss with a stump dick is yet to be known. I guess I'll take the infected penis. At least I wouldn't face any danger of conceiving a fourth child.

Andy:

A couple weeks ago, I was out at a restaurant in Cincinnati with some friends. We started talking about the Bengals and naturally the conversation became about how horrible Mike Brown is. One of the waiters overheard our conversation and told us about a time that he had served Mike Brown and a guest at another restaurant. The bill for Brown's meal was $16 (it wasn't a fancy restaurant). He tipped the guy 75 cents. Mike Brown, the one who owns a professional football team.

I believe any story that involves Mike Brown being a horrible person.

By the way, I hate rich people who make absolutely no upgrades to their lifestyle despite possessing millions of dollars in free capital. "I drive the same truck and eat chuck roast at Franny's Diner every Tuesday night, just like I always do." GO TO HELL. Take your money and buy yourself some decent taste. The rest of us would actually DO something with that money, thank you very much. And you just leave it there, neglected, like it means nothing to you. You buy yourself a Mercedes or you deserve to burn alive.

Ben:

Is there any greater disparity between fantasy and reality than the medical/nursing profession? Porn gives us images of short-skirted candy stripers, the scrotal exam cum hand-job, reciprocal "temperature-taking" and the like.

Reality is (at best) lots of baggy scrubs and weary faces. At worst, you've got a pool of people who've won their fair share of Mario Batali look-alike contests

What about pizza delivery? How many pizza delivery boys have actually been seduced in the history of the world? Five? And I bet it was just the saddest intercourse ever undertaken. The cable guy has to have a better batting average throughout history. At least the cable guy has a career. That's way more enticing to the likes of Lisa Ann. Even pool boys have to do better because they have to show off the goods.

I had a friend who used to work as a carpenter in Idaho. And he said that, on more than one occasion, he or a colleague had a lonely housewife openly strip for them while they were working outside a bedroom window. Maybe he's bullshitting, but I choose to believe him because that's way hot.

By contrast, I think we can all agree that the coach/athlete porn scenario is the MOST realistically played-out scenario, especially in Toledo.

HALFTIME!

Nick:

Have you ever attempted to make a meal where the recipe calls for an obnoxious herb like parsley, thyme, dill etc..?

You literally have to buy a month's worth for 2 measly teaspoons. What the fuck do I do with the rest to avoid the inevitable "you just wasted food and money" comment from my girlfriend? The suits over at BIG SPICE must be laughing their tits off.

Your girlfriend is against fresh herbs? That's unusual. Usually, it's the woman who will eat a bite of pork chop and be like, "This is SO good with the parsley." Really? You thought parsley was the star of that dish? Because I feel like the pork chop did most of the heavy lifting, missy.

Anyway, fear not. Are you prepared for a use for all that leftover parsley that will BLOW YOUR SKULL?! Of course you are. This is a recipe for chimichurri sauce. Don't bitch at me that it's not a "real" chimichurri sauce or whatever the fuck. Put it on steak and you WILL have an audible orgasm. Let's go:

INGREDIENTS
1 bunch of parsley, loosely chopped (minus the two teaspoons you needed for that soup or whatever)
2 tablespoons dijon mustard
1/2 cup olive oil
1 small clove garlic, loosely chopped
Juice of 1 lemon
1 shallot, loosely chopped
Salt
Pepper

DIRECTIONS
Put everything in the blender or food processor and blend the shit out of it. If the blender gets stuck (which is really annoying), turn it off, stir it around a bit, and add more olive oil if you need to. Blend it smooth, then pour it out. There you go. You're done. Put it on steak or eggs and you'll be shitting happiness.

Chris:

What if there was a "Redzone Classic"? (think ESPN Classic in Redzone mode). We know that NFL Films has complete tapes of every game ever - so why not just pick one random season (like 1994), and play each week of that season in Redzone mode? The season "replay" could start the Sunday of NFL Draft weekend, and would last us right up until training camp/ pre-season. So we'd see '94 Week 1 on 4/28, Week 2 on 5/5, etc.

Redzone classic would just play all of the "old" games as if they were happening in real time. Then Scott Hanson could zip around like he always does and be like, "We'll get right back to Joe Montana and the Chiefs, but first Warren Moon has entered the RedZone!"

At the very least, they should give it a shot. I mean, channel 703 on my DirecTV will stay dark for MONTHS. Do you know how depressing it is to flip to Red Zone Channel when there's no Red Zone shit going on? Sometimes, even during the season, I'll flip to it after Andrew Siciliano (who does RZC for DirecTV still) has signed off and there's a title card that's like, "THAT'S THE END OF RED ZONE CHANNEL FOR TODAY! L8R DICKHEAD." It's awful. I feel like someone died.

I would get all excited for RedZone Classic and tune in. And then, after five minutes, I would probably mutter, "This sucks," and watch an episode of Modern Family that I haven't gotten around to. I don't know about you, but for all the bitching I do about the offseason, I kind of need it. The NFL offseason allows me to catch up on all the pop culture that I missed out on during the fall. I watch a shitload of movies. I read lots of books about people being lost at sea. I promise myself that I'll get into Justified and then still fail to find time for it, which is inexcusable.

And even if RedZone Classic existed, I would still know that it's old, and that would turn me off. I hate old programming. I almost always pick shows based on maximum freshness. Once an episode of some TV has been in the DVR queue for more than a week, it becomes dead to me. And that's insane because who gives a shit when it aired, right? If it's good, it's good. And yet there's some sick desire within me to watch whatever program is the most NOW. Oh Jesus, ESPN HAS GOTTEN TO ME.

Jake:

Do you think we'll ever see an NFL team hang 100 in a game? I'm surprised Belicheck or a Harbaugh hasn't just picked a game against the Rams or someone at the beginning of the year and just decided they're going to do everything they can to get 100 in that game. As much of a long shot it is, I still think I'll see it happen in my lifetime. Sports media the next day will just be the absolute worst, I can't wait.

Even with the new rules in place to hamper defense, you'll never see it happen. No one has scored 70 points in an NFL game since 1966, and the fabled 70-burger has only happened three times in history. No one has come close to 80 points, much less 100. You'd have to score 15 touchdowns (or 14 plus a field goal) to make that happen, and NFL teams average only 12 possessions per game. There's simply not enough time. Plus, you and I both know that every time a team opens a game scoring at a torrid pace that they will inevitably flatten out, ruining your scoring boner.

When I was in college, I played EA Bill Walsh College Football all the time. You could score 100 in that game. Just run the triple option to the right for a TD, then onside kick, then triple option to the left for the TD. Scoring 100 points in that game NEVER got old. Ever. Every time I hit triple digits, I stood up and screamed, "FUCK YOU!" at the TV. I may have had issues.

Anyway, it'll never happen. And if it did, the NFL would go to great lengths to make sure it never did again because the backlash—not just from prisses bitching about running up the score, but also from purists complaining about the clear lack of defense—would be too awful to deal with.

This is why I still hold out hope that an NBA player can match Wilt and score 100 in a game. It's still feasible, right? Kobe got 81. If someone scored 100 points in an NBA game today, I would shit myself with excitement.

Jason:

ESPN is bored.

I'm telling you, they post graphics like that year round. They don't have to be bored to be terrible.

Walter:

Let's say your 2nd cousin is a supermodel like Kate Upton or Brooklyn Decker. Is it ok to fap to her? If not, how far down the family tree does one need permission to fap without feeling like a creep?

This is a fluid situation. If you're 15 years old and Brooklyn Decker is your cousin (even your FIRST cousin), no one's probably gonna fault you for feeling a bit funny in the pants. But if you're a 38-year-old guy and Kate Upton is your third niece once removed, you will feel like a fucking scumbag and no one will approve of what you're doing.

That's one bonus of being an awkward teenager: virtually all crushes are innocent and cute. Once you become a full-grown man, with hair sprouting out of your back and shit, you are a sexual predator who should be chained to a radiator. Not fair, frankly. Anyway, don't go masturbating to your relatives. That's a whole headache that you don't want. And don't go thinking that being related to Kate Upton will somehow improve your chances with her. That adds nothing to your upside.

Max:

Who would win if a team of just NFL kickers and punters (that means kickers/punters playing at QB, WR, DB, etc) played against the best high school football team from Alaska?

The NFL guys would obliterate the high school kids. You're talking about full-grown men versus schoolboys. And a lot of punters and kickers are fine athletes themselves. I'm not saying that just to toss Chris Kluwe's salad. I'm saying that, even though they play a peripheral role in the grand scheme of a football game, the average NFL kicker or punter is still pretty strong and fast. They'd run down Twig Palin with relative ease.

Mike:

So if you draw from the pool of talking heads of all the NFL pregame shows (FOX, CBS, NBC, NFL Network, ESPN), who do you pick for your starting five-man pregame show?

Five is way too many, as we've discussed before. You only need two people, three people at the most. I would take Rich Eisen and Deion Sanders. Deion's completely full of shit, and he uses the phrase "in the game" every four seconds ("Best cover corner IN THE GAME right now"), but I still like him better than most everyone else. Maybe Collinsworth if he's eligible for a studio slot. I don't mind Collinsworth. AND LENA DUNHAM. I WISH LENA DUNHAM WERE IN MORE PLACES.

Casey:

For most of my childhood I thought Colonel Sanders' western string tie in the KFC logo was actually his arms and legs (like a stick figure). What do you think?

I may never stop laughing.

Email of the week time:

TS:

I was recently having dinner at a restaurant with a large group of people and one of my friends started choking on his food. Like, "about to die on top of a mountain of chicken-fried steak" choking. His wife, essentially screaming bloody murder, summoned my wife to help him since she works in the medical field, but she could barely wrap her arms around a 200+ pound man who at that point had almost gone limp in his chair. Thus, his life was left in my hands.

Have you ever attempted to give someone the Heimlich Maneuver? I've always assumed it to be a simple procedure that any idiot could perform half drunk and be immediately declared a hero. But that shit is not only hard, it is incredibly awkward - picture it as basically an aggressive humping of another dude from behind with his wife shrieking in the background and about forty gasping onlookers soaking it all in. After about fifteen giant heaves in his stomach, my friend declared that the food was actually stuck in his esophagus and not his trachea, and we could all resume our meal.

He later vomited an ungodly-sized piece of meat about three hours later. Chew your food and stop embarrassing me, asshole.

Agreed. There can't be a less dignified death than swallowing your food too quickly and then choking to death like a moron in front of a bunch of onlookers. Any time I'm in a restaurant, I always wonder if someone will start choking and if I'll get to save them, because that seems like such an easy avenue to heroism. You don't have to step in front of a bullet. You don't have to confront a terrorist. Just get the food out and suddenly you're Mr. Medal of Honor.

I wonder who gets dibs on a choking victim if two saviors arrive at the scene first. Does the guy who got there first call out, "I GOT IT!" like an outfielder? I'd hate to see that kind of tussle end with a fistfight while the victim turns blue and has a brain clot.

By the way, if you have kids, you will save them from choking at least once. They choke on things all the time. And if they aren't choking on things, they're LOOKING like they're choking on things. Babies look like they're gonna choke every six seconds and you have to jump up and be like, "OH FUCK ARE YOU CHOKING?!" when they're clearly still taking in air.

One time, I was in the car with my kid and she pulled a George Bush, choking on a pretzel in the backseat. I pulled over, reached down into her throat (NOTE: You are not supposed to do this, because it usually ends up pushing the food further down their windpipe), and pulled the offending piece out. The girl owes me her damn LIFE for that. I remind her daily. Don't give your kid pretzels when the car is in motion.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering Presidential tipping, shitty recipe instructions, fighting old people, and more.

I was in New York on business last week (as much as what I do can be called "business" with a straight face) and I was working out of this office building downtown one morning when I had to go take a shit. So I grabbed my guest pass, beeped my way through a set of hallway doors (I always pretend I'm walking into NSA headquarters when I do this), and then walked absent-mindedly into the bathroom.

The bathroom was divided into two rooms: one for toilets and one for sinks. I found this unusual, but not enough to stop me from walking into the deserted toilet area and dropping anchor. As I was finishing up, I could hear a bunch of footsteps outside the stall, but no voices. I wiped up, flushed, pushed open the stall door, and was greeted by the sight of three or four women. I was not in the men's bathroom.

A smart person would have underplayed this moment. He would have uttered a simple "Oh my goodness, so sorry..." and then quickly exited. But I fucking FREAKED. I was like OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS IS NOT THE MEN'S ROOM! I allowed every woman in there to get a good long look at me for a police sketch while I pleaded with all of them that this was a total accident and that I never, ever did this sort of thing. NOT A PERVERT, GANG. Then I ran out of there and forgot that I never washed my hands. And I figured that was the end of it, but one of the ladies walked out of there the same time I was running.

WOMAN: What's your name?

ME: Uh... Drew? (I should have given her a false name, like Jack Dickey)

WOMAN: Did you not wear your glasses today?

ME: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!

And I ran away from her. If I had a time machine, undoing this sequence of events now takes priority over killing Hitler.

Now, your letters:

Randy:

What if, in basketball, the shooter had to take their foul shots where they were fouled? Would teams completely alter their gameplan? Would teams start hacking away immediately after the inbound pass? Would games even be watchable assuming teams just spend half the game mauling each other the second the other team touches it?

You can institute the rule strictly for "in the act of shooting" fouls, and keep regular free throws for all the other fouls. And for those spot shooting fouls, you wouldn't make it a bunch of one-point free throws. You would just let the shooter take a free shot from the spot. So if LeBron gets hacked while dunking, he gets a free dunk worth two points. If he gets hacked from beyond the arc, he gets a free, uncontested three-pointer from that spot.

I'm sure there are a million reasons why this rule wouldn't work. But it SEEMS cool. Free throws tend to be a drag on basketball games. At the end of the game, when little Timmy has to make both shots for Scrappy Boy U to upset the three-seed, free throws are riveting. But otherwise, they're mostly boring as shit. They're always taken from the same spot, and your team's shithead power forward NEVER makes them when you really need him to. It seems unfair that if your guy gets hacked on a layup, he has to go shoot two shots from much farther away. Giving him a free layup on a foul would probably result in less hacking and smoother gameplay. Those games where there's a foul called every five seconds are the fucking worst. Unless you're Dwyane Wade, in which case that means the refs were ordered to let you win tonight.

Patrick:

When does fame run out? Is Fran Tarkenton still famous?

I think he is. Millions of people know who he is, which is a pretty solid case for fame. Obviously, his fame is regional. If Fran Tarkenton walks into a restaurant in Mankato, people turn their heads. If he does the same thing in Copenhagen, people just keep on eating their lingonberry and twig pizzas. But if you're famous somewhere, that's usually enough. That's the amazing thing about being famous. If you've done something that makes you recognizable to a significant portion of the general public, they usually remember you FOREVER, often fondly (One exception: Ryan Reynolds, who is clearly NAWT A MOVIE STAHHHH).

Once I recognize someone as famous, they stick. Thirty years from now, I'm not gonna be like, "Justin Bieber? I don't remember anyone by that name." I'm gonna be like, "BIEBER! He's the kid who sang all those songs and then developed a nasty meth addiction and eventually hired a crew of thugs to hold the Grammys hostage!" Fame has extraordinary staying power. You and I remember famous athletes long after they've finished their careers. If you saw Herschel Walker at the airport, you'd still flip out and be like, "Holy shit! It's Herschel Walker! And his other personality, Madam Bixby!" Even when that person slips out of your mind for years and years, you still remember them instantly with a little bit of prodding.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com.

This is why so many people want to be famous. Last week, we sorted out that Hall & Oates, who haven't had a hit in decades, still probably pull down hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars every year simply because of the staying power of both their fame and their music. For a lot of notable people, being famous essentially means you are your own resume. You can spend the rest of your life making money in some shape or form merely by being you. That's a rather valuable asset, and that's why Lindsay Lohan can still usually find a Saudi prince who will pay her $50,000 for a blowjob.

Robert:

Are there any instructions in a recipe that make the whole thing not worth it? For me, it's anything involving a double boiler. I love chocolate crinkle cookies, but you expect me to lug out the double boiler and risk scalding the chocolate or not tempering it properly? Fuck that. Folding and sifting are up there, too.

I'm the sort of person who fails to read the recipe in full before I start cooking because I'm impatient and I just want to start cooking my braised beef cheeks NOW NOW NOW. And it's usually halfway through the cooking process when I stumble onto a direction that says "Let marinate overnight, or for at least 16 hours." GAHHHHHHHHH! I don't have time for that shit. Looks like we're gonna have to just boil this turkey instead.

Anyway, I agree with Robert that double boilers can go to hell. You want me to wash TWO pots? Fuck you. That isn't happening. Some other dead-on-arrival recipe instructions:

Straining. Nope. Not doing it. Anything requiring a cheesecloth is out. This sauce will have bits of pork hoof in it and I don't want to hear anyone complain about it.
Use of a candy thermometer. This is not a laboratory. Just tell me how brown the caramel needs to be.
"Clarify the butter." No. What do you have against butter foam? That buttery santorum is just as viable as the clear shit.
"Using a piping bag..." Nope. No piping bag. I spread that shit on with a dirty cake knife and that's all the effort I'm willing to put in.
"Using your Kitchenaid mixer paddle attachment..." Fuck you. I don't own that. Most of these cookbooks are written for Greenwich housewives who have a 5,000-sq. ft. kitchen and every conceivable tool that can be purchased from the Williams Sonoma catalog. There's barely room on my kitchen counter for a toaster. I can't buy some $500 cake brewing device.
Deep frying. I love deep fried food as much as you do, but I'll be goddamned if I do it at home. You get a thousand grease burns on your arms and by the time your chicken is fried, the whole kitchen is coated in a layer of peanut oil.
There are also ingredients that stop me up, too. Any recipe that includes an item that clearly cannot be purchased at a normal grocery store may as well have a big red label across it that says RECIPE PRINTED JUST FOR SHOW. I was in the bookstore yesterday and there was a cookbook from Richard Blais, the guy who won "Top Chef" a while back. And pretty much every recipe included shit like liquid nitrogen, ras el hanout (isn't that a Batman villain?), and a gallon of verjus. No one's making those recipes. Ever. Even though I know that hunting out different ingredients is what helps make dishes taste new and exciting, I don't give a shit. If the ingredient list includes Haitian jackfruit, you can go to hell.

Matt:

What would happen to society if it just never stopped raining? Don't think about environmental or farming consequences (for some reason, they've got those problems figured out... say it's 100 years in the future and everyone has adapted to constant rain). Quality of life indoors would largely stay as it is now, but it would never not be raining outside.

I smell a failed NBC pilot. Let me get right to penning an awful script for it. I'll have people start using samurai swords for no reason at all.

If we're just dealing with the psychological consequences of endless rain, I don't think humanity would be fundamentally altered in any drastic way. I mean, Seattle is cloudy for an average of 226 days a year and those people seem to be doing okay (I often fantasize about moving to Seattle even though I know absolutely no one there).

There would be a lot more depressed people, of course. People would stay inside a lot and wear sweaters and listen to sad Bon Iver albums just like I do every Tuesday. The people at BIG UMBRELLA would rake in massive profits. Trench coats would be back in vogue, making it difficult to suss out exhibitionists from regular people. Tanning salons would spring up every other block. We'd all have to take vitamin D supplements. The tourism industry in various island nations would plummet to virtually nothing and Jamaica would be consumed in an all-out civil war.

Eventually, we would have to adapt our modern environment to deal with the constant wetness: more skyways, more indoor parks, more artificial beaches and ski slopes, etc. It would be like living in one of those weird places in Japan or the United Arab Emirates where they have indoor golf courses. Personally, I would re-enact the first sex scene from Match Point on a daily basis.

If you allow for environmental consequences to endless rain, you're obviously talking about a global apocalypse: massive floods, destroyed crops, landslides that kill millions. Soon entire continents would be swallowed whole and you would have to fight to survive against Dennis Hopper tooting around on a jet ski wearing an eyepatch. FUN!

Ryan:

So my roommate has a dog. I get home about an hour or two before him each day and the dog has been in the house for 8-9 hours. The dog obviously needs to go out and shit when I get home, but the last thing I want to do is take it out and clean up its shit with a plastic bag. It's hard for me to just look at the dog and ignore it. Do I have to suck it up EVERY DAY?

I think you should get a discount on rent from him for it. It's his stupid dog and you're basically performing a dog-walking service for him for free every day. I don't see why you couldn't say, "Hey, I take your dog out to shit every day. Give me 30 dollars." Then again, your roommate is probably some crazy dog person who will stab you to death merely for broaching the subject. HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE MY DOG STAB STAB STAB!!! Crazy dog people are hard to deal with.

HALFTIME!

Ben:

Which sport would it be most fun to play invisible 6th (or 10th or 12th) man? You have no other powers.

It's hard to figure out a fun way of messing with a baseball game. Football's too dangerous. Basketball is promising. But I think boxing is the dark horse here—peppering [most hated boxer] with kidney shots from a safe distance is probably more satisfying than causing Kobe to dribble off his foot.

So your role here is to essentially be a saboteur, yes? Oh man, what I would give for an invisible mole on the Vikings roster. SUCH POWER.

Anyway, being the invisible monkey wrench would be fun in virtually any sport because you could convince people that there's a poltergeist in the stadium and scare them half to death. But if I could pick only one sport, it's gonna be golf. You could just hang out on the 18th green for the entire tournament and divert putt after putt after putt. You could pick up one of Phil Mickelson's fantastic chip shots and throw it in a fucking river. Then you could watch Jim Nantz cry. Who's gonna turn down a chance to prank a bunch of dipshit golfers? No one, that's who.

As for football... Even though it would be terrifying (especially if I'm invisible but padless), I would stand 10 yards behind the opposing QB and then kick him in the ankles on every passing down. Then I'd sprint back toward the end zone. It would be way cool.

Andrew:

My co-worker asked me if I believed I could take legendary golf Jack Nicklaus in a fight with both hands tied behind my back.

I'm 5'9", 175 pounds and have barely any fighting experience besides the occasional recess basketball brawl in grade school. But the golden bear is 72 years old...I think take him down by keeping a low center of gravity and using forceful headbutts.

My question is, do you think you would take him? And what's your strategy?

Wouldn't you save your head butts for a kill shot at the end? Either way, you and I probably aren't beating the old man in a death match that way. Despite his advanced age, Jack Nicklaus is said to be in decent health. Plus he has Grandpa Strength, which means that he has the power to juggle six five-year-olds simultaneously. You'd do your best to kick him and head butt him, but he'd probably be able to push you to the ground and get on top of you. And once that happens, it's over. You're utterly defenseless. The Bear can make you his whore. Jim Nantz would sprint into the room to remark upon how classy of an ass-beating it was.

Grandpa Strength means that you can do things like beat up young whippersnappers and solder together car parts. You just need 18 hours of sleep after doing so. They can do the short-inning work. They can't pitch a complete game.

Nick:

I hope the cover is machine washable...

So that's a chair? Everything about that is confusing.

Jesse:

When they deem football too violent in the future, which animals would you like to see take over and play the game? Consider that animals with no thumbs could carry the ball in their mouth.

It has to be gorillas. That's as close to human football as you're gonna get. Also, you could get rid of all the namby-pamby head injury rules and go back to old school monkey football. Who's gonna be against that, apart from the world's two billion animal lovers? NO ONE.

Of course, in the future, it won't be animals replacing players. It'll be robots. That's right... CYBERBALL...

I'll take coach Sky Rogers any day. His powerful air attack will wear you down!

Mike:

Samuel L. Jackson is the only person I can think of where you MUST say his middle initial every time you say his name. Besides saying his full name, the only acceptable variant is Samuel L. Sam Jackson sounds like a president you learned about in elementary school and promptly forgot about. Is there anyone else you have to refer to in this manner?

Michael J. Fox immediately springs to mind. And John L. Smith. We wouldn't want John L. Smith confused with all the OTHER John Smiths who ran themselves out of the college coaching profession by allegedly committing fraud! A lot of actors have to include their middle initial as a way of differentiating themselves from other actors (George C. Scott, for instance), and then that little resume quirk becomes part of a lasting brand, even though it likely has nothing to do with how friends and colleagues address them. There's no way Michael J. Fox's family addresses him as "Michael J." That would be disturbing.

Also, presidents milk the middle initial for all its worth: John F. Kennedy, George W. Bush, LBJ, FDR, etc. The middle initial also seems to be a male phenomenon. Except for that Vivica A. Fox lady. I don't know what makes her think she's so goddamn important.

Ricky:

At what age does it stop being acceptable to steal glasses from bars? Because at age 26, I just stole 6 glasses tonight.

I still have all the pint glasses I stole from bars when I was in my 20s. I even kept one that was just a promotional tchotchke for Fox Sports Net's now-defunct National Sports Report. The headline on the glass says, "Better highlights than that chick across the bar." OH, FOX SPORTS! You slay me.

Anyway, you're free to steal those things all through your 20s until you get a serious girlfriend and she gives you a disapproving look the next time you pilfer a Duvel glass from some upscale mussel restaurant. And then you get married and she makes you get rid of all the glasses and all the bar towels you stole from your semester abroad in Europe because they don't fit with the spring theme she has planned for your future dining room. And THEN she makes you get rid of the beer mirrors you stole from your old job waiting tables. NOT THE PETE'S WICKED ALE MIRROR! You worked all night to get that into the trunk of your Oldsmobile! Now you have to drink beer out of a generic Crate & Barrel tumbler? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED, MAN?! When was your spark of life so cruelly extinguished?

We're talking about Ricky here, of course. Not me. Totally not me! I still have my FOX glass. My precious, precious FOX glass. Its cheap sexist humor shall sustain me always. Anyway, steal all the glasses you can, my friend. Especially those fancy craft brew ones with the gold rims.

(NOTE: Stealing beer glasses in a foreign country is a million times more fun. I still have a liter stein I stole from some beer hall in Munich. Drinking three beers out of it simultaneously is more fun than the law allows. TAKE THAT, FUHRER!)

Justin:

Do you think at any point in the past we've narrowly dodged a nuclear attack (anywhere in the world, between any two countries) by there being an actual hand-to-hand fight to deactivate the countdown? JFK and Khrushchev came damn close, but that was all averted through negotiations and deals and such... I just wonder if there's ever been a physical confrontation in order to stop a nuclear strike. BONUS POINTS if the nuke is shut down as it's already flying through the air, heading toward its target.

"Source programmable guidance!"

Anyway, this article from Mental Floss details seven different close calls we've had with all-out nuclear warfare. Virtually all of them can be traced back to communication failures and/or faulty computer equipment. None of them were averted simply because a heroic Navy SEAL fought off 60 Panamanian commandoes and cut the blue wire in time. Kinda bullshit, if you ask me. Also, I find it disquieting that nuclear war could break out at any moment just because a Commodore 64 at NORAD had a faulty graphics card. I have zero faith that our digital infrastructure is up to date.

In general, we bomb the shit out of a lot of other nations and fight in any number of covert wars specifically so that we NEVER get to the point where a nuclear bomb will go off if Channing Tatum doesn't stop the bad guy in time. If that kind of scenario were realistic, then nuclear bombs would probably go off every other day. EXCITING!

Joe:

Why haven't you talked about BIG SPICE? I was at the grocery store today and they wanted $15 for a 2-ounce bottle of cardamom. Are they serious?

Whoa hey, Columbus didn't commission three ships, lose 450 good sailors, and slaughter an entire race of human beings for free. If you want those exotic spices that keep the world economy afloat, you gotta pony up.

By the way, I have to think that 90 percent of the spices you buy are simply created in a lab over at Lowry's corporate headquarters. If they really did pay a Madagascan village boy to climb a 90-foot tree to personally harvest vanilla beans, your tiny bottle of vanilla extract would probably cost $80,000.

Browie:

What are the chances you've seen a porno in which the woman actually gets pregnant?

Yeah well, she ain't STAYING pregnant. I'll tell you that. I bet the entire porn industry has ONE doctor that it relies on to address such matters.

Anyway, given that most porn is shot bareback (even with the new laws in place in L.A. demanding performers use rubbers), and given that most porn stars are mentally unstable people who probably have substance abuse issues, it's more than likely that Rita Faltoyano occasionally forgot to take her birth control and was blessed with Rocco Siffredi's love child. I say you've witnessed the conception of a fetus at least one time.

Jon:

Does Obama have to tip people? Does he have to tip the Secret Service members who protect him?

He should buy them watches, the way a QB buys fancy watches for his O-line. He could engrave each one! "Thanks for keeping the POTUS's suit clean, amigo. -Barry"

My guess is that a staffer takes care of all thank-you notes and year-end bonuses/tips for underlings on the President's behalf. And I bet that staffer skims 20 percent off the bonus money and then stiffs the White House garbage men.

Email of the week time!

Joe:

Have you waken (woke, woken?) yourself up laughing really hard at a dream you're having? The last time that happened to me I was dreaming about being in a sauna with a turd man. He was sitting there with a towel around himself, as is the dress code, and another towel around his shoulders. He had his poop elbows on his poop knees and he looks up at me, wipes sweat off his forehead (he had that kinda soft-serve ice cream swirly head top) and says, "Man, it's hot in here." The look in his eyes killed me. He reminded me of Gordon Gecko. Woke up pretty close to pissing myself in laughter. Goddamn, that was a great dream.

I think we all wish we could have had a dream about Turd Man, my friend.

Pete:

Imagine if someone you knew to be trustworthy offered you an opportunity to retire 10 years from today, and he would pay you a pension of $100,000 per year for the rest of your life. The catch? For the next 10 years, every time you are in front of a computer or tablet device, you have to type with one hand. You can under no circumstances type using both hands, or the deal is off. Do you do it?

So I have to spend 10 years typing with just the one hand, and then I get the pension, yes? It's awfully hard to turn that down. If you've ever typed out an email on your phone, you know that it sucks 80 times worse than typing on a plain old keyboard (then again, maybe I'm just an old fogy who will one day fetishize computer keyboards the way insufferable writer types now cherish Smith Corona). But you also know that you can get into a groove with your thumb on a good day, and that autocorrect may soon be so good that you merely have to think the word for the thing to show up on your screen. Surely, that's worth a lifetime of financial security. I'm getting better at texting while peeing. I suck at peeing now. There's urine all over the place. But the texting part I'm OK at!

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com.

I'm typing this answer with one hand as we speak, as an experiment, and it's fucking terrible. I've had to go back and re-type half the words. And that's with my right hand. With the left hand, it's even worse. One day, we're all gonna take out insurance on our hands because tapping out messages is so important to us. Whenever I get a minor cut on my fingertip these days, it RUINS me. GAHHHHHH CAN'T TYPE. We live in an age where written communication has overtaken oral communication as the preferred method for human interaction. If someone offered you the choice between being deaf, blind, or mute, you'd take MUTE in a heartbeat. Your life would barely change. In fact, you'd probably be relieved that you had an excuse to text everyone from now on instead of speaking directly to them. Thank god! No more personal interactions! What a fucking pain those are!

It could be that your hands are now more valuable to you than your mouth. Think about it. Would you rather have a pair of hands and be able to write and masturbate and make shadow puppets, or would you rather keep your mouth and be able to talk and eat solid food? Sure, bacon is always good. But no more texting. No more Temple Run. And you have to hump the mattress every night, which gets tiring. I think I'd keep the hands, man.

Now, down into the comment section for the your live funbagginess. This week's live Funbag comes to you from sunny Miami, Florida. I've been in Florida for fourteen hours now and have yet to see a man eating another man's face. NOT BAD, FLORIDA! Off we go...

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering weekends, power boners, and more.

I spent spring break at my sister's house last week and one night when I was there I was on the couch, watching the tourney and picking at my feet. I tore off this flap of skin that had really bugged me all day, and when I tore it off, BLOOD EVERYWHERE. My big toe was hemorrhaging plasma. I ran on my heels to get a paper towel to soak it all up, and then my sister came downstairs and looked at me tending to my toe, which now appeared to have been amputated, and she's like MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FOOT?!

I'll have you know there's no good answer to this question. I started bleeding like a grenade victim all because I was picking at my feet in a home that was not my own, which makes me a fucking awful person. I said to her, "Oh, I just started playing with my feet and it got to bleeding," which sounded fucking retarded. I could actually SEE how dumb I sounded. I'm shocked my sister didn't boot me from the house immediately. I would have. So don't go picking your feet in a stranger's home.

Now, your letters:

Nick:

I am sure we have all played the children's game in which two participants throw a ball back and forth with the intent of ensuring the third participant, located between the other two players, does not intercept the pass. I grew up in Canada; Ontario more specifically, and we called this game "monkey in the middle". But speaking with friends in all 10 provinces I have been able to uncover that British Colombia and Alberta call this game "piggy in the middle" and from Saskatchewan eastwards it is called "monkey in the middle". Casting aside that "piggy in the middle" makes no fucking sense as a pig would have absolutely no chance on intercepting the ball, I am curious to test my findings with a larger audience. Does this geographical divide continue through to the US?

I have never heard anyone here call it "Piggy in the Middle," although that would add to the stigma of being the poor asshole stuck in the middle trying to catch the ball. That game has ruined more children's self-confidence than every game of dodgeball ever played. It's the diametric opposite of Smear the Queer, an '80s-era game in which a fat kid could at least have a few moments of pleasure taking part in a homophobic mob. Because when you're a fat kid playing Monkey in the Middle, you are ALWAYS the monkey in the middle. In perpetuity. I don't think I ever got out of the middle once. It was horrible. Even when I caught the ball, the other kids would be like, "Yeah you caught the ball. But you're still the monkey, you fat fuck. HAHAHA!" Hate that game.

I played Monkey in the Middle over spring break with my kid and my nephew and, for their sake, I stayed in the middle most of the time. I pretended to be all mad that they wouldn't give me the ball. And oh, how they laughed. How they delighted in the idea of torturing me so. THE LITTLE BASTARDS. If they only knew that I could bring the fucking thunder down on them at any moment! Once in a while, I stopped pretending and caught the fuck out of that ball. DAD ISN'T PLAYING GAMES ANYMORE, PEOPLE.

Josh:

So I live in a pretty rural area. This morning on my way to work I saw a lady jogging all alone out along an orange grove, and I thought to myself "I could totally kill this person and get away with it." Now, obviously I never would, because I am a good person. But I could. This led me to wonder. How many active serial killers do you suppose there are in these United States? Not like the movie kind where they leave their "calling card", or fit some textbook profile. Just people who take advantage of opportunities like these, a jogger here, a truck stop hooker there. I bet there are at least 15 or 20, wouldn't you think?

According to this article, the estimate is actually higher, between 35 and 50, possibly more. THE BROWN RIVER KILLER STRIKES AGAIN! There are over 6,000 unsolved murders in the United States every year, and over 180,000 unsolved murders in the country since 1980. Who's to say they aren't the handiwork of, like, four guys? And who's to say one of those guys isn't Jay Bilas?

So yes, there could potentially be a serial killer hanging out in your neighborhood. I always worry that someone I meet who seems outwardly pleasant actually has a kidnapped 17-year-old strapped to a surgical table in his basement. If you wear glasses, my suspicion of you increases by 60 percent or more. Add thinning hair and a short-sleeved button-down and now I'm pretty much ready to alert local authorities.

That said, I'm always amazed at how LITTLE killing occurs in modern-day America. Like Josh, I have the occasional rogue thought. I'll see some guy on an escalator and think to myself, "What if I pushed that guy down the escalator and he ends up smashing his jaw on the razor-sharp edges and dies? That would be really fucked up." I would NEVER do this in a million years, of course. But I always wonder about the mechanism in my brain that holds me, and millions of other people, back. Sometimes it feels as if there's a very thin barrier separating civility from barbarism. And I don't know what causes that barrier to rupture, or what little miracle allows it to exist in the first place.

There's a book out that says one in 25 Americans are sociopaths: people with no conscience. No remorse. People who do things strictly for their own pleasure and are incapable of caring about other people. People who could, conceivably, run into an orange grove and murder a jogger without giving it much thought. Obviously, this is a terrifying idea. I may bitch about other people all the time. But in general, people are relatively decent. We all tend to follow the rules and avoid killing each other. The idea that there are people out there who happily subvert this kind of shared trust between all of us scares the shit out of me. Read Helter Skelter and you'll essentially become a different person. An unhappy one.

The only solace I take is that we live in a society where, in general, it's NEVER in your self-interest to murder someone. That wasn't always the case. Back in the Old West, killin' folk got you lots of free cattle and made you look real badass. Being a murderer, shockingly, hasn't always carried a social stigma. But now, committing murder is so wildly detrimental to your pursuit of happiness that even a sociopath—someone with no conscience—sees the lack of upside in committing it. There's jail. There's the legal fee. There's cutting up the body and disposing of it. There's your mother-in-law bitching you out for killing her daughter. It's a real pain in the ass. It's not worth the hassle.

Brian:

What would somebody have to accomplish in order to get their own national holiday? Perhaps cure cancer? Or maybe save the world from an asteroid like Bruce Willis in Armageddon?

I think Obama will eventually get his. I know there are people who hate him, but decades from now, after he's passed away, I have to think that he'll get a memorial and a maybe a holiday to go with it (except in Arizona, where the amendment for Obama Day will be soundly defeated). I can't imagine a more obvious future candidate.

But if Obama doesn't make it then I doubt anyone will, because, as it stands now, the holiday calendar is pretty much full. Martin Luther King slipped in under the wire. The people at BIG WORK don't take too kindly to having another day of productivity wiped away from the American calendar. You could become the first black president AND cure cancer AND make first contact with aliens AND release the first Kate Middleton/Kate Beckinsale sex tape, and corporate interests would still lobby against the addition of a new federal holiday. "Why, we can't sacrifice yet another Monday to our employees here are GlaxoSmithKlineBeechumKool!"

And you know what? As a parent, I'm fine with that. I don't need these kids to have yet another goddamn day off from school. They get days off for everything: holidays, elections, teacher conferences (where the teachers all get shitfaced and play Boggle on school grounds!). Sometimes my kid will get a random Tuesday off in the middle of April and I'm like, "Why are you home? This is lunacy." Enough with the days off and the ENDLESS excuses to eat a bucket full of fucking candy. I want FEWER holidays. I want Labor Day stricken from the record. How much goddamn summer do these kids need?

Bob:

With all the help needed for blood donations these days, the Red Cross has not yet taken advantage of an untapped resource. That's right, I'm suggesting we have a Period Blood Drive. I feel like this would be a pretty simple process for the ladies. Swing by your local donation center, wring out your tampon or pad into a Tupperware container, send it through a filter (to filter out all that weird non-blood stuff in there), and it's good to go.

I KNOW! SO SIMPLE! All you need is a KitchenAid standalone Afterbirth Processor and you're larfin'! BLOOD FOR ALL.

Obviously, any number of women will happily refute Bob's idea down below in the bowels of Kinja. You can't "wring" out a maxipad. The pad is designed to hold the blood in. And one of the unfortunate characteristics of blood is that it dries quickly (unfortunate from an aesthetic standpoint only, of course), which means you only get a few moments to marvel at how red that shit is before it turns to rusty cottage cheese. I'd like to spend a lot more quality time with my blood before this happens, but nature doesn't allow it. I bet that's one of the real letdowns of being a serial killer.

Besides, the blood would have to be sterile, and blood that has been sitting inside a tampon for eight hours doesn't exactly qualify. To collect period blood for donation (and who even knows if it's suitable blood for transfusions anyway), you would have install some kind of vaginal tap and collect the blood, like the woman is a goddamn maple tree. They would be not amenable to this. Except for your sister. I hear she's down with it.

James:

Have you noticed Lebron's neck stubble? Is it possible that he could grow a 360-degree beard?

So a turtleneck made of hair, essentially? That would be terrifying. All the goodwill he's built up over the past few months would be erased if he were to show up rocking a hair collar. I bet it could be done, though.

Michael:

I had a very disturbing experience this morning. I went into the office bathroom, which is shared between other companies on the same floor. The bathroom smelled like really really good breakfast tacos. Aither A) Some guy brought in breakfast tacos for his office and stopped by the bathroom beforehand. Or B) There were never tacos in the bathroom to begin with, and my sense of smell is changing and I actually think poop smells like breakfast tacos...

Great. Now I want breakfast tacos. Every breakfast item is improved a thousand times over the second it's tucked inside a warm tortilla.

Anyway, poop comes in variety of different shapes, colors, textures, and smells. There's really no rhyme or reason as to how it's gonna come out of you. There are, in my experience, three distinct "food odors" that happen with poop:

1. Eggs

2. Chicken soup

3. Chinese food

None of these odors will arise as a result of you eating one of the above items. Eating eggs will not make your shit smell like eggs. You'll eat 50 pounds of spare ribs and for some reason your shit will end up smelling like lo mein. I have no idea why. The chemistry is beyond me. And when the smell first hits, my reaction is always the same. First I think: "Hey, that smells kind of good." And then the sensible portion of my brain says: "POOP! IT'S FUCKING POOP YOU IDIOT! EWWWW GROSS!" But right before that common sense kicks in, I do wonder: Does it TASTE like that? It can't, right? There's never been instance in human history in which someone defecated something delicious. I refuse to believe that's ever happened.

So, given that eggs are on the odor list, I think it's more than likely that the breakfast tacos you smelled were a terrifying mirage. It's better that way, frankly. Can you imagine a worse food item to eat while shitting than a taco? I mean, that takes boldness.

HALFTIME!

Eddie B.:

I tried to have a sneaky fap session in the shower the other day using only my imagination (ambitious, I know) but had to give up after 15 minutes of slapping my flaccid dong. I couldn't muster up any visuals. My spank bank has run dry! I'm 38, married, 3 kids and I can't jack it without Internet porn. Pathetic or pretty common these days?

I think anti-porn advocates cite examples like this to rail against porn's existence. They will tell you that porn not only is immoral, but that it will drain you of your EROTIC IMAGINATION. And I think there's some truth to that. If you rely on porn almost exclusively to fuel your libido, you're probably not exercising your spank bank enough to keep it in fighting shape. You may even end up having trouble having REAL sex with people, which is alarming. At the end of Carnal Knowledge, Jack Nicholson can't get off unless a hooker is blowing him. He can't have sex with normal people or else he'll go limp (Note: I assume the real Jack Nicholson is also this way). I think that's a danger for ALL men. Guys like to treat porn as a kind of harmless hobby without acknowledging the real havoc it can wreak on your psyche. I have two sons and I have deep, terrible fears about what watching shitloads of Internet porn by age 12 will do to them. Because they'll see it. All the firewalls on Earth won't stop a horny young boy.

So heed the warnings of the Gentle Path guy. Get out more. Meet new people. Watch strangers walk around in tight outfits. TAKE A TRIP TO RIO. It's good for you, medically speaking. If you don't act now, your mind will atrophy to the point where you won't even know what a penis is for.

JR:

So this is in the alley that I cut through on my way to work. It's a well hidden alley that people rarely use, and there are no visible security cameras in the area. I have no idea what this switch controls, which only strengthens my urge to throw it and then run as fast as possible. I mean, honestly, these things exist outside of movies?

DON'T DO IT! IT CONTROLS THE PENTAGON'S ENTIRE MAINFRAME!

Chris:

Is there anything worse than the packaging that light bulbs come in? When you pick up a 4-pack and walk around the store, those bulbs will always try to slip out and create an embarrassing situation. Once you get them home, though, the packaging turns into something like those Chinese fingercuffs. You can't pry them out of that paper sleeve without the fear of crushing the bulb and tearing your hand to ribbons. Half the time, once I get one out, I've busted the filament during the struggle and the bulb is no good. Big Bulb probably keeps it that way to increase profits.

It gets worse. As part of a shadowy bit of collusion between BIG BULB and BIG GUBMINT, regular lightbulbs are quietly disappearing from store shelves. They're being phased out in favor of compact fluorescent bulbs, which are better for the environment but possess NO OTHER REDEEMING QUALITIES. They're fucking awful. The national suicide rate will jump by 900 percent in the next three years and horrible lighting is the reason why. I had to find normal-ass light bulbs online because the store got rid of all of them. And while normal light bulbs have many terrible attributes—they're fragile, they scare the shit out of me when I turn on a light and one of them pops and suddenly burns out, they get stuck in the socket, and everyone has burned his hand on a light bulb at least 10 times in his life—at least they give your room a warm, pleasant kind of light. Everything else is fucking prison lighting. THESE LIBERAL TREEHUMPERS ARE KILLING THE NATIONAL MOOD.

Adam:

Would you shoot heroin if it was in a controlled environment and administered by a doctor? Let's assume that your wife and kids are out of the house and you're with a couple of your closest friends and a doctor you trust. You know the drugs and needle are clean and at a dosage that won't kill you. It's also stipulated that it's just a one time thing, nothing leftover for a second hit.

Yeah, but you can still become addicted. If there were a guarantee of NO addiction, I'd give it some thought. Otherwise, I'm sticking with every other guy's plan of trying it when I'm 80, just like Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine. I think we ALL have our little daydream about retiring to a quiet little piece of the countryside and getting hooked on smack jussssst before kicking off. But deep in my heart, I know I won't have the balls to do it. I'll be 80 years old with the needle in my hands and I'll chicken out at the last second. What if I shoot up and then I fall on my bad hip? Best to catch up on this NuRay boxed set of Women, starring an aged Lena Dunham!

Erik:

Let’s say your somehow transported to the 1920’s or 30’s, being armed with all the football knowledge you have, how confident are you that you could successfully coach an NFL team? I consider myself a pretty knowledgeable football fan, and think I could fairly easily teach them schemes ran now, and zone blitz myself all the way to the playoffs. Wouldn’t it take years for other teams to stop your zone option read, or your four wide receiver hurry up offense?

Not necessarily. Remember, back in the 1920s and 1930s, defenders could tackle you via chokehold. Facemasks were nonexistent. Field conditions were a wreck. There's no guarantee that you'd be able to beat the Fort Wayne Hopscotchers or whoever with a fancy new scheme because the rules of football back then probably didn't favor its use. In today's NFL, where tackling someone always means you risk a 15-yard penalty, pulling off all kinds of zany offenses (with players who happen to be the finest athletes mankind has ever developed) is, frankly, easier. It's not so easy when Ol' Buck McKnockers is biting your QB's fingers off.

Plus, there's a force of personality you need to become a successful coach. You can have the most brilliant scheme in the world, but players won't give a shit if you arrive from the future wearing skinny jeans and rocking dipshit bangs. They'll stick a block of dry ice up your rectum. There's only one way to get players back then to listen to you. That's right: BASKETBALLS TO THE FUCKING FACE. All day every day, gang!

James:

If the NBA awarded Michael Jordan a "free pass" on PEDs in order to make a return to the game: 1. Would he do it? 2. What would his impact be?

Who's to say he didn't have a free pass to begin with? Remember when everyone made a big deal out of MJ lifting weights right before games because it gave him extra stamina or something? Sounds like a cover for whale sperm injections to me.

Anyway, Jordan is already on the record as saying he's constantly tempted to play basketball again, which makes sense because he's a horrible man who needs an outlet for his sociopathic competitiveness. I don't know that offering him free PEDs would be enough to get him to finally put the uni back on again, but I DO know that if he did, we'd all regret it. He's 50 now. The best PEDs can do for him is probably get him back into Wizards playing shape, and Jordan on the Wizards was fucking awful. I don't even like being reminded of it. Current NBA players—LeBron in particular—are too good. They'd still overshadow him playing mediocre basketball for a shitty Bobcats team. Trust me: You don't want a roided-up Jordan coming back. Whether it's an athlete or a rock band or Star Wars, nothing is ever as good the third or fourth or 50th time around. Always best to be on the lookout for newer shit.

Jack:

If only one superhero were to suddenly appear in our world, which one would cause the biggest shitstorm? My thinking is that it would have to be Thor, because I think the knowledge that the Gods were Norse would be too much for Christians, Muslims, Jews, etc to handle.

Yeah, but Thor is such a douche. He's the Tapout apparel of superheroes. I get where you're coming from, but I'd still argue that someone like Superman or Galactus would cause a bigger fuss. Galactus is a demigod AND he's evil. So not only would he turn religion on its ear, he'd also probably end up killing us all. And he wears a man-skirt, which would surely ruffle the anti-gay marriage lobby.

Email of the week time.

Josh:

I met a FedEx delivery guy who was living out a porn flick. He was a part time model and had been in a few big time shoots, but he couldn't get consistent work and he had a son to support, so his day job was being a FedEx delivery guy. The first question I asked him was whether he banged a bored horny housewife. He told me that he never did, since they are either never home or live in some super rich person complex where you are never allowed to even get near the front door. But he does sleep with a ton of secretaries. The ones he gets with work for some type of shady corporation outpost that is just a tiny setup in an office park where there is just one employee, a woman to answer the phones and accept deliveries. These women are bored as hell and love to fool around with the hot FedEx guy. So your very good looking FedEx guy is CRUSHING pussy. But your average Newman working at the USPS, not so much.

Mitchell:

I was watching the Beyonce documentary and was thinking… Do you think Jay-Z has ever cheated on Beyonce? Or if not, what most high-profile marriage do you think has involved infidelity at some point in time?

Of course he has. For all we know, Beyonce cut a deal with him ages ago and agreed to form the most powerful couple in show business in exchange for Jay being able to discreetly nail anyone he pleases. The amazing thing is that there are STILL people out there who buy into celebrity couples. There were people out there on Tumblr who were like I DON'T BELIEVE IN LOVE ANYMORE! when Amy Poehler and Will Arnett got divorced. You don't know those people. How would you know if they're meant for each other? And why the fuck would you care if they stayed together or not? Just because they're on two shows you like doesn't ensure their love is eternal.

Celebrities are completely fucked up human beings. And the more famous you are, the more fucked up you are. Anyone that believes Jay-Z and Beyonce have some magical relationship that somehow transcends everyday marriages is a fucking moron. How often do those two people see each other? Sixty days a year? Less? Put two unfamous people in a similar situation and see how long the marriage lasts. Every quote from an anonymous source that gushes about Jay-Z and Beyonce is worthless. "They're so real!" "They eat dinner together at home all the time!" "They're totally normal!" All complete shit. Beyonce has herself filmed 18 hours a fucking day. That's not normal at all. If Jay-Z hasn't cheated yet, he will. WOMAN, COULD YOU PLEASE STOP BEING FABULOUS FOR JUST ONE GODDAMN MOMENT? And just wait until you find out that Prince William has been unfaithful to Kate. AT LAST I'LL GET ANOTHER CHANCE AT HER. Wills never appreciated her the way I do.

Okay, time to dive into the Live Funbag below.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering Bond vs. Bourne, Russia, pubic hair, and more.

Your letters:

James:

What is the minimum number of beers you can expect to receive in return for bringing a friend to a game? I get free tickets at work to baseball, NBA and NFL games. If I can’t roundup a client they’re mine to use and I’ll take a family member or friend. I don’t expect anything of family members but when I bring a friend I expect them to buy me at least two beers. Never happens! At most I get one free beer in return for a $425 ticket for the NBA games. Am I wrong to expect a friend to buy me two or three beers in return for bringing him to the game? Should there not be a rule that if a buddy takes you to a sporting event that you buy the beers?

Well now, wait a moment. You didn't actually PAY for the tickets, so now you want all your drinks comped too? Bullshit. If you paid for the tickets yourself and treated your friend, then I could understand wanting at least a couple of free rounds in return. That makes sense, even though no guy I know has ever just GIVEN a ticket to a sporting event to a friend. This is the usual conversation I have with a friend before attending any live sporting event:

HIM: Hey, I can get tickets to (terrible live sporting event of your choice)!

ME: Work will give them to you for free?

HIM: No, I gotta pay for them.

ME: Oh, so we'd split it then.

HIM: Yeah.

(five minutes of torturous silence)

ME: Eh ... fuck that.

HIM: Yeah, let's just watch it on TV.

So you're talking about a situation in which you were the big swinging dick who was able to score the free tickets. Whoop dee damn doo for you. I don't think you should expect your friend to buy you multiple rounds just for that. One round is fine. That's payment enough to you for being Mr. Connected and choosing him to be your Game Buddy. To me, the real payback comes when HE stumbles upon free tickets at HIS job. It shouldn't come in the form of six free beers that night. Beer is expensive at those games, man. No one's gonna tolerate buying EVERY round for a friend, especially when you didn't even pay for the fucking tickets. And if you DID pay for the tickets, well now you've given your friend a gift, right? It's shitty to give a gift and automatically expect to be equally rewarded in return, right? I say one round for a free ticket, a few rounds for a paid ticket, but no ALL YOU CAN DRINK free ride for the host.

Owen:

Buying toilet paper is the worst for a man right? Women always get to include it in one of their thousand grocery cart items but when I need it, it is literally the only thing I am buying so everyone in the store is thinking, "Man that guy has to take a shit RIGHT NOW!"

That's true when you buy any solitary item at a grocery store or drug store. If you buy a small pack of condoms and nothing else, people will KNOW you have a naked woman waiting at your place who may flee if you don't hurry the fuck up and get back there with some protection. And if you're buying just a package of raw sausage, people will know you're a single man who will be grilling and eating that sausage as a standalone dinner. No vegetables. No starch. Just mashed pig testicles for you this evening. If you're buying one thing at a store, it's because you need that one thing right now.

As a functional family man, I now get jealous of one-item shoppers. When I go to the store and see two guys buying nothing more than a 30-pack, I know they're about to have WAY more fun than I am. They look so fucking excited to be buying beer. Oh God, that's such a great feeling when you're young—to buy shitloads of alcohol, knowing you're going to consume it all in one night and end up naked somewhere. It's all the excitement of buying cocaine with none of the sordidness.

Daveski:

I'm an American living and working in Russia. I've been here for a few years. As I've gathered from the opinions of various co-workers who have come for work visits over the years, it seems most Americans have some deep-seated fear of coming here, be it commies, bears in the streets, mafia, radioactive drinking water, 300-lb hairlip women named Olga, etc. My friends & family have yet to visit me here. If you had to do a trip to Russia, what would you be most anxious or unsettled about?

Everything I know about Russia I learned from Eastern Promises, and so I greatly fear Russia. I fear I would be jailed for smiling, because smiling is for the weak. I fear dagger fights. I fear that any female companion I bring with me will be immediately kidnapped by the mafiya and forced into sex slavery and crammed with eighty other hookers into a shipping container headed for Baltimore. I fear Putin having me arrested for not looking long enough at his exposed pecs. I fear boiled cabbage. I fear the climate, because it doesn't seem as if Moscow has ever experienced a sunny day ever. And, of course, I fear DOUBLE AGENTS. So many double agents. FACT: 85 percent of all Russians are double agents. The other 15 percent are triple agents. I fear Russia. I will never go there. I bet YOU are a double agent as well. I DEMAND TO SEE YOUR PAPERS.

Zach:

If the Olympics are willing to add and drop new sports, they should add paintball. And not that bullshit paintball with inflatable obstacles. I want paintball in the middle of some woods. Can you imagine watching a SEAL team going up against a bunch of Chinese Special Operatives? No other sport has the implication of, "If we were to do this for real, you would be dead right now," or the ability to build ill will that paintball does. Of course, no other sport has to potential to reveal important military tactics, but I'm willing to disregard that because it would make for great television.

Well, that just the thing: Would it? Would you sit down and watch dudes running around the woods playing paintball? If so, why hasn't paintball become a more popular televised sport by now? Like you, I yearn for some awesome new sport to arrive that gives me yet another reason to watch TV and not do anything. On the surface, paintball on TV would seem to make sense. It has guns. It has strategy. You can limit it to a playing field. You can keep a clear score. It sounds like something I "would" watch.

And yet ... I bet I wouldn't give a shit if it were made an Olympic sport. It would be like watching someone else play Call of Duty, only duller. There's an intangible quality to superior televised sports that's hard to pin down. It's a mixture of quality play, interesting personalities, fascinating tactics, and all this other shit balanced in seemingly perfect proportion. When you watch something like SlamBall and the announcers go to great lengths to make it SEEM like you're watching a real sport, it comes off as painfully contrived. That would happen with paintball in the Olympics. Tom Hammond would sit there with some "paintball veteran" and after five minutes you'd be like, "Fuck this redneck shit." One day, there will be a new sport that comes along and actually fits in to the landscape. But it feels like it'll happen a long, long time from now.

/deletes angry comments from MMA fanboys

Kyle:

What conspiracy theory would cause the greatest shit storm if it turned out to be true? For example, the CIA took out Kennedy, or Aliens really did create humans, or 9/11 was an attack orchestrated by the government? Which one of those would cause the greatest amount of just pure, anarchist backlash? And what would happen? Would there be conspiracy theorists partying in the streets? Would the government collapse? Would people just talk shit on Twitter then forget about it a week later?

The beauty of all conspiracies is that, if you embed the lie deep enough into the culture, people will happily disregard open proof in order to cling to their beliefs. If 60 Minutes ran a piece that presented incontrovertible evidence that the CIA murdered JFK, I promise you that it would be shouted down by millions of people. "What's that? You have ballistic evidence from the grassy knoll? MEH. Come back when you have real proof, Steve Kroft!" But if you were to somehow overcome that built-in collective denial and get people to accept the "truth," well then you could cause yourself an awful lot of agitation. Finding out that the cosmogony of Scientology is correct would REALLY fuck me up, especially given that it makes absolutely no sense.

You might think that 9/11 being an inside job would be the catalyst of a second American Revolution. HOWEVER, you would be underestimating the depths of American apathy. We just experienced an economic collapse that left millions jobless and nearly wiped out all of our savings. And the people behind it—people who committed blatant fraud—were gifted billions by the GUBMINT and allowed to go on their merry way. Did you storm the Capitol steps over this? No. I know I didn't. What if a cop shot rubber bullets at me? That would hurt! I'm not dealing with that. I would rather just play Angry Birds and pretend it never happened, thank you very much.

No, no, if you want a conspiracy that really blows the world apart, you're gonna have to go to the Middle East. If they unearthed evidence that Elijah the Prophet murdered Mohammad the Prophet or something like that, you could just kiss your ass goodbye right now, because we're all gonna die. People in the Middle East kill each other over DRAWINGS. So that kind of historical napalm would be enough to end us all. Honestly, we're all gonna get killed one day because of SOMETHING that happens over there. Fuckers. May as well be something fun. JFK's murder at the hands of LBJ himself (?? !!) wouldn't stand a chance.

Bobby:

Which female student body has more pubic hair: Notre Dame or all 14 SEC schools combined?

That is awful. Notre Dame.

Adam:

How large would you have to be to fight any land animal in hand-to-claw/paw/tusk fighting? I say for a fight with a full grown tiger, I would need to be at least 45 feet tall. Your strength and speed grow along with you, but stay proportional to what they are at your current size.

Obviously, it depends on the animal. If we're talking about a fully grown adult male elephant, you're probably gonna want to shoot up to a hundred feet tall, just to be safe. I want to be whatever height makes the animal relatively bug-sized. Does that make sense? I would like to step on the tiger to kill it and then go about my business, juggling trolley cars and plucking cute women out of skyscraper windows. Anything smaller than that is just too risky, because I'm a pussy. I need the animal to be bug-sized.

As always, this kind of question makes me very glad that bugs are NOT man-sized. Every night, I go to sleep fearing that a man-sized bug will appear somewhere on the planet and begin breeding. What's stopping nature from giving it a shot? There could be man-sized bug eggs out there RIGHT NOW, ready to hatch in your backyard. They may crawl up the side of your house and come through your window and awaken you with their terrifying hisses. And no shoe will be enough to defeat them. I demand the government do more in the area of man-sized bug prevention. I'll pay whatever taxes are needed.

HALFTIME!

Mike:

Imagine some team spends a bunch of time practicing laterals. They draw up plays with planned lateral options, they get personnel who'd be especially good at throwing and catching laterals or something, and they practice practice practice like nuts. All in secret. Then in game one of the season, they bust out the secret lateral plan all over the place. Do they totally win that first game or does it go horribly wrong immediately? If it works, do they keep winning or do other teams figure out how to stop it? If they keep winning, how long until every crappy team in the NFL starts doing it horribly? Which coach/team is mostly likely to try this and how do we make it happen ASAP?

Well, let's just start off by acknowledging what we all know to be true: Laterals are AWESOME. They have always been awesome, and they will never stop being awesome. Every time one player laterals to another (Ed Reed!), I just about lose my shit. OH MY GOD! HE'S LATERALING! THAT'S CRAZY! It is the Frank's Red Hot sauce of football: It makes everything better. And when a lateral fails, you get to yell at the screen and pretend you're the smartest person in the world. WHY DID YOU LATERAL?! YOU IDIOT! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! I love failed laterals. I love spontaneous laterals. I love planned laterals. I love shitty passes to the flat that turn out to be laterals, and then everyone wanders around for a second before ONE GUY realizes it's a live ball and scoops it up. I'm in favor of anything that causes more laterals in football.

I played rugby for about three minutes in college, and I constantly daydreamed about being a head football coach who decides to implement rugby-style pitchout chains to the NFL. Imagine Colin Kaeprenick lateraling to a running back who then laterals to a tight end who THEN laterals to a wideout! Sure, you'd run out of field by the second guy. But still ... SO MANY LATERALS. Surely, it would work for one game against an awful team, as both Mike and I hope. That would be about the extent of it. One bad pitch and suddenly the Pearl Necklace Offense would be shouted down by the masses and left to history. I bet Tim Tebow pitched this offense to the Jets coaching staff every week last year.

Gary:

Why don’t they just do away with all sanctions and drug testing for the Tour De France? Imagine if Lance and Floyd Landis and the rest could just juice themselves stupid! You could get drug cheats from other sports to take part—imagine ARod stopping on some lonely French countryside road to have Cameron Diaz feed him popcorn, or Clemens could throw his handlebars at Piazza, or Bonds could ride a specially scientifically-designed bike that would compensate for his steroid-enhanced oversize head? Manny could ride probably until his third trimester.

I concur. There's no point in paying attention to the Tour de France anymore because you know that the results will be invalidated within a day of its conclusion. It's not a bike race anymore. It's just a competition to see who can successfully mask his drug test results the longest.

And drugs are the only reason any of us paid attention to it to begin with. Without drugs, Lance doesn't win those seven titles and I don't get to pretend like I know anything about cycling by saying to cocktail party guests, "The race doesn't REALLY start until they get to the Alps." You may as well flood the sport with drugs so that it's interesting again, and so that I don't have to worry about the results being called into question. It will never be a clean race again. Ever. Making people bikes thousands of miles up the side of a goddamn mountain is basically telling them TAKE DRUGS TO MAKE THIS EASIER. Either let the drug cheats in or do away with the thing entirely.

Drew:

Let’s talk about BIG PAPER PLATE. They sell you the 100-pack and lull you into thinking you have enough paper plates to last for months. Then, in a move of genius, they stick every other plate together thinking you’ll just roll with the double plate because you have 98 more of them, and the microwave is beeping and your Hot Pocket is ready NOW. Before you know it, you’re buying another pack. Oh yeah, Big Paper Plate…I’m hip to the game. I will no longer be a victim.

I double up on the paper plate so often that I feel naked using only just one. Does this single paper plate have enough structural integrity to support the 57 spare ribs and gallon of hoisin sauce I'm about to dump onto it? Best to double it up jussssst in case. Same with Dixie Cups. I start off with just one, but then I grab another drink and can't find a place to discard my empty first cup. So I double up. Next thing you know, I'm walking around drinking juice out of six Dixie Cups stacked together. Ain't SHIT dribblin' out on me, people!

I relish any chance to use paper plates and cups. Here at home, we use regular plates and flatware because WE FANCY FOLK. Oh, to cast off the shackles of reusable plates and indulge for a moment in plates that I can treat like absolute shit ... it's the best. Those fancy Chinet paper plates, the ones thick enough to be used as makeshift frisbees? Those are the shit.

Justin:

Would you dig up a relative (someone you knew) and stare at their body for 30 seconds for $100k? Conditions are: You are alone at night, 2 hours of earnest digging required, no consequences. At this point the only few women I have been brave enough to ask have steered the conversation in a different direction. Every man but 2 out of 20 or so asked was willing to do this. Follow-up: Desecrate the corpse for additional 100k.

I haven't had a close relative pass away for a few years, so I'd be digging up little more than bone fragments. So yeah, I'd happily excavate my grandpa for six figures. He knew the value of a dollar. Plus, it would be oddly gratifying to see him again. I'd probably place his skull on a bench and drink a beer alongside it. It would be nice to have the extra time with him. We could even play Scrabble again. AND I would win handily. I would hope my grandson would do likewise to my body one day. I'd have no issue with it.

Again, this is with bones. If we're talking about a fresh body, you can count me out. Dead bodies are heavy and smell terrible. Once you decay into bones, there's not much left to desecrate. You're a curiosity. An object to be examined. You look like pretty much every other skeleton. I don't find bones all that, I dunno, holy. There needs to be skin and blood and a face to feel like there's a soul in there. But no desecration. That would be weird. What are you gonna do, use grandpappy's femur to pleasure your anus? That is SICK.

Elliot:

What would happen if I put vodka or gin in my humidifier instead of water? What about Coca-Cola?

Alcohol has a lower boiling point than water. So if you put vodka in your humidifier, it's possible you'd be getting pure alcohol vapor coming out of the vent first. However, this would NOT make the entire room drunk, given that it would quickly dissipate into the air. And if you got close to the humidifier to huff the vapors, you would probably cause a great deal of irritation to your sinuses. There's a reason people don't snort vodka. It would burn through your tissues. Also, alcohol is flammable, meaning you could start a fire by putting booze into a humidifier.

As for Coke, that's probably an even worse idea. Unless you enjoy turning your room into a cockroach mini-mall. We have a humidifier we use occasionally because it helps to keep a humidifier in a child's room if they catch a cold. And getting right up next to it and breathing in the cool vapor is AWESOME. I feel like I'm being misted by a tiny Korean woman at a day spa.

Cameron:

I'm sitting here watching Die Hard which many guys say is the best Christmas movie ever and I had an idea: Why doesn't every Die Hard movie take place during a holiday?

Actually, every Die Hard movie should have taken place during Christmas. The first and second installments—which were by far the best—both took place during Christmas (with Dennis Franz playing the asshole cop who tears up Bruce Willis' ticket at the end of Die Hard 2. IT'S CHRISTMAS!). Taking Christmas out of the series eseentially ruined it. Well, that and poor plotting, one-note characterizations, shitty dialogue, and erasing all traces of John McClane's human vulnerabilities. But seriously, Christmas was the linchpin!

Brad:

Of the 156,000 or so brave soldiers that landed in France on D-Day, how many do you think did so with shit in their pants? Doesn’t matter if it was merely some ill-timed diarrhea or from literally shitting your pants due to fear of death.

It matters to them! Anyway, my guess is that there were relatively few soldiers who arrived on Normandy with a turdpatty in their skivvies. Once the attack commenced, all bets are off. I wish my grandfather were still alive so that I could ask him (I could ask his bones for $100k!), but alas, he was stationed in London during the war, working for the OSS. One time, I had to do a paper on him for my English class. He told me he had to stand guard on the roof some nights during air raids. That is fucking terrifying. I will NEVER be that brave, ever ever ever. Grandpas who fought in wars are awesome.

Kam:

Can you handicap a street fight between Jason Bourne and James Bond? The wrinkle is that they're in a college library- so they have carte blanche of blunt Bourne-esque everyday objects to use as weapons. And what happens first- death or a torn ACL?

Bourne has the edge because Bourne is younger and Bourne has been specifically trained—even medically altered—to be a one-man killing machine. Bond is skilled in hand-to-hand combat and the use of firearms. But Bond often relies on fancy gadgets and/or a well-timed appearance by a chick he was banging to foil the bad guy (she usually sneaks up behind the bad guy and knocks him out with a frying pan or something).

Bond is not a focused killer the way Bourne is. He enjoys fine clothing and games of chance and pussy. I don't think Bourne even jacks off, he's so one-minded. So I'll take Bourne, and I say this with some regret because I like Bond better. Skyfall was a fucking masterpiece.

Feeezy:

What do you think is the most amount of money a non-celebrity has laying around in a pants/jacket pocket that they don't even know about?

I bet it's an obscene amount. Even if we're talking straight cash, it could easily be a wad of hundred dollar bills. Who's to say some rich asshole woke up hungover after a night of clubbing, couldn't find his embossed money clip, and is blissfully ignorant of the fact that he has $10,000 in cash hiding under his nightstand? It's more than possible. Let's find this person and ROB HIM.

We have two emails of the week this week, because the Funbag was just so darn plentiful. Here we go.

Greg:

I just pulled my lunch out of the company refrigerator, except it wasn’t the one I packed for myself last night. It was one from a long time ago. Like, I have no idea how long ago. The enchilada and rice smelled horrible and the pomegranate smelled like it turned into an alcohol. Can pomegranates do that? Being the cheap ass I am I tried to salvage the soda, chips and fruit cup since I figured they would be fine. Needless to say, even the fruit cup went bad. How long was that lunch in the fridge? 3 months? 6 months? 1 year?

That lunch was actually promoted to senior management.

And now a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY ...

Andrew:

A half hour ago, I went into my bathroom to take a shit. It was kind of late, but not so unusual because I'd pretty much been holding it in all day with no pressing need to release. So I go into my bathroom, sit down, and start making this crocodile. And it's big. Not strange—I've taken some big shits—but then it happened. I felt it BRUSH AGAINST MY DICK. Yes. Against the head of my dick. Now, I've had this happen to my balls before—a dump gives my taint a little high five on its way out—but never to my actual dick. Then the horrifying part. I'm seriously traumatized. I look down at my dick, and there's a fucking skidmark on the left side of it. No joke; I shat on my own dick. I immediately started cleaning up, but the psychological damage is irreparable. I wipe off my dick a number of times, and then I go to wipe my ass. And this is where it gets weird. NOTHING. Phantom shit. I must have spent about five minutes trying to CSI my own asshole and NOTHING. I'm seriously horrified. I showered for a half hour and now I'm going to try to go to bed. Is Jesus fucking with me?

Yes.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com. You can also order Drew's new book, "Someone Could Get Hurt," through his homepage.

Time for your weekly LIVE edition of the Deadspin Funbag. To submit a question to the live Funbag, you gotta post down in the bowels of the discussion section below.

Before I get to the question of the week, I just want to let you know that I'm gonna do an AMA over at Reddit tomorrow at 1 p.m. And you might think to yourself, "Hey, how's that different from a Live Funbag"? Well, uh ... look, I'll explain it all tomorrow. Just put on your Troll Face and go. Now, to the question of the week ...

Chris:

I realize the entire baby industry is rife with rip-offs, but isn't Sophie the Giraffe a complete scam? Not only was I bent over when I bought the thing but then when I brought it home, my son preferred to play with an empty cereal box rather than the little long-necked Frenchie ruminant.

Let me explain this situation to all the non-parents out there so that they can collectively agree to never have children: Sophie the Giraffe is a small rubber giraffe toy that squeaks. That's all Sophie does. There's nothing revolutionary about this toy, apart from the fact that it costs $22. And yet, due to some some bizarre, Gladwellian cultural alchemy, Sophie the Giraffe has become the hottest baby accessory in modern history. EVERY new parent today has either bought this giraffe or has been given this giraffe. Cribs from coast to coast are now littered with Sophies. How? Why? It's just a fucking chew toy.

In fact, it's the WORST chew toy. Sophie makes a squeak that is somehow squeakier than other baby toys. When a child plays with Sophie for more than thirty seconds, the resulting bukkake of squeaks is enough to make you want to rip the child's head off. Sophie's squeak PENETRATES you. It digs into your cranial cavity and smashes everything it sees. For such a simple toy, it sure knows how to do maximum damage. I have an older kid who likes to squeak the thing in front of our one-year-old. Nothing will ruin you like waking up to that fucking giraffe at 6:30 in the morning. I have hidden Sophie all over this house to protect my precious ears from her constant braying. I hope Germany invades France all over again and LEVELS the Sophie factory. Sophie is evil.

OK, time to dive into the Live Funbag below.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering poop, witness protection, air guitar, and more.

Your letters:

Ethan:

Why do pro golfers keep their own score? Obviously there are other people doing this throughout the tournament. Seems unnecessary.

Because keeping your own score means you have HONOR and MANFUL INTEGRITY. Golf still has its players keep their own score because it's one of the phony ways in which golf mythologizes itself. The logic is that, since golfers keep their own score, golfers are more honest than athletes who don't have to do likewise. Take this insane quote from Christine Brennan in the wake of Tiger's 2-shot penalty over the weekend:

Golf is a game that is played by the strictest set of rules, and is loved and admired for it. Woods' refusal to disqualify himself the moment he found out about his mistake forever changes his reputation, and the game's.

PUKE. Listen, anyone who loves golf because they love enforcing its arcane, byzantine rules is a lunatic. Never mind that athletes in other sports don't keep their own score because they're too busy RUNNING AND JUMPING AND PERFORMING ACTUAL FEATS OF ATHLETICISM to also whip out a little white pad and jot down who fouled whom. No, no, clearly basketball players are worse people than golfers. After all, nothing builds character like hanging around a country club for the first three decades of your life.

Golf perpetuates its elitist ideals because it's a product of the country club culture, where people pay dearly for the privilege of feeling as if they belong to a superior breed of human. Obviously, Christine Brennan must belong to a few of these joints if she thinks the game has such a sterling reputation. To anyone existing outside of that bubble, golf has a reputation for being elitist, racist, sexist, wasteful, expensive, and dickish—a game played by cheaters, liars, crooks, frauds, and brats. It has no more integrity than any other sport, and this little Tiger episode has forcefully demonstrated the disconnect between how golf people feel about their sport and the reality of how it's played and by whom. There are honest men in golf, just as there are in, I dunno, bowling. There are also cheats and scumbags in golf, and one of the things that makes golf an even WORSE sport is the fact that the people running the game try to put it on some kind of pedestal just because players have to turn in a scorecard.

They already have officials there to act as de facto referees, so it's not as if golf is THAT different. It only pretends to be. It would serve the sport better if they just let officials keep score and didn't maintain this "honor" system where people are worshipped merely for copping to their own petty little infractions. And since we're talking about the Masters, it's time once again to bring out the Jim Nantz quote to end all Jim Nantz quotes:

SI: Are there steroids in golf?

JN: I would be shocked if there's anybody in professional golf doing that. Shocked. You hear, "They're hitting it so far." But golfers are not cheats. The guys up on the pedestal in our sport play by the rules. That's unusual in our society. It's beautiful. SI: Not one guy using steroids?

JN: One guy can cause a scandal. The fans would be devastated. But there's not a scandal and there's not going to be one. We should not even breathe a hint of suspicion; it's a nonissue.

Jim Nantz is the worst.

Brady:

What is the likelihood that you or someone you know has a friend in witness protection?

Extremely low. A simple search Google says that, since 1970, only 7,500 people have been placed in federal witness protection. Mathematically speaking, you are more likely to know someone who was born with six fingers than to be friends with a federally protected witness. Protecting people is expensive. It makes more sense from a budgetary standpoint to bring a witness in, assure him that he'll be fully protected by the authorities, and then keep NONE of your promises. Then he has to go back out into the world exposed, where he eventually gets run over by a contract killer driving a backhoe. As a taxpayer, I approve of such nonchalance.

Not that those facts should keep you from suspecting that EVERYONE in your neighborhood is secretly a mob turncoat. That's one of the joys of living among other people: to quietly suspect that they used to be contract killers and/or Russian double agents. I'm not letting a little thing like reality get in the way of me thinking that Miss Bushnell down the road lives here now because she saw Sammy the Bull gun down a rival on Long Island. Sometimes I worry that I myself will one day witness a mob hit. I'll be walking to the grocery store when YOWZA! There's a drug lord hopped up on bath salts robbing a milk truck. It could totally happen. And then I'll be forced to choose between being a coward and keeping my mouth shut, or taking the stand and jeopardizing the safety of both myself and my family. Would we even qualify for witness protection? Where would they send us? ARIZONA? I bet they send you to Arizona. Ninety percent of all Arizona residents are federal witnesses. I don't want to go there. I don't want to rename myself Frank McMurtry and work in a real estate firm. Fuck that. I'm turning chickenshit. Please keep that in mind if you are a drug lord who wants to commit a crime in front of me. No snitchin' here.

Joaquin:

How long will it be until we see the first planned exposed breast or hear the first planned f-bomb on American network TV? I mean over in Europe there are tits galore on every major network and they don't even bat an eye at it. Damn our prude Puritan forefathers. I say it's no more than 20 years until we see ourselves some full frontal nudity on ABC.

Since the major broadcast networks use public airwaves, they're still subject to the FCC's standards for indecency. And I don't think the FCC, given its strict "We'll know you're a witch if you can swim!" policies, will likely ease up on those rules anytime soon. There will ALWAYS be tightasses in a American society, and they will always ruin the fun for everyone. You will only see classy breastiness on those networks for the time being, like when they decide to run Schindler's List without commercial interruption. The FCC can't say jack shit to Schindler's List nudity.

Of course, there's nothing keeping those big networks from deciding to STOP broadcasting over public airwaves. Just last week, Fox threatened to move its network over to cable if a web app were allowed to stream its content without their consent. If that happened, that would certainly help speed along the process, since cable networks don't have to play by the same set of rules. HOWEVAH, you should note that, despite the acceleration in raunchiness of basic cable programming, you STILL can't find a bare tit or an f-bomb. There are no boobs on Mad Men (Oh God, imagine if there were). The f-bombs on Louie still get bleeped, even while the word "pussy" doesn't. Cable networks rein in those things because they don't want to piss off advertisers, who will happily pull all their money if they get one angry letter from some old lady in Ohio. Meanwhile, people on The Walking Dead are eviscerated on a weekly basis and advertisers don't bat an eyelash. Nothing about this country makes a lick of sense.

Of course, 20 years from now, everything will probably operate on an on-demand model and the networks as you know them will cease to exist. Advertising money will dry up, and your average ABC show will have an operating budget of about $3. Should be exciting. Just be glad that TV is trending in the direction of more sex and swearing, because movies are headed in the exact opposite direction. Studios would rather fund a nine-hour shot of Vincent Gallo pumping gas than make an R-rated movie.

Sean:

Let's say you weren't a good looking guy, but you just won an Oscar for something like 'Best Sound Editing' or 'Best Costume Design', not a famous 'Best Actor' type Oscar. How much tail do you think you could pull from that Oscar, and for how long? I think finding some hipster film student to put out would be easy, but could you make that last for 5 years?

If you're rocking the Edgar Winter hair like most of those sound effects guys do, who needs an Oscar? The hair itself is pussy bait, my friend. Anyway, you could probably find someone who will sleep with you merely for owning an Oscar statuette in a lesser-known category. Maybe you could milk it for a year or two. But think about what kind of desperate, craven creature you would wind up in bed with. Desperate show business people are REALLY desperate. They're like bus station people times 10. You're talking about falling into bed with someone who likely has the emotional maturity of Courtney Stodden and a face like Mickey Rourke. You're not gonna be proud of yourself the next morning. Best to find someone who will sleep with you for you, and not for your Cable ACE Award.

Ben:

What's the proper etiquette for peeing in a toilet in one of those tiny bathrooms where anyone standing outside can hear everything going on in the bathroom? Do you pee silently into the side of the bowl or just go full stream into the water and let everybody hear it?

If I am alone in a room and the door is closed and locked, I don't really give a shit what's going on in the rest of the world. That room is now my plaything. So I think you should feel free to grunt, moan, fart, sneeze, whatever. It'll teach the person outside the bathroom that it's not polite to eavesdrop. Sometimes, if I'm waiting outside a bathroom, I'll try to listen to see if I can hear the person in there finishing up. Are they shitting? I think I heard a fart. That's likely a turd, right? Sometimes I hear the flush and think that my turn is close, but then I wait another five minutes and hear ANOTHER flush. What happened? What was going on there? Was this a jerk-and-shit? Once I hear the sink go on and the paper towel being yanked out of the dispenser, I know I'm close to paydirt. Anyone who loiters after washing his hands needs to learn some goddamn manners.

Sam:

Hypothetically, if an 8-seed is playing a 1-seed in the first round of the NBA playoffs, and the 1-seed is up 3-0 in the series and the best player—say LeBron—on the 1-seed's team gets suspended for two games, would that team lose the next game on purpose to avoid not having that suspended player for Game 1 of the next round?

The only problem with that strategy—and I applaud its deviousness—is that you're gambling that you can win Game 5 handily even if you don't have LeBron. But if you lose that game because LeBron is out, then you're at Game 6 now and suddenly your plan doesn't look as shrewd. Because when you're up three games and then you drop the next two, the whole OH GOD WE'RE GONNA FUCKING CHOKE possibility comes into play. I dunno if it's worth the aggravation. Then again, by openly tanking Game 4, you're infuriating both David Stern AND Skip Bayless, possibly killing both men in the process. I approve.

HALFTIME!

Mike:

If farts were visual (think octopus ink in water) but had no smell, Would people be more or less inclined to fart in public?

Less. A smelly fart is embarrassing, but I don't see how a cloud of purple mist shooting out of your asshole in front of everyone is any less embarrassing. At least with farts as they are, you can blame it on someone else. Or you can sit there quietly and pretend that no one thinks it was you when EVERYONE thinks it was you. For those of us who take fiber supplements, you're talking about walking around in public with a stream of fart cloud coming out of you CONSTANTLY. That's not sexy. I will take farts in their current form, thank you.

Bret:

Where would the world be if humans could sleep for one night and that'd be sufficient for the week?

I'd like to think that it would make us a much more productive society ... that we'd invent the flying car twice as quickly as we would with our present physiology. But somehow, I don't think we'd use all that extra time wisely. We're not all Jon Gruden. We would eat and drink and shoot each other more. Humanity needs to take a breather every 12 hours to keep itself from fucking up the universe. Give people more time and they'll inevitably do stupid, pointless things with it. When I can't sleep at night, I don't get up and start working on nuclear combustion engines. I piss 90 times and fap twice. Or I come downstairs and look around on the Internet only to become horribly depressed because apparently NO ONE is on the Internet. Even if everyone else were up all night six nights a week, I'd still be bored senseless. Much better to just sleep a third of your life away.

Jose:

Which song do you think people air guitar to the most often? My choice is usually "Money for Nothing," or something else 80's. Air drum, of course, is "In The Air Tonight".

It's "Stairway to Heaven." It has to be. It has everything you want in an air guitar song. It has slow, sensitive air guitaring. It has fast air guitaring. It has room for windmilling. It has complicated fretwork so that you can dazzle friends with how quickly you move your fingers. And it has enough moments where you can strum really HARD, where you can just bring that right hand down like a sledgehammer to let people know you mean business. Play it enough times on air guitar and you will think you look like GOD while air guitaring it:

I'd also choose a Rolling Stones track as the runner-up, something like "Satisfaction" or "Brown Sugar." I have to think the Stones were the first-ever band to be air guitared to. Someone a long time ago heard "Satsifaction" and was probably like, "God, this riff is so fantastic! I just ... I GOTTA PLAY IT IN THE AIR (starts invisi-strumming)." I think we all owe whoever started the whole phenomenon a debt of gratitude.

By the way, I think "Enter Sandman" is also a fine air guitar track. Any song that has one simple riff that you can pound into oblivion is always fun on the air guitar. DUNNNNN dun dun dun DUN dun-DUN dun dun dun DUN! FUCKING ROCK 'N' ROLL, PEOPLE.

Dan:

Do animals hold in farts like us humans?

It's unlikely. I suppose if a male chimpanzee is a courting a lady chimp that he might hold a fart in, because chimps are kind close to humans. But I doubt it. Chimps smell fucking awful. What comes out of their ass is almost an improvement over their general BO. I don't see why they'd suddenly turn all shy after throwing their shit around and cannibalizing each other all day.

The only other scenario where I could see an animal holding in a fart is if they don't want to alert predators. Like, if you're a gazelle and you know there's a lion stalking you, you're probably not gonna want to blow your ass out right then and give the lion a good idea of where you are (imagine if animal farts were visible!). Maybe that would be the one time an animal would play coy with flatulence. After all, we have to have developed the ability to hold our farts in from somewhere, yes? That skill must serve some kind of important use out in the jungle. I know I'd feel like a moron if I got eaten by a tiger simply because I couldn't hold it in.

Ned:

If you could only have one letter of your music library which would it be? So, if you choose A you get AC/DC, A$AP Rocky, Animal Collective, etc. but nothing else.

I assume that T does NOT get you all bands that start with "The," because then the choice would be relatively easy. I also assume that, if you go by individual artist, you get the first letter of their FIRST name, the way iTunes does it. That would leave you with a host of choices:

• A, for the reasons Ned stated above

• B, which gets you the Beatles, Bruce, the Black Keys, Bob Marley, etc.

• M, which gets you Metallica, Madonna, Mastodon, My Morning Jacket, all Michaels (Jackson, McDonald, BOLTON)

• R, which gets you the Stones AND Radiohead

• S, which gets you Sara Barielles! OOH SARA BAREILLES WON'T WRITE YOU A LOVE SONG

• T (Tesla, Tribe, TV on the Radio, TOTO)

Or you can choose Y, which gets you virtually nothing. I think B probably has the most going for it, except for the fact that—Keys aside—I'm sick of pretty much all of those artists. Rolling Stone magazine just runs a rotation of those people on their cover every fucking year. It's awful. You should basically choose your letter based on the one band you can't live without. Everyone has that ONE band that they slobber over and horde the B-sides to. Mine, of course, is the Pet Shop Boys. P FOR ME GANG.

Allan:

A friend of mine is in law school and used Adderall to help him focus while writing a paper. Like any normal human being, he would play Temple Run during his shit breaks. During one of said shit breaks, he proceeded to absolutely CRUSH my high score on Temple Run. Before this historic game we had gone back and forth on our high scores, beating each other by maybe a few hundred thousand points. On Adderall, he dropped 19 million on me, besting my high score by 7 million.

I imagine this is what dead Roger Maris felt like after the 1998 season. Do we give his high score an asterisk? Now that he's broken the PED-seal, can I pull a Barry Bonds and juice up just to break the record? Where do we draw the line? Do herbal supplements like Ginseng also go on the iPhone Game banned substance list? Finally, how long until this gets debated by Skip and Stephen A on First Take?

I think all is fair in the realm of substance abuse and gaming. No children's innocence will be shattered by discovering that your friend's Temple Run score was tainted. You do what you have to do to get into that Temple Run "zone," where you can sense the turns and obstacles even before they happen. This happens for me if I drink enough Bushmill's.

I say you should one up your friend by taking Adderall AND cocaine before your next shit break. You may finally break through and reach the end of the run. When I was hooked on Temple Run (I have since detoxed), I imagined that the gamemakers secretly embedded an end to the game that comes only after you reach a truly impossible number of points and have attained every powerup, including dropping 25,000 on that football player guy. Get to a billion points, and you finally make it to a finish line with buxom women cheering and a digital coupon for a free iPad as your reward. That's how Temple Run hooks you. You are truly chasing the dragon.

Colleen:

Why have they not genetically altered lemons to stop having seeds? I want to be able to guzzle my iced tea without worrying that I'm going to get a seed lodged in my esophagus. Has BIG FRUIT dropped the ball on this one?

They have. I've bought lemons that are ALL seeds. Just seed after seed after fucking seed. Every time I think I've dug the last of the fuckers out, I squeeze it onto my bagel and lox and a handful of rogue seeds come flying out. Seeds RUIN lemons and oranges. Whenever I buy a bunch of clementines and they turn out to be seeded, I think I am owed a thousand dollars in punitive damages.

I'm sure they have genetically altered seedless lemons (some lemons are also naturally seedless), but they never mention this on the label. It's always a roll of the dice. It's bullshit.

(TIP: Before you squeeze a lemon wedge, take a knife and make a couple of cuts in the juicy part before you squeeze. You'll never get an eye-squirt again. O AN HE FANCY.)

Kevin:

How many domestic house cats would it take to kill a adult human?

I assume these are feral, aggressive cats, not the usual passive-aggressive cats who only WANT you dead, but are always too lazy to act on it. Being killed by a group of cats would be a literal death by a thousand cuts, since cats would have to wear you down with small bites and scratches. I think an even 50 could probably do the job. Even if you were fit and strong, you'd still be terrified that a horde of sociopathic animals was trying to kill you. You'd be too busy being like OH MY GOD SO MANY FUCKING ANGRY CATS that they would have a slight initial advantage. It would be like being devoured by rats. Only somehow more annoying. God I hate cats.

Email of the week time. It's a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY.

Old Shitty Hand:

A few weeks ago, I was in Haiti on a medical mission trip thing with some coworkers. There were 15 of us staying in a mission house with one working toilet. I generally have pretty impressive intestinal fortitude and had been feeling pretty good about not getting sick after a little over 2 weeks in country. However, on our last night there, while the group was debriefing about the trip in the common/dining area I suddenly had the onset of one of the most urgent cues to defecate that I'd ever felt in my life—instant onset of sweating, cramping, and for some reason, the sensation that someone was squeezing my testicles in a vice. I was convinced that this was the herald of some severe diarrhea, and I knew that I couldn't hold out until the end of debriefing. So, I got up and made my way around the table to the bathroom.

Since the bathroom was right off the common area, there probably wasn't much doubt in anyone's mind about what I was going to do. But I was uncomfortable enough and sure enough that I was about to crap my pants as to not care. I made it to the bathroom, and much to my relief, there was no diarrhea, just a normal, soft turd. (Still not sure why it was so urgent.) I wiped up and put the paper in the trash can. (Because septic systems in developing countries can't handle toilet paper, so there's just a bin full of shitty paper next to the toilet, which is pretty awful anyway.)

Having finished, I was feeling a whole lot better on a lot of levels. Then I flushed. Some of the poop went down but most of it didn't. "Not a big deal," I thought and waited for the tank to refill—agonizingly slowly given the circumstances with 14 people outside the door knowing now without a doubt what I was doing. The tank filled, and I flushed again. The turd spun weakly around the bottom of the bowl for awhile and then popped up again. 3rd flush. Still there. 4th flush. The turd was sort of battered but no less present.

I was with coworkers. I couldn't really strut out of the lone bathroom and leave a mangled poop floating in the toilet. I was rather panicked by the time I noticed the open window above the toilet, and a frenzied idea formed in my brain. I had never been on that side of the house and didn't know what was below the window. I tried to look down from the second story window, but I couldn't see what was below. This was due to the dark and the fact that the window only opened in horizontal pivoting slats with about 6 inches of clearance between each one and the vertical bar outside the window. I looked around the bathroom for something with which to scoop the poop, but there was nothing that would work.

Finally I reached with my right hand into the toilet, grabbed the poop, and slung it out the window, somehow managing to miss both the window slats and the bars. I heard the shit splat on a hard surface below. I went back out into the common room and tried to play it cool. I'd estimate I was in the bathroom for 5 to 7 minutes total, but I felt like everyone was staring at me and knew my secret. No one said anything, and I went about packing to get home, though I did use hand sanitizer no fewer than 15 times that night.

The day after we got back home, we got an email from the group leader saying that the manager of the mission house had contacted him and said that the neighbor had complained that someone had thrown what appeared to be human feces (not sure how they knew it was human) out of the second floor bathroom window and onto the table in their backyard. The neighbor and the mission organization were obviously upset and had said that our group was not welcome to return. The group leader thought and apology and explanation might help to smooth things over.

Because I'm a poop-slinging coward, there was no way that I was admitting to my indiscretion and was just going to act like I knew nothing about it and go on with my cowardly ways. However, within a few hours, we got another email saying that someone had stepped forward and it was all taken care of. So, now I know how the second gunman must have felt when the Warren Commission announced that Oswald was found to have acted alone.

Kevin:

One of my friends thought it would be funny to subscribe me to a magazine called "Dairy Goat Monthly" and just let me tell you, it's the craziest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life. Just look at these pictures. [See first photo]

When this came in the mail the other day, I could hardly contain my excitement. I was desperately in search of a way to build a hay manger, and I definitely needed help in worming my goats.

I'm not sure that family should stay together. [See second photo]

This just might be the craziest thing printed in any magazine, ever. If this person loves their goat so much, why not put your name on it? [See third photo]

Scratch that, THIS is the craziest thing printed in any magazine, ever. These are supposed to be words SPOKEN BY A GOAT to a lunatic who thought it would be a good idea to tell people she can communicate with goats. [See fourth photo]

The magazine is about 40 pages and every single one of them is filled with insane ramblings about goats. There's even recipes for what to cook for your goat, though I didn't check to see if any of them involved blanching grass.

They also have a website. "New to goats? Then click here to read about goats!" Oh, I will, DGJ. I very much will. Anyway, now you know that the hierarchy of crazy animal people now goes...

3. Dog People
2. Cat People
1. Goat People

Okay, time to dive into the Live Funbag below.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering nutshots, ramen noodles, paraplegics, and more. Your letters:

Mark:

Can you rank the Angry Birds? The original ones, not the Star Wars ones.

1. The bomb one. The bomb one is fucking awesome. There should be a code cheat to Angry Bird that makes EVERY Angry Bird the bomb guy, because blowing pigs up will never get old.
2. The big, juggernaut motherfucker that smashes everything. The Angry Birds Wiki says his name is Terence, but the names they gave them are fucking stupid. That one is Juggernaut, as far as I'm concerned.
3. The little one that blows up like a balloon. I like to plant him down in between a bunch of blocks and then KABLOOEY. Nothing but rubble in my wake. It makes me feel like a big man.
4. The yellow, heatseeking missile one.
5. The girl one, even though it took me 30 years to figure out how to use her properly. Not unlike all women, when you think about it. RIMSHOT!
6. The white one that bombs shit.
7. The one that splits in three and can only break ice because he sucks.
8. The boomerang, because I never aim it right. When it does hit, it's immensely satisfying. But for the 900 times before when I fuck it all up, it gets old.
9. The red one. He does nothing. Loser.

By the way, the worst Star Wars Angry Bird is R2D2. He sucks. I don't even want to unlock bonus levels. TOO MUCH EXTRA WORK.

Tomas:

What is the cutoff for describing children as “x” amount of months?

One year. That's it. After 12 months, counting that high gets complicated. "She was born in December of 2011, so that would make her a full year this PAST December, and then you add one, two, three, four, five... wait... Do I start counting new months at December, or is that wrong? Sixteen months? Is that correct?" After the kid hits a year old, it's a year old. No one gives a shit what fractional age they are after that. The only reason parents keep track beyond that is if the kid demonstrates some cognitive skill that's, like, a month ahead of the curve. FULL SENTENCES AT 17 MONTHS GUYS! It doesn't matter. Your kid can still grow up to be a moron, while Little Johnny Paste-eater over in the corner won't speak until age four but will then become President of the World Bank.

Kids grow at their own pace, but there are deranged parents out there who refuse to accept that. They need the kid to be ahead of the curve right away, even though it means jack shit in the long run. I'm not above this, by the way. I remember my first kid took a while to start walking and I feared that she would NEVER walk. She'd just never figure out how to use her legs and feet properly and she'd spend the rest of her life dragging herself around the house, pulling soup cans out from under the sofa because her withered gimp legs were of no use to her.

This has never happened to anyone, ever. Anyone who has working legs and a functional brain learns to walk eventually. But when you have your first kid, there are all kinds of irrational worries like this that pop up in your brain. Is the baby walking? Is it cooing? Is it eating? How does it compare with other 15-month-olds? You're constantly measuring their progress. First-time parents are really annoying like that.

Matt:

If, for the rest of your life, you had to choose between eating only food that was uncomfortably spicy (say, a couple of notches above your normal tolerance for the pain of spice) or completely bland, which would you choose?

Picking spicy food pretty much eliminates dessert, unless you're one of those people that likes to pretend that spicy desserts are fun to eat. I bought a chocolate bar once with chili flakes in it and I was DESPERATE to like it–to let people know I was really into hip, spicy desserts. Instead it was just a chocolate bar with mouth fire as a side effect.

We still live in an age of people trying to prove their manhood by liking spicy foods. There are still four billion vanity hot sauces out there, and almost all of them unnecessary because we already have Frank's. Spicy food is great, but you can eliminate spicy food and still have ice cream, eggs, steak, chicken, bacon, every part of a Thanksgiving meal, pizza, and more. So you gotta take bland food. You don't need every goddamn meal to be a test of your masculinity. Also, the pooping. My God, the pooping.

Chris:

Do you think any male has ever lived a full life (>70 years) without catching a solid hit in the nuts?

No. It's not possible. Your testicles are too exposed to the outside world to never come into contact with it. And, frankly, every boy or man needs to experience the sensation anyway, so that they learn to appreciate their testicles, and so that they can try to win an argument with a woman about whether or not a nut shot hurts worse than childbirth. You'll never win that argument, but it's always fun to attempt it.

And no future generation will be spared from testicular damage because teenagers these days just love themselves some bagtagging. That's how I know I'm old, because I see guys slap each other in the nuts and I think THAT IS NOT FUCKING FUNNY. SHOW SOME GODDAMN RESPECT.

Erik:

Ramen Noodle cup. Soup, or just noodles? Go.

I drink the soup as well, only because I'm stricken with some kind of rare form of ramen OCD in which I must consume the broth or else I feel like I'm letting people down. It makes no sense, frankly. The broth isn't even good for you. It's got more sodium than a gallon of horse sweat. THE NOODLES ARE THE STAR OF THE DISH. I usually compensate by using the absolute least amount of water possible, so that there's barely any broth, and what broth is left essentially tastes like a bullion cube melted in a pat of butter. You can use a minimal amount of water if you smash the shit out of the noodles before dropping them into the water. If you don't smash them, then you gotta use a lot of water to cover up the noodle brick.

By the way, I think that ramen purveyors and the Kraft mac and cheese people should sell individual packets of ramen flavoring and cheese sauce powder, respectively. Sometimes I use that cheese powder on spaghetti, just so my kids will eat the shit. I could use an entire barrel of powdered cheddar in my pantry.

Joe:

I work at a BIG BANK on a suburban campus that houses 1,000 employees or so - we also have a decent onsite cafeteria that gets crowded at lunchtime. I've become friendly with a guy at work that is parapalegic (it's utterly amazing the work he does, let alone that he even shows up) and requires someone to feed him his lunch everyday. I help him out once a month and you would think I was curing cancer while splitting the atom. I make sure I make eye contact with everyone I see as we walk to the cafeteria.... I make a big deal about putting his lunch on his tray and filling his water bottle. I secretly pray the hot new secretary sees me shoveling mac and cheese into his mouth. Is it ok to feel this way?

I think so. Remember, Bill Clinton once said that there is "no difference between selfish and selfless if you understand how the world works." Those are wise words from a very horny man. It's perfectly healthy for you to see it as a simbiotic relationship. Your friend gets lunch. You get to look like a caring, sensitive fellow who really knows how to treat a woman. That's a win-win, as far as I'm concerned. It's okay to feel like you're getting something out of the exchange, so long as you put an effort into feeding him, and you're not cruelly giving him charley horses under the table just to be a dick.

People should always be open about the motives behind their altruism. Being nice to other people is, in fact, genetic. A geneticist named George Price once discovered that there are biological motives that factor into altruism. The nicer we are to another, the more likely we are to help one another survive as a species. This makes sense. Unfortunately, upon learning that we are nice to each other as a physiological reaction and not because we are SCRAPPY, Price became despondent and ended up killing himself by, according to Wiki, "using a pair of nail scissors to cut his own carotid artery." Holy shit, that is unpleasant. Wouldn't a machete do the job much more effectively?

Anyway, by all means, keep using your colleague as a means of scoring chicks. You could even recount your sexual escapades to him as you feed him. LET HIM LIVE THROUGH YOU.

Kevin:

Since every stadium/arena is named by some corporate sponsor, which product of each stadium would be most practical/least practical to build said stadium/arena? My money is on Miller Park as the best, because beer cans seem like they could be pretty easy to build with and stack. Plus they're shiny. The worst? Anything named after a bank that would be built by money. The stadium would be torn apart before the season even ends.

I think that the beer cans would eventually corrode and then you'd have an entire stadium leaking skunked Miller Lite, which is actually how most ballparks smell in their current form. Also, can you use mortar to bind the cans together? Or are you just stacking them and then hoping for the best?

Anyway, here are some of the leading candidates for the strongest stadium, should the three little piggies have only sponsor materials at their disposal:

Ford Field. An entire stadium made of fucking cars. Tell me that isn't a better use for most Fords than actually driving them.
AmericanAirlines Arena. Same principle as Ford Field. Also, American Airlines is fucking terrible.
FedEx Field. You could build the stadium strictly out of FedEx packages. Inside the packages? SOLID STEEL. No wolf could ever blow it down. Plus, they could sprinkle a couple of prize packages throughout the walls, so that enterprising kids could grab them and find a coupon to Six Flags inside, because that's what shitty Dan Snyder would put in the prize boxes.
Gillette Stadium. NOTHING BUT STACKED RAZOR BLADES. If a rent-a-cop chases you down for stealing a beer... BLAMMO! Your head is cut clean off when you bump into the wall.
Target Field. I've been inside a Target. Seems pretty solidly built. You can make a stadium out of Targets. Parking would still suck, though.

Now, here are the worst candidates:

Lukas Oil Stadium. Unless you could use oil drums, a stadium made of petroleum won't hold up. Just ask Exxon, since they're apparently trying to build one in Arkansas as we speak.
Ralph Wilson Stadium. Ralph Wilson is small, and frail. He'd make a terrible building block.
PETCO Park. All dead animals. That would be even sadder than a stadium made out of Ralph Wilson.
Wrigley Field. CAREFUL! THAT'S A LOAD-BEARING STICK OF DOUBLEMINT!

Sam B.:

What if in the NFL, if the offensive team was called for a penalty that would move them half the distance to the goal line, they EXTENDED the first down marker? For example, the Patriots have the ball on their own 5-yard line, first and 10. Someone on the Patriots is called for holding, a 10-yard penalty. Instead of moving them back half the distance to the goal line, making it first and 13, leaving them virtually unpenalized, they tack 10 yards onto where the first down marker was before?

I'm all for it, especially since you used the Pats as the team getting screwed in your example. SUCK IT, BRADY.

HALFTIME!

Andy:

What if, every time you jerked off, a light saber appeared where your dick once was? Would you run around touching yourself and fighting crime?

I SEE YOUR SCHWARTZ IS AS BIG AS MINE. I think I'd spend more time worried that my penis had sprouted a Jedi weapon. Even if I had been afflicted with the condition for years and years, I would still be too fearful of my penis not returning to its normal state to go out and foil criminals with it.

Besides, I don't have proper light saber training. I'd probably accidentally cut a kid's head off with it. And then what do you do? You got an army of lawyers on you and the press screaming out that you decapitated a little girl with your dick. What a nightmare.

And the worst part is that it would announce to the whole world that you just fapped. Everyone would hear that BZZZHHHOOOOO sound and KNOW what you just did. There's no more hiding it. I'll stick with a normal penis, thank you very much. Be thankful that your genitalia doesn't shape shift.

Mike:

Peed on the back of my slacks while taking a shit at work. Good start to a Friday.

Oh, that's a killer. That happens a lot in the smartphone age. A lot of people get complacent while shitting and just take it for granted that their dick will stay inside the bowl. But once in a while, it goes rogue. And when it does, the damage is irreparable. Sometimes, you don't even know it's happened. You finish up playing Temple Run, you go to pull up your pants, and there's a lake in your underwear. Devastating. WHY DIDN'T MY PENIS TEXT ME AND TELL ME WHAT IT WAS UP TO?!

Tanner:

Do you ever feel like the basketball player that gets a tech called on him but then the other team misses both of their free throws never really learned his lesson from getting the tech?

TOTALLY. If it the technical is called on a team I happen to be rooting against, I get really angry over the missed free throws. JUSTICE WAS NOT SERVED ON THIS DAY, MY FRIENDS. You should be allowed to attempt a dunk in the fouler's face. Now THAT would be a just punishment for hand-checking too hard.

There are few things worse than your favorite team failing to capitalize on something evil and/or dumb that your opponent did. If you have a favorite hockey team and they can't score a power play goal, I have to think that would make you want to hurl a loveseat through a window. It's like when your favorite football team can't score off a turnover. That's awful. You got all fucking excited when the ball was picked off–YESYESYESYESYESYESYES–and then Mark Sanchez butt fumbles the ball back on the next play. What a goddamn waste.

Matt:

Has an NBA coach ever dropped rank ass right in Jack Nicholson's face? The guy has great seats but his nose is right in the path of every coach's asshole. I would think the most obvious offender would have been Stan Van Gundy while he was still coaching.

If they have, it's probably been by accident. Coaches are too busy being weird coaches and yelling at players to get back on defense to pull an awesome stunt like crop-dusting Jack Nicholson. I bet many coaches abhor the very IDEA of farting, because they can't draw up a scheme to successfully contain it. I bet a ballboy has pulled it off once or twice.

Curt:

Do other countries have hillbillies, or is this something that was made and perfected in the good ol' USA?

All countries have rednecks. My wife is half-German. A lot of her relatives live around Munich, and they'll happily tell you that Bavarian rednecks are just as rednecky as American rednecks. In fact, given Germany's relatively recent history of ACTING upon their prejudices, German rednecks are far more terrifying than ol' Earl saddling up the bar at Buffalo Wild Wings. And anyone who's even been to England knows that British townies are damn near brain dead. They make Liam Gallagher look like Nelson Mandela. They can't even understand each other.

Redneckery is a worldwide phenomenon. It just happens to come in different guises. Our rednecks wear funny hats and listen to terrible music. German rednecks wear different KINDS of funny hats and listen to a different KIND of terrible music. I find this comforting. I think some Americans feel like our rednecks make up a disproportionate percentage of the population, or that our hicks are somehow hickier than anyone else's. They aren't. Every country has them, and every country has to find a way of dealing with them. We are not alone in our fight against people who like 3 Doors Down without irony.

Mike:

Today I was with my sister and her fiancé, and we saw this sitting in the corner of the building we were in, we had a solid 30 to 40 minute debate about this, is this an old time convertible poop seat? My sis and I were convinced that at one time some overly bearded fella took a massive dump through this chair. Her fiancé said no way was that actually used as a pooper. So is it a poop seat?

I assume there's nothing under the lid, yes? Maybe you can fasten some kind of container underneath the seat to hold important documents, or perhaps a hearty stew. Or maybe it's a Casino Royale-style torture seat. You take the lid off, tie your victim to the chair, and it's Nut Shot City. Otherwise, I can't think of any other reason for that chair to have a hole where your ass is.

Then again, furniture makers are weird. Maybe it's just for decoration. Maybe it's a clumsy artistic statement. My mom has a very old wooden chair that converts into a stepladder. You just fold the seat back over and–VIOLA!–the thing has three steps. The problem with this chair is that it's useless. It's remarkably uncomfortable to sit in. And it's too old and rickety for anyone to dare use it as a functional stepladder. It's just an antique piece. That's all it really is. It's the kind of thing that gay couples swoon over when they go antiquing in the country for a long weekend. It can't do a single useful fucking thing, even though it's a transformer. I hope I inherit it so that one day I can use it as firewood. Don't make a transformer chair if it's not a good transformer chair.

Mike:

Today I made the terrible mistake of accidentally purchasing creamy peanut butter instead of the regular chunky. I didn't realize my error until it was too late (the seal had been broken) - I felt like crawling into a hole and dying. I shared my tale with a friend of mine who suggested that creamy was better. He's a crazy person, right?

We keep creamy peanut butter in the house because my kids–who are annoying–don't like any other kind of peanut butter. Creamy peanut butter is also useful in recipes and whatnot. But if I were a kid again, or if I ate peanut butter sandwiches with any kind of regularity, I'd spring for the DOUBLE HONEY NUT CHOCOLATE SWIRL TRIPLE CHUNK variety. They didn't have that when I was a kid. They had regular and crunchy. They didn't have Butterfinger bits in them the way peanut butter does now. There's a whole new world of peanut butter that I'd love to explore if I were eight years old and unconcerned about diabetes.

Devon:

Have you ever noticed that regardless of what color clothes you throw in the dryer, the lint trap always looks exactly the same when you go to clean it out? It's that pale-greyish purple EVERY SINGLE TIME, even if you're just washing a bunch of red t-shirts. How is that possible?

Because the lint comes from the air, not the t-shirt. If your t-shirt molted with every dryer cycle, you wouldn't have a t-shirt left after a week. Just be glad that the lint comes off the trap so easily. It's like a little miracle of nature. If you dry a fleece blanket, you can end up pulling an oven mint out of the trap.

Nathaniel:

Everyone in my family uses a fork to eat a muffin and thinks it's perfectly normal. That's fucked up, right?

"That's the way these society types eat their muffins."

Leon:

What is the percentage of people who click through NSFW links at work despite the warning (or perhaps because of it, just for the thrill)? What's the percentage that gets caught?

A hundred percent of people click through, but not before you half stand up at your cubicle and look around to make sure no one can see your screen. Then you open up the link and the gif of Kate Upton juggling a taco in her tits takes HOURS to load and you feel like someone just handed you a live grenade. IT'S TAKING TOO LONG! SOMEONE WILL SEE! Then you close the tab and try again five minutes later with the exact same result. Stupid slow-loading images.

I think pretty much everyone has had a superior or a co-worker catch them looking at something that's NSFW. But unless you're in the middle of a bullpen watching a full-length Brazzers video, no one's gonna fire you. They know you're gonna look; they just want you to freak the hell out when you do, so that you can't really enjoy that screengrab of Helen Hunt's bush. They want you to be discreet. I bet you've been caught looking at stuff like that far more often than you think you have.

Email of the week time:

Jason:

The playground we frequent has a number of community toys that kids make use of for their enjoyment. Sometimes, the enjoyment of one or more kids collides. This one fucker (huge, still wearing a diaper) walked up to my son in a Cozy Coupe and proceeded to forcefully pull my kid out of the car. Literally carjacked him. I called the kid "shithead". My wife says that's a no-no, but no adults heard me so no harm, no foul.

Anyway, this kid's Russian nanny is just standing there, whiling away the last few minutes of sobriety and responsibility while her little master is stamping his passbook to thug life. So I politely ask "Shithead" if my son can have the car back, because he was playing with it. Of course, my kid has found something else to do and moved along, but I'm holding a grudge. I want to see this kid faceplant into one of the metal jungle gym support poles, or watch a squirrel bite his nut sack off.

I guess my point is this: kids suck hard. This kid is going to grow up to rape someone, or be the little boarding school prick that sticks pine cones up his lacrosse buddy's asshole. What do you do? My wife said to just get over it and quit calling the poor kid a shithead.

What's the proper etiquette for seeking revenge on a playground thug - while not crossing the line to actual criminal activity? Meantime, I'll be over here in the corner, dreaming of putting broken glass in his Plum Organics pouch.

Was the kid's name Zanderpuss?

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering accents, WAGs, gym rats, poop, and more. Your letters:

Christian:

Oatmeal raisin or oatmeal chocolate chip? I think the former is the greatest cookie ever but my co-workers say the latter. Am I fucked up or are they?

What about oatmeal raisin chocolate chip? Must the raisin and the chocolate chip be mutually exclusive? Can they not live in harmony forever and ever with the occasional walnut bit dropping by for a three-way?

As someone who believes that chocoholism is a disease, I favor any cookie that has the addition of chocolate chips. I'm the kind of person that, after eating a chocolate-free dessert, will demand a SECOND dessert that has chocolate in it. I am Cathy. When my wife scans a dessert menu and is like, "Ooooh! Mango tart!" I tell her to piss off. We're having the molten lava chocolate jizz cake and that's final. So I'll always pick the cookie that has chocolate in it. Not that I don't see the value in an oatmeal raisin cookie on its own. It's good. But why NOT add a cup of Tollhouse morsels to that fucker while you're at it? YOU HAVE ONLY CHOCOLATE TO GAIN.

In fact, just to start a fight, here's how I would rank the world's cookies:

1. Chocolate chip (this one, specifically)

2. Oreos

3. Thin mints

4. Tagalongs

5. Monster cookies (peanut butter, m&ms, oatmeal, possibly horse parts, etc)

6. Samoas

7. Mallomars

8. Florentines (chocolate-dipped only, please)

9. Fudge Stripes

10. Oatmeal raisin

11. Ginger snaps

12. Berger cookie

13. Macaroon

14. Snickerdoodle

15. Peanut butter cookie

16. Sugar cookie

17. Black and white cookie

18. Shortbread

19. Nilla wafers

20. Milanos

21. Madelines (Are you a cookie or are you a cake? YOU MUST CHOOSE)

1,006. Fortune cookies

1,006 (tie). Biscotti. God, women go batshit over biscotti. EVERY cookie tastes good dunked in liquid, honey.

I'm sure I've forgotten some important entries here, so please dive into the comments and tell me what an awful person I am.

Kevin:

I'm 35. I work in marketing. I have no connections to the NBA. If tomorrow I was given Michael Jordan's basketball talent, could I make it to the NBA? How would I go about doing it? Join a big city Y league? Try and make a name at the Rucker? Harass any agent who will listen? What would be the surest way from total obscurity to the NBA?

The NBA D-League held open tryouts last September, so I would imagine they'd do it again next fall. But that means you would have to wait around for the next five months before someone noticed you. What you'd have to do in the meantime is make a highlight reel. You'd have to get a friend who's decent with a camera, head to a pickup court where they'd actually let you play instead of making you wait there like an asshole for three hours while you feebly hold your hand up and ask, "I got next?" Then you'd have to OWN the court, pulling off all kinds of crazy tomahawks and windmills and dunks from the three-point line and what not. Then your friend hops on Final Cut and edits together all your kickass moves, all scored to just the loudest, shittiest hip hop song possible. Maybe an old, obscure No Limit song. Something truly awful.

Then you'd have to post the thing on YouTube and blitz social media with it, telling all your Facebook friends OMG WHITE JORDAN! Then your friends would either A) Ignore you, B) Comment on how amazed they were by the video despite secretly being too lazy to watch more than three seconds of it, or C) Watch it and say, "Hey that guys looks famili... IT'S YOU! HOLY SHIT!" I'd wager maybe one of your friends actually watches it. Then you'd send the video to us and to The Big Lead and to BleachHuffington RePostFeed and hope that they post it with the headline "The Most Amazing Basketball Video You Will EVER See." Then you'd look at the post and see the first 900 comments were all, "FAKE. Consider this the last time I visit your site!"

Then, you'd have to hope that some shady-as-shit agent (or worse, a manager with no actual agent certification) sees the video, believes it, calls you up, tries to sign you to an onerous contract in which 150 percent of all your income is put in a trust in his name, and then gets you a private workout with some peripheral NBA human being like, I dunno, John Lucas. Then you'd have to pray that Lucas could persuade some GM or living scout to watch you work out. Then the scouts would come to your private workout, watch you dunk, measure your height, say you aren't "long" enough, and then never call you again.

That's how it would go down. Your potential would be utterly wasted. In fact, you could now count yourself among the five million men out there who tell friends and family that they totally would have made the NBA if not for politics. No one would believe you. Eventually, you'd go work for the circus, develop an Oxy habit, and then kill yourself. I'm so sorry, man.

Nick:

I never use the word "ma'am" but always find myself saying it when I'm talking to a woman who has a southern accent. What's up with that? I caught myself using it with the Geico insurance rep on the phone the other day. I'm from the northeast and have never lived in the south. Do other people do that?

Well, of course you did that around a Southern lady. You were probably hoping to sweet talk her on the phone while trying to save 15 percent or more on your car insurance. You have to go all out during this kind of courting ritual. Unfortunately, the joke's on you. That was an Indian woman coached to talk with a Southern accent to keep you on the phone longer.

If you're weak-minded, as I am, it takes very little to affect certain languages and dialects. I've lived in Maryland for a few years and I now have a full-fledged Maryland accent. I say "row-ood" instead of "road." That's pretty much the extent of the Maryland accent, but still. It's amazing how easy it is to slip into those little affectations. When I got back from England after a semester abroad, I said "cheers" instead of "thanks" and all my friends HATED me for it.

People like to fit in when they go places, so it makes sense if you're in the Deep South if you feel compelled to say "sir" or "ma'am." You don't want them mistaking you for a YANKEE and then killing you. And when you get back, that affectation is a kind of linguistic keepsake—a humblebrag, a way of telling people that you went somewhere fancy and exotic. "I'll have a pint, which is what they say when they order a beer IN ENGLAND, WHICH IS WHERE I JUST CAME FROM." It's the main reason everyone hates Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow.

Andrew:

Let's say some magical being - a wizard, an alien, Jesus, Alien Jesus, whatever - puts a curse on your penis. Now, every time you masturbate, you must finish into a cup and down your byproduct like a slimy Jello Shot. If you do not do this within five minutes, you'll go impotent for three months. Do you masturbate less, or just start bringing Dixie cups everywhere?

Dixie cups ahoy. You can get used to the taste of ANYTHING if it's required. If you're starving in the desert and someone offers you beets—which are disgusting—you're not turning them down. Same principle here. I'd make sure to bring a cup, do my business into the cup, add water, swirl it around a bit, and then gulp it down. Much better than sucking ejaculate out of a tissue, or fishing out cocksnot from the toilet. No, thank you.

Frank:

How much would you pay to be able to know the exact length of your turds? I just took a dump and I could have sworn the turd was at least 2-feet long, but I feel like I can't brag without facts to back me up. I think I would spend at least $100 for this power.

I think $100 is a bit rich. If it were an app, you'd get sticker shock. Remember: most people blanch at paying, like, $2 for an app. I know I do. I'll happily waste $2 at the 7/11 buying pork rinds and Ferrero Rocher, but when I have to pay two bucks for a potentially life altering app? FUCK YOU INTERNET, MAKE IT FREE. It makes no sense. I would pay maybe $10 for the app. Tops. Frankly, I prefer imagining the length of the poop in my head. I don't want the app to ruin the fantasy for me. That shit was eight feet long and no one can tell me otherwise!

Sean:

What would have happened if one of the random former players (Seriously, "Harvard's highest drafted player" was the best the Seahawks could do????) that no one remembers used his 15 seconds at the podium to lambast the NFL for not doing enough for former players health benefits/concussions? Would ESPN's broadcast have gone black and the Ginger Hammer's Gestapo thrown a bag over him and beat him up and thrown him in the Hudson? Would he have escorted him off the stage and had one of his henchmen announce the pick and then next year's 2nd round presenters are all Verizon Fan Zone winners who will get booed for just winning a contest?

It's funny because Wayne Chrebet was the guy the Jets trotted out to announce the Geno Smith pick on Friday. Chrebet suffers from memory loss and bouts of depression due to numerous concussions he received throughout his career. But Chrebet wasn't about to hold up Geno Smith's moment because GRRRRR SCRAPPY TEAM PLAYER GRRRRR. He's a good soldier, one of the army of damaged former players who say they'd do it all over again after listing out all their maladies: arm palsy, spinal frost, stooly urine, etc. The NFL is like an overbearing father: You want to stand up to him, but you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Frankly, it would hard for anyone in that kind of public situation to go off script. You may have your little diatribe all planned out, the way I'm sure lots of people want to chew out the President when they come face-to-face with him. But then the moment comes and you're too overwhelmed. Everyone's watching. There are bright lights. You consider whether or not it's kind of rude to seize the moment for yourself. That tends to cow most people. It's easier to just say the pick and leave than it is to kick up a fuss.

If Chrebet, or someone like him, had spoken up, I can tell you exactly what would have happened. One: He would have been allowed to talk. Two: The NFL would have immediately planted an angle in various media outlets to undermine what was said. You'd see shit on PFT like, "Chrebet ruins Smith's happy moment," or, "Chrebet may have violated contract terms with extended riff," or, "Chrebet jeopardizes Hofstra Hall of Fame chances?!" That's how the NFL works. They hold enough sway with meathead America to shape their opinions as needed.

By the way, I'm not feeling this whole "new guest announcer every pick!" format to the draft. We're two years away from Seth Meyers hosting this thing and having formal celebrity presenters wearing ugly outfits. THIS IS NOT AN AWARDS SHOW IT MEANS SOMETHING DAMMIT.

JL:

Tony Parker allegedly slept with Brent Barry’s wife. Jason Richardson allegedly fathered a child with Steve Nash’s wife. My question is how many GF’s/wives of teammates do you think Michael Jordan slept with?

All of them. He's just that competitive. He probably didn't even LIKE banging John Paxson's wife. He just did it to do it. At any given moment, there are two NBA or NFL teammates with a running wager to see who can have sex with the most WAGs. SPOILER ALERT: Antonio Cromartie isn't losing that bet.

Tim:

What is your stance on the expression "By Far and Away"" Sports announcers seem to use this hideous expression most, when 'By Far' and 'Far and Away' isn't strong enough (example: Lebron James is by far and away the best player in the NBA right now!) It causes an instant physical reaction in me akin to defecating sharp chunks of tungsten-carbide. Choose a friggin' lane! It's either one or the other, but not both.

It's true. It's like a "Before And After" puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. Any day now, sportscasters will start combining even more cliches:

"He's a real nine-to-five-tool player"
"He can flat-outstanding play"
"If you're looking at a team like the Denver Broncos"
"There's no question about this guy's intangibles"
"That's just a great NATIONAL FOOTBALL PLAY."

Work Sucks:

How much would you pay, per minute, to have total access to your back for pimple popping purposes?

About the same amount I'd pay for a poop-measuring app.

HALFTIME!

Kevin:

Turned on the TV just now and witnessed Chris Mullin being called a "gym rat" for the six-hundredth time. Then it hit me - it's absolutely the go-to term for old white broadcasters when dealing with talented (even Hall of Fame-level) white basketball players. You never, ever, ever hear a black guy being called a "gym rat". Michael Jordan could've qualified as a gym rat. If we're going to use the shitty term, at least make it equal opportunity.

It's awful. It's a staple of any Sports Illustrated puff piece about a gritty young scrapper. "Bobby asked Coach for the keys to the old warehouse, then hung an old coffee can rim up and cut out a net from his younger brother's cloth diapers. Then he shot 700 free throws a day!" Well, la-di-fucking-da, Mr. Gym Rat. Go watch TV for an hour and settle down.

When I was a kid, I had a plastic pumpkin that I used to huck against the wall for hours at a time every day (and by hours, I mean 15 minutes, tops). And I had read so many gym rat stories by then that I was thinking, "If I just do this 50,000 times a day, I'll become a major league pitcher!" That was wrong, of course. Those profiles never include an analysis of the gym rat's fast twitch muscles, or any other physiological proof of superior athleticism, because that would harm the myth. I wish there had been a tasteful piece by Dan Jenkins telling me to not waste my time.

Meathead sports fans want their players to WORK. They nod in douchetastic approval when they hear that Tom Brady is the first guy to the practice facility and the last one to leave. They don't want you to be a pro athlete and actually ENJOY it. Meanwhile, if you've ever worked a real job, you know that the number of hours you work is virtually unrelated to how well you do your job. If you can do your job quickly and efficiently, who gives a fuck if you're the first to leave? That's how the rest of the universe works (or should, at least). God forbid an athlete not make a superficial display of how many man-hours he's put into fixing the hitch in his swing. I'm gonna build a giant GYM RAT TRAP. It'll have a spring that can crush bones and it'll use a Welker jersey as bait.

Richard:

If Daniel Day Lewis had to play a drug addict, let's say like crackhead Christian Bale in "The Fighter," do you think, as a method actor, he'd get addicted to crack, meth, etc. to get into character?

I promise you there have been any number of dipshit actors who have done that kind of "research" to get into character. And I bet they were really proud of themselves for doing it. "No one's ever gone THIS DEEP before. I'll win 10 Oscars for this one film alone! AND I'll get to smoke crack!" Meanwhile, Robert Downey, Jr. has probably pulled that trick six dozen times.

Anyway, I think Daniel Day-Lewis would experiment with drugs in order to get into character, which is why he's probably avoided playing crackheads. He'd rather go make shoes or whatever the hell it is he does in his spare time. "I'm good at acting, but my REAL passion is for woodblock printing." Whatever, dipshit. ACT MOAR PLEEEZ.

When I was in my early 20s, I wrote a bunch of terrible screenplays, and I remember I had the same idea that every other 20-year-old dipshit has. "I'm gonna make a REAL movie with hardcore sex in it! Like, it'll be a normal movie, but the actors will FUCK! Because that'll be real and shit. Totally revolutionary!" You can be fairly certain these days that any indie movie that features hardcore sex will be god awful. But oh, I bet every single one of those directors thinks they're were kickstarting a revolution.

Owen:

I got into an argument with a friend of mine the other day about whether or not animals enjoyed sex or if they did it solely for the purpose of procreation. His opinion was, "Yes, of course they love it just like humans do." However, my argument was that there is no way animals get the same satisfaction from sex and orgasm like humans do because if that were true, wouldn't animals be having wild animal doggy style sex in the streets all day every day? They seem to only do it when the bitch is in heat.

According to this article, mammals enjoy sex, and even have orgasms. That's important to know when you hump your dog.

It makes sense for animals to like knocking paws, when you think about it. An orgasm is nature's way of luring you into reproduction. It's the bait. And birth control is your way of going SUCK IT, NATURE! I AIN'T FALLING FOR YOUR SHIT. So there's no reason that other mammals wouldn't have that built-in incentive to procreate.

Down the evolutionary chain, that incentive probably isn't as prevalent. When an amoeba breaks off a pseudopod, it's not like, "YES YES YES OH GOD FUCK YES (bites lip)." You have to have a more advanced brain to get the full sex experience.

Justin:

Is it just me, or has the consummate "I have a migraine" excuse gotten out of control these days? Apologies to all those legit migraine-sufferers out there, but this shit has gone too far. My wife has gotten to the point of pulling the migraine card to get out of watching loud action movies when it's my turn to pick... at home no less. Can the people at BIG THERMOMETER come up with a migraine validity test or something?

Oof, the self-diagnosed migraine. Those people can burn in hell. A migraine is not, "Oh, this movie is too loud. I have a migraine!" A migraine is when you feel like someone has taken a glass cutter, opened your skull with it, and then taken out your brain to practice slapshots. A real migraine involves going into a dark room and shooting up a vial of morphine to knock you out so that the thing goes away. That's a migraine. A migraine is not just you having a regular-ass headache.

People use the migraine excuse now to get out of playdates and cocktail parties and work and all kinds of commitments. Unless you have written proof of your diagnosis, or you have to wear a motorcycle helmet at all times to keep the pain at bay, I'm NEVER believing you. You're a dick and I don't want to have brunch with you anyway.

Brendan:

What is the ratio for number of times you've encountered empty ketchup bottles to a full ketchup bottle? For me it has to be like 12:1. Whether at home, a restaurant or cookout, the ketchup is always empty. I find myself violently shaking the bottle and squirting it 30 times to get enough ketchup for two french fries or one bite of hot dog. But those times when I reach for the ketchup and it's full are very satisfying.

My kids waste ketchup like it's running tap water. They make POOLS of the shit on their plate for one goddamn nugget. And so when it's finally my turn to get the ketchup, I get 50 bottle farts before anything comes out. Then I shake the thing like a paint can and try again, and then I get spritzed with ketchup mist. It's awful. I want one of those giant ketchup dispensers like they have at Five Guys. You push a lever and a pint of ketchup comes out. It's really gratifying.

By the way, the ketchup cups at Five Guys need to be 60 times larger. They give you a pen cap to fill. I'm walking back to the table trying to balance six mini-cups of ketchup in my hands. I want a BARREL for my ketchup. There can't be enough of it on my fries. Ever.

Chris:

On occasion, I have poops that blister paint. Absolutely terrible smells. Last night I was at a restaurant, and had one of these poops. One toilet bathroom. I did the deed, and opened the door to a guy waiting. Do I give a heads up, say "Sorry man", or look at the floor in shame?

The latter. Better yet, walk out with your head held high, not even acknowledging what just happened. NEVER give the next guy the "I'm sorry, bro" bit. It's a bathroom. People do bathroom things in there. Everyone should know that going in. Anyone who expresses shock or outrage when a bathroom smells like someone went to the bathroom in it deserves to be nailed with 3,000 cubic feet of methane gas.

Time for your email of the week. It's about rats.

Scott:

During my senior year of college I lived in an old shitty house that provided little protection from the outside world. At some point during the year, my roommates and I started noticing nibbles in our bread products. Being morons, we decided that mysterious nibbles were a result of us drunkenly going to town on bread after a long night at the bars. A couple days later I hear a screech and see my roommate standing on the table scared shitless because he just saw a rat run by. I put two and two together and realize that it's a rodent that's been eating the bread and not a blacked out version of me. The first thing I do is vomit because I've been sharing a loaf of bread with a rat. The second thing I do is grab every weapon in the house and go on a hunt for this fucking rat. I made a lap around the house, got bored, and decided to set up some traps rather than exert the effort to actively hunt. Later that night I hear a loud thud in the circuit breaker box (this house had its circuit breaker in the kitchen). I'm positive that this is the rat and I tell my roommates to arm themselves because we have this fucker cornered. As I stated before, we're all morons when it comes to rat killing so I grabbed a textbook, roommate 1 grabbed deer antlers, and roommate 2 picked up a big ass printer still in its box. I open up the circuit breaker box and this fat rat flopped out onto the ground and hauls ass out of the kitchen before I can even comprehend what just occurred. The last line of defense is roommate 2 with the printer. With perfect hand eye coordination, he dropped the printer and crushed Speedy Gonzalez. VICTORY! Or so we thought...

Further inspection of the circuit breaker box revealed that this rat had GIVEN BIRTH. The orginal rat got knocked up, took refuge in our cicuit breaker, carb loaded on bread, and then gave birth. We were one week away from having a full blown infestation (also disposing of newborn rat babies is horrible). The story doesn't end here . Turns out, daddy rat was still at large and he decided to take refuge in my room (luckily I was out of town for the week). Rather than grabbing a printer and going in my room, my roommates called an expert. The exterminator places a rat trap with peanut butter outside my door, and two days later there lies a decapitated rat. We killed an entire rat family, and I was forced to spend the rest of the year in a room that was forever unclean.

Anonymous:

So I'm a high school senior graduating in less than 3 months. I'm an average-looking kid, nothing special but not ugly or really fat or deformed or anything. I'm friends with girls, have a nice group of guys friends, party etc.- not a loser by any stretch of the imagination, but I've never gotten past making out with a girl and feeling her up.

Never taken a bra off, never gotten a hand job, never gotten a beej, and obviously never had sex. I've also never hooked up with a girl who was sober.Does this make me a massive failure in high school? Is this going to cause issues for me entering college next year? I'm going to a big state school next year. Can I handle things without much experience in college or am I gonna get laughed at?

You're not a failure. Sometimes it just doesn't happen for people in high school. And when that happens to a guy, it can fuck with his head. You longer you go without losing it, the more you press, which makes it all that much harder to get laid. Take it from someone who didn't lose his virginity until age 20: It's an AWFUL cycle. Men put so much pressure on themselves to CRUSH vaginas that it destroys them to see everyone else getting laid except for them. You feel like a complete fucking failure. I remember hearing about friends hooking up with girls and being like, "How did you DO that? What is so wrong with me that I can't do likewise?" Every rejection just sends you further and further into the abyss.

The number one reason most men are successful with women is confidence. But you can't be confident until you have success with women, and that's really, really annoying. The only way around this is for you to develop confidence in something OTHER than picking up women. Are you good at playing the banjo? Do you have a love for high jumping? Interested in starting a hemp smoothie business? Do THAT. Forget women for a moment and just focus on that other thing. Get confident in that one field and a girl will see you being confident and say, "Boy, he sure looks like a confident young buck! But he's always playing that banjo. I'll distract him with my HEWGE BEWBS." And suddenly, you've got yourself a ladyfriend. Get confident in one thing, and that will lead to you being confident in MANY things. Then it's Trim City for you.

Don't be hard on yourself for not pulling off some kind of stupid American Pie-style virginity loss pact before leaving high school. People who have awesome lives in high school go on to become cashiers and hobos. It's the late bloomers who win out in the long run. The less you worry about it, the more likely it is to happen for you. NOW START YOUR BANJOING.

Let's get into the Funbag below.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering turkeys, Bueller, blast chillers, and more.

Your letters...

Ewan:

What public bathroom has the combo of worst/most shitting? I say airport. Large numbers of people, they can't leave the area. Plus there are folks from all over the country/world with varying diets.

Yeah, but airport bathrooms tend to be cleaned on a regular basis, and you have many toilets to choose from. You have many BATHROOMS to choose from, in fact. Plus, if you've cleared security, you've essentially filtered out the homeless factor.

It's nowhere near as bad as a port-a-potty at your local playground. That's ONE toilet, and it's being used by children (whose bowel movements are notoriously erratic), by homeless people, and by runners and cyclists who HAVE to use the bathroom right now because their rectums are packed to the rafters with future sewage. The result is a toxic slurry so foul, so awful, that merely opening the door makes you want to vomit.

I've seen shit EVERYWHERE in these biffs. Shit on the walls. Shit on the seat. Shit on the ledge next to the hole. And they never empty it. The pile of shit in the hole has already come up well above the blue disinfecting liquid. It's HELL. It's the worst fucking place on Earth. I won't go near those things anymore. I'd rather shit in the woods. I NEVER take my kids to piss in them. I just let them go in a bush. One time I took my kid into one and he started crying the second I opened the door. I don't blame him at all.

Here is how I would rank the worst public bathrooms in America (I'm not gonna factor in the rest of the world, because obviously there are certain villages in the Third World forced to share a single Dixie Cup for their collective waste):

1. Standalone port-a-potty

2. Row of port-a-potties

3. Dog-racing track

4. Bus

5. Bus station

6. Ballpark (NOTE: One time I took my kid to a Nationals game and she had to go to the restroom, so we went into the Family Bathroom* and there was a full turd sitting right on the back of the toilet. My kid was scared to death at the sight of it. It looked as if it could move on its own.)

7. Arby's

8. Single-occupancy dive-bar bathroom

9. Single-occupancy Chinese-restaurant bathroom

10. Public school

11. Train

12. Train station

13. Airplane

14. Airport

(*I should note here that, apart from the above example, family bathrooms are pretty much the greatest thing ever. There's room for all your shit. There's a toilet that's two inches off the ground for your kid to whizz in. Paper towels are more plentiful. There's always a changing table. And when you and your family go into one, everyone else knows that you'll all be in there for at least half an hour. I'm ready to unpack whenever I walk into one, it feels so homey. Seriously, when another family gets to the family bathroom before me, I mutter voodoo curses at them.)

Adam:

Don't you think Ferris Bueller just got really lucky that Abe Froman never showed up for his reservation?

Of course, but that's part of the joke. The whole premise of the movie is that Ferris Bueller has the most charmed life imaginable. Abe Froman never shows up. When Ferris goes to the Cubs game, the foul ball gets hit right to him. And no one arrests him for commandeering a fucking parade float. In fact, the float seems to have been set up just for him—with sound and hired dancers and meticulous choreography—well in advance. It's meant to be a teenage fever dream.

I remember watching that movie when I was a kid and praying that, one day, I would be that popular. I mean, I used to try to will that fever dream to life. I would buy some new Def Leppard shirt or something and I'd be like, This is it. This is my ticket to Ferris Bueller's life. Nothing but hot chicks and zany pranks for the rest of my days. And then I'd go to school and everyone would notice the piss stain on my jeans and my hopes would be dashed. That movie has built up more unrealistic expectations than perhaps any other movie in history.

The 1980s were a big time for selling the importance of popularity. They used to sell school locker answering machines on TV. Watch this ad if you don't believe me:

ERIN! LUNCH, PIZZA: BE THERE. I wanted one of those things so, so badly. Thank God I never got one, because the messages I would have gotten on it would have been terrifying. "Hey FAGARY, I'm gonna rip your fucking dick off." Stuff like that.

Patrick:

"Why yes, my son DOES play lacrosse at Harvard! We're so proud of him ... he's CRUSHING so much Cambridge pussy!"

Oh, God no. That's just the worst thing ever. Give him ALL the speeding tickets.

Jake:

What's the best meat to get in pad thai? I have to go with shrimp, but I was talking to a friend the other day who argued that since you need to eat the shrimp separately from the rest of the ingredients because of the tail, you don't get to enjoy all of the flavors at once and duck is clearly better. But shrimp is clearly the better food overall.

Whoa hey, who says shrimp is CLEARLY better than duck? Duck is chicken for fat people. One bite of duck has roughly 30,000 calories and 50 kilograms of fat. It's delicious. The thai joint I order from doesn't even OFFER duck pad thai. If they did, I'd ask for double duck.

Anyway, the meat is almost beside the point with pad thai. My only goal while eating pad thai is to stuff as many noodles into my mouth as I can fit as quickly as possible. If there happens to be meat in there—shrimp, duck, a human toe—so be it. I'm not picky. I find that most people order chicken pad thai so that no one eating it complains. It's the boringest thing you could possibly order from a Thai restaurant. I bet the chef spits in it with contempt for your lack of imagination. Still pretty tasty, though.

Jonathan:

Would you rather give up alcohol or the internet?

Booze. And you would, too. What are you gonna do otherwise? Give up the Internet and just go drinking for the rest of your life? No more emailing? No more Twitter? Just you bumming around from bar to bar, talking to real people instead of texting friends? Reading real books? Unplugging from the news and enjoying a bottle of fine tequila? What the hell kind of life is that?

(Seriously though, you'd still give up booze. You'd just turn to crack instead.)

Andrew:

Every morning I make oatmeal for my 14-month-old son and immediately after I take it out of the microwav, he wants to eat. To speed the cooling process I toss an ice cube in bowl and then put it in the freezer for a few minutes. However, that never cools it off fast enough and I'm stuck blowing on hot oatmeal like an asshole while he screams for breakfast.

This could all be avoided if I had a blast chiller like they have on Chopped. That's the coolest kitchen tool that is used on Chopped that a person could have for their house, right?

Oh, hell yes. I didn't know that blast chillers existed before I watched that show. I saw some tattooed motherfucker toss a frozen whipped pea semifreddo into the blast chiller and I was like OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT I MUST HAVE IT. That thing needs to be standard in all homes immediately. We've had microwaves for decades now. We've desperately needed its counterpart: Something to put food in after we've put it in the microwave for wayyyyyy too long, then it can get too cold and we can nuke it again. I want it in my life so very badly.

Feeding kids is a horrible process, and temperature gauging is part of the reason why. Every new parent has served up a bottle of just-a-bit-too-warm formula to a baby by accident and then watched the baby scream in horror after being scalded by it, as if you just poured boiling oil down their throat. You feel like a monster.

And they only get pickier about food temperature after that. My son will tear off pieces of the chicken nugget that he thinks are too crunchy. GODDAMN PRIMA DONNA. There is a perfect temperature for children's food and it takes 70 minutes of trial and error using a microwave and excessive blowing to achieve it. We need blast chillers. There's a countertop one available on Amazon right now for $5,731. This is unacceptable. Surely, quick-freezing technology can be made more affordable to the masses. WHAT IS OBAMA DOING ABOUT THIS?!

Mark:

If I am on an elevator alone, I stand right in the middle of the car so I appear as the doors open. As the elevator opens, I stand there with my head down and raise it after the doors open, ala The Undertaker, and secretly hope a pack of ninjas (or a troupe of mimes) will attack me so I can go all Jackie Chan on them with my backpack... is this weird?

No. Also, if you ride a subway, make sure to grasp the pole TIGHTLY, so that you can execute a perfect swinging roundhouse kick on any terrorist trying to commandeer the train. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING FIGHT SOMETHING.

Bryan:

Which would you choose if you could never have the other for the rest of your life: steak or lobster? I choose steak. That seems like the practical choice.

You have to go with steak because it's usually cheaper, it's easier to prepare, and you can prepare it an endless number of ways. How often do you really get to eat lobster if you aren't some asshole investment banker? Once a year, if you're lucky? Lobster is awesome, but you can't sacrifice your whole relationship with steak for it. Now if it's between steak and the INTERNET ...

Spenser:

I recently got a random Craigslist roommate for the last two months of my lease. She mentioned she "lifted weights," but turns out she is a former bodybuilder sponsored by Muscle Week. I have been debating with my co workers on who would win in a fist fight. Below is a picture of her and a picture of me. I am an average (fat) male who stands 5'10 on a good day weighing in at 230 lbs. She's 5'2" and 150 lbs. My co-workers think because she is huge and can probably squat me 10 times that she would murder me. However, I think if I hit her once in the face that she is done.

You have the height and weight advantage on her. But she has the "in shape" advantage over you by a significant margin. She also has the lip stud, which suggests she isn't afraid of pain. Also, you're fighting a girl here. So you'd probably be like, "Christ, I can't hit a girl." And while you're hemming and hawing about the ethics of punching a woman in the face, she'd probably catch you with an uppercut right to the scrotum. And then you'd get all mad and pin her down and then you'd be like, "God, this is kind of an erotic moment. Is this gonna make being roommates weird? Does liking muscley women make me gay, bro?" BOOM. Another scrotal punch. Then it's a knee to the face and you're out for good.

Then again, just because she lifts weights doesn't mean she's automatically a great fighter. Perhaps you could overpower her right from the start before fatigue sets in five seconds later. It's possible, particularly given your size advantage. But with your slovenly appearance and overreliance on the big play, I deem you a GLORY BOY who would eventually wilt under the undrafted scrappitude of your roommate. She would WANT it more.

HALFTIME!

Daniel:

How many degrees of sexual separation do you think the average person is from a porn star? I mean they probably go out and bang a lot of people in the real world too, right? Probably no more than five degrees, I think. I doubt your boyfriend or girlfriend would tell you if they once fucked a porn star considering the stigma, so it may be closer than you think. Also, how cool would it be if there was an all-knowing, all-powerful computer that could tell you the degrees of sexual separation between you and any movie star you chose? Probably painfully disappointing.

The theory is that you're only six degrees separated for EVERY other person on the globe. But those are not sexual degrees, obviously. How close you are to a porn star depends a lot on how many people YOU'VE slept with (obviously, the more you've slept with, the better your odds) and other factors such as location. If you grew up living in LA, you're probably a lot closer than someone who lives in Moosejaw. Also, this is actual sex here. It doesn't count if your girlfriend's ex-boyfriend faps to a live feed of Savanna Samson on her website or something.

The porn world can be a fairly insular one, if you believe this profile of James Deen that ran in GQ a while back:

Deen's boyfriend-girlfriend-type arrangements, therefore, have generally been with other sex-industry professionals... Lately, having sex off-camera has been sort of fraught. "Personal private sex is almost too intimate now," he says, citing a recent threesome when he was "like almost hyperemotional, because it was personal sex without any cameras."

Hey, that's not strange at all! So there are performers like Deen, who don't stray far from the business. And then there are the THOUSANDS of drug-addled porn stars who gladly perform escort services on the side to help make ends meet. I think that five degrees is likely a safe guess, because that allows you to sleep with a girl who has slept with a guy who has slept with a girl who has slept with some real shitbag of a guy who paid $2,000 to have Austin Kincaid visit his hotel room in Vegas for 20 minutes. Is that five degrees? Do you count as one of the degrees? I suck at this game.

DJ:

Besides match fixing, what would a player in the 4 major sports have to do on the field/court/rink to get banned for life? It would have to be pretty awful, AMIRITE? I mean, Ron Artest basically only got one season for beating up a fan in the middle of a game.

Murder? I think murder would do the trick. The Ginger Hammer says you tarnished the shield when you shot Clay Matthews in the face while he was breaking down to tackle you. Pulling a Billy Cole on the field (minus the end zone suicide) will get you banned for life. On the bright side, ESPN would run a very sober three-minute segment the following year about how bad you felt about it. Stephen A. would conduct the interview!

Anyway, short of murder, here are a few more things that would probably get you a lifetime ban:

• Serious assault of an official or another player. Like, enough to render him crippled for life. A simple punch isn't enough. Even Kermit Washington was allowed to come back after destroying Rudy T's face

• Pulling down your pants and sexually assaulting a player/official/cheerleader/Billy Crystal. Just whipping your dick out isn't enough. You have to go USE it.

• Pulling down your pants, grabbing the ref's whistle, and sticking it in your asshole.

• Grabbing the PA microphone and announcing that you hate blacks/Jews/gays, and then firing off a Nazi salute. Anything Hitler-related will get you banned.

• Staging a sit-in. Like, if the game started and you just sat down to protest unfair wages or gay rights or something and you straight up refused to play, or maybe you left the field altogether. Imagine how pissed off Colin Cowherd would be. YOU'RE NO TEAM PLAYER, YOU'RE A ME GUY. Gambling aside, it really does take a lot to get to get you knocked out of your sport forever.

There's an army of Players Association lawyers ready to whittle down your lifetime ban to an eight-game suspension at a moment's notice. Only a murder or a HEIL HITLER! would be enough to get them to ease up. And we like it when players come back from doing something shitty. It's the cliched narrative everyone falls for time and time again. Even Artest got some love after he came back, which is funny because nothing about Ron Artest has REALLY changed. He's still a complete idiot. We shape the story the way we want it shaped. It doesn't have much to do with reality.

Daniel:

Why do we dress our secret service in the absolute worst clothing to protect VIP's like the president? If I were protecting someone in a shootout, I think the last thing in the world I'd want to be wearing is a tight suit, a tie and a dress shirt. Is it even possible to lift your hands over your head while wearing a suit? Or is the thinking that it's probably more important to look the part?

I think looking the part helps. The Secret Service are meant to both protect the president AND act as a visible deterrent to all would-be snipers and crazy people with plastic guns printed on a 3D printer. The stern men in suits acts a big PLEASE DO NOT TRY ANYTHING sign.

And, God forbid, should the Secret Service be forced to act on a threat, you're talking about a chain of events that occurs within the span of about four seconds. Someone has a gun, and then he is shot or disarmed. It's not an action movie. They don't go chasing after the assassin for 26 miles before finally having an ax fight in an empty warehouse, even though that would be AWESOME.

Besides, you don't know what kind of fancy suits the Secret Service has given to these guys. Maybe they're made from a space-age polymer that can stop bullets and reduce scrotal perspiration by 90 percent. It only looks like a common suit. But get to close to the Prez and BLAMMO! Wolverine claws.

I do agree with you about physical exertion while wearing a suit, though. Raising your hands while wearing a suit is like asking for it to tear in half.

PC:

I'm having a baby in the next week or so. I see all these men walking around with those baby carriers like the one in that Taco Bell commercial where they guy drips burrito shit onto his kid's head. It looks stupid. Should I sacrifice my arms or my cool factor? I liken it to carrying all the groceries in one trip. I could make a few trips but I wouldn't look like such a boss.

Most guys eventually opt to use the Bjorn because A) you have both arms free to eat and drink and B) you need to keep the baby as close to your body as possible while carrying it. That helps reduce the strain on your back, your knees, and your shoulders. Carrying a baby around in one arm makes you feel like the strongman at the county fair, but after seven seconds you feel like you're being tortured in a POW camp.

Having children means spending the majority of your time in stress positions: bent over, holding things for long stretches of time, or sitting cross-legged on a gym floor. Kids do not prize your comfort, or the health of your spine. So use the Bjorn freely, if you can figure out how to put it on. It took me about nine years to sort it out.

Edward:

I found this restaurant in a small town five hours outside of Moscow, Russia. They sold a variety of food including Pizza.

THASS RAYCESS!

Ed:

As the father of young kids, is there anything more exhilarating than pulling into your driveway and realizing your wife's car is not there, meaning she and the children are somewhere else and you unexpectedly have the house to yourself? The possibilities are endless.

I always make sure they aren't dead first. Like, I call my wife to make sure she's at the store and that no one kidnapped my family and threw them into a meat locker. After that's confirmed, I can relax and figure out my first move. I drink seltzer straight from the bottle and eat pistachios without putting them in a dish first! TELL ME I'M NOT A REBEL.

Email of the week time:

Mike:

In 2004, my girlfriend and I decided that it would be fun to rent a cabin on a lake for a weekend, a real secluded spot. When we got to the cabin we unloaded our stuff and I brought in some bundled firewood for the fireplace. She begged and pleaded me to start the fire, but being as it was about 4pm I refused and suggested that we go fishing instead, promising that not only would I build a fire later, but we could make smores inside. She agreed, but made me unbundle the wood and set up the fireplace so when it was time all I had to do was light it. Fine.

In the process of unbundling the wood, a freaking milk snake (google it…terrifying, but not venomous [neither of us knew this]) slithered out of the bundle, onto the floor and into a corner of the living room. We both run screaming out of the cabin to the dock, and I called the rental people and left a “OMFG THERE’S A GODDAMN KILLER SNAKE TRYING TO KILL US” message on the machine. My girl was a mess, so I suggested we go out on the boat for a bit to calm down.

We went out on the boat for about an hour, and when we came back I saw that the screen door had been shut. I assumed the maintenance man had gotten the snake. I built the fire as promised, and we sat in front of it telling each other how much more we loved each other than the other. All of a sudden I heard a strange noise coming from the direction of the bathroom. It sounded like the raptors from Jurassic Park walking. I immediately figured that demon snake grew legs and was waiting to kill me, but I had enough of that bastard so I grabbed a blanket and a fire-poker. Gameplan: throw blanket on snake-beast, beat it to death with pointy piece of iron.

As I walked down the hallway I saw a very large animal (demon???) being illuminated only by the flickering flames in the other room. Before I could do anything this demon-beast SHOT out of the bathroom and charged towards me. I ran into the living room, and as I turned around I noticed it was not a demon, but a giant male turkey, all puffed out and shit. He was charging around the room, making fucked-up noises and scaring the shit out of me and the lady. I started swinging for the fences with that iron stabber and hit it a few times in the body, which did not make it too happy. It charged me again and I swung that iron like my life depended on it, because hey, it did. The pointy part on the side CRUSHED that turkey’s skull.

I threw the turkey in the bed of my truck, got in, and drove to the rental office. When I got there I told them the story, and thanked them for getting rid of the snake, which the people there seemed confused about. I gave them the turkey, and went on my way. The next day they called me and let me know that he had just heard my message, and that no one took care of the snake, but his brother had found the snake in the turkey’s belly while cleaning it. So turkeys eat snakes, and now you know.

But who got to eat the turkey? You gotta eat the thing.

Taylor:

I was thinking of this while bored out of my goddamn mind at my current job... What is the most boring job out there? As much as I hate mine, I have internet access so that takes it out of the running. I have to think truck driver is up there. You just drive a big-ass vehicle while pissing everyone else on the road off at the same time. Your only entertainment is other poor fucks on the CB radio and the always shitty radio. When you finally pull over, your family and friends are hundreds of miles away and you have to just get in the back of your cab and jack off until you fall asleep and do it all again. You got anything that can beat that?

Wait, being a truck driver is boring? Because I've fantasized my entire life about being a truck driver. God, the FREEDOM. Nothing but me and the open road, with a prostitute sleeping in the back of the cab behind me. I could get on the CB and be like, "What's your 40, Cobra?" (Cobra is my buddy). I could give myself a cool radio handle, like Vanilla Thunder. I could go to rural truck stops and pinch a few asses while ordering pancakes. Plus, I assume all trucks have satellite radio now. ALL THE STERN I CAN EAT! Sounds like a little slice of heaven to me, amigo. And let's not forget all the drifters I get to kill at rest stops at night. Truck drivin's the job for you if you like killin' folk.

Pretty much any job is boring if you have to do it day in and day out. And you can go ahead and double the boredom if you're under constant supervision and you can't take time out for YOU once in a while. It also sucks if your job is relatively isolated, and you can't interact with other people. A survey done by salary explorer notes that accountancy ranks as the least fun job, according to applicants. It's no lion tamer, that's for sure ...

But accountants get to goof off. I'm not buying it. There are boringer jobs out there, such as ...

1. Soldier. "OK, we're gonna send you to a remote part of the world and you're gonna sit there and wait to be shot at. OK? Oh, and build a bridge for the villagers while you wait. Please don't let the limited access to good food, booze, the Internet, and loose women destroy the fragile remaining portions of your mind."

2. Parent/nanny. I have to think being a nanny is twice as boring as being a parent because it's not even your kid. You don't even care if the kid DIES. If the kid dies, you get a week off between gigs. It's like a holiday. I love my kids, but any parent will tell you that sitting around with their children from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m., just praying for dinnertime to arrive, is like starving to death in a desert.

3. Tollbooth operator. Or a parking booth attendant. Any job where you have to sit in a booth, basically.

4. Dishwasher. All restaurant jobs are boring, but dishwasher is the king of boring restaurant jobs. Dishwashing makes being a waiter look like a five-year run on Broadway. When I washed dishes, I wanted to be a waiter so, so badly. And being a waiter SUCKS. That's how bad dishwashing is. Oh, and your hands die.

5. Ship or oil-rig worker. That's a job where you have gay affairs with your shipmates just to pass the time. "Charlie, there's nothing to do on this goddamn boat. Let's just bang each other and see if that gets us to nightfall."

6. Lawyer/paralegal. I know lawyers can dick around and go out for power lunches and what not, but when they have to do actual work, their work is the worst work. Sometimes I look at a legal document like a contract and think to myself: "Christ, someone had to write this. I know they worked off a template, but JESUS." There's so much beauty and wonder to humanity, and you get stuck writing the fucking legal disclaimer for a soup ad. I can't even imagine how awful that is. Check our comment section if you want to know what bored lawyers do with their time.

7. Traffic cop. Or any cop job, really. You're just putting in two decades of boredom to collect that sweet, sweet pension. I know how you cops roll.

OK, let's get into the Funbag below. And please note that Someone Could Get Hurt comes out in exactly one week. Prepare for the Roman calendar to be discarded entirely after its introduction. Tour dates can be found here.

Image by Jim Cooke. Photo via ekipaj/Shutterstock.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering old timers on roids, shampoo, keys, and more.

Are you gonna be in Austin, Texas, next Monday? Oh well, do I have a treat for you: ME, READING OUT LOUD. It's just like a lecture, only I never look up. Tell me you aren't enthused. You could even bring a date and then watch her storm out of the bookstore 10 minutes later! The reading starts at 7 p.m., and then we'll all head over to Key Bar afterward to drink and act inappropriately.

Now, your letters:

Dan:

If Hitler never existed, who would be the gold standard for offensiveness? Mentioning Hitler in most any public context causes such a shitstorm. But whose name would make news anchors gasp if not for Hitler? Who would Ted Nugent compare Obama to?

Well, you have your choice of genocidal dictators: Stalin, Pol Pot, Kim Jong Il, Mao, Mussolini, Hussein, Qaddafi, Idi Amin, etc. None of them has the sharp onomatopoeic ZING that Hitler provides, although who knows if that would still be true in a Hitler-less alternate universe. Hitler is the perfect blend of catchy name, unique facial hair, murderous intentions, bizarre political philosophy, and naked racism that trolls all over the world rely on time and time again. Other dictators simply can't measure up. I think you have to go outside of that group to find your wingnut analogy of choice.

At first, I thought that Manson might do the trick. Even though Manson wasn't a politician, he was a leader of a group, so to speak. And he exerted an inexplicable influence over those people, so you can imagine how a stupid person would be like, "I don't agree with Manson's killing policies, but you have to admit the man was charismatic and a great speaker!" But I think Manson has become such a cultural punchline that it's easy to write off any analogy to him as ludicrous.

That's why it has to be bin Laden. I think bin Laden would be your Hitler replacement, because the mere mention of his name still makes people blind with rage. He's your man, until SPACE HITLER comes around. I fear Space Hitler.

Ben:

My wife and I have had this debate for 13 years now: when you get in the shower do you first squeeze the shampoo into your hand and then rub it into your hair, or do you squeeze the shampoo directly on your head and then lather? Only fucking nutjobs squeeze directly from the bottle to the hair correct? I mean, how do you even know how much is getting blasted on? You have to squeeze to the hand to regulate that shit. So far in our wedded bliss we have posed this question at least thirty times and I'm winning like 28-2. Please justify my dominance.

Your dominance is justified. Only an 8-year-old would squeeze the shampoo directly onto his head. Shampoo isn't cheap, especially WOMEN'S shampoo. Women never buy normal shampoo. They go straight for the $55 bottle of organic jojoba-honey-mayonnaise HAIR REVITALIZER that Sergio at the salon used on them once. To squeeze that directly onto your head in a cavalier manner is fiscally irresponsible.

Plus, if you squeeze the shampoo directly onto your head, there's every danger that it will slide right off you before you have a chance to rub it in. Everyone has had that shower where the shampoo or the body wash slips out of your hand and makes a big jizz splotch on the tile floor. You're never getting that soap back. It's like trying to capture an eel with your bare hands. Impossible. It just swims around and then gets stuck in the drain for eight years. You should squeeze the shampoo into your hand, mash it into your scalp, and then rub vigorously. After that, you MUST give yourself a shampoo mohawk and use the leftover lather to play with your balls. That's all standard human behavior.

Ben:

My wife is out of town working and she never likes any of the shit I make. So I made and ate all of this roast beef Stromboli. Carved deli roast beef. Some sliced mozzarella and provolone, and then some peppers, mushrooms and onions if that's your thing. Roll it up like a burrito and bake it. I could cook and eat another one right now.

Please do.

There are few things more gratifying than thinking of your own stoner food recipe and then executing a flawless version of it. If I just, like, put pepperoni on these nachos, then I will have PEPPERONI PIZZA NACHOS.

I also like attempting to replicate any technique I see on a cooking show and then gloating with pride when it turns out well. EVERYONE on Chopped rubs coffee on a steak before grilling it because that's way fancy, so I tried that too one night. Diagnosis: DELICIOUS. Peter King says pair it with a citrusy beer!

Rick:

Do you think that anyone has ever committed suicide solely because of sports? I'm not talking about some clinically depressed guy who lived in Cleveland and lost all his money and wife, and then LeBron leaving was just the final straw. I think there had to be some everyday guy with a decent life who couldn't stand to see the Bills lose their fourth Super Bowl, and just blew his head off right there. Am I right?

The only way it could happen is if the person in question was A) very drunk, and B) making a remarkably impulsive decision that, if sober, he would almost certainly regret. It's hard to imagine a sober guy with a steady job and a happy family watching the Chiefs trade for Alex Smith and then saying, "Fuck it, I'm out of here." But it IS easy to see that same man getting blind drunk, watching his team choke, and then playfully putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger right before realizing that the gun is actually loaded. Now THAT is a feasible all-sport suicide.

Otherwise, I can't believe someone would kill himself for sports and sports alone*. Too many people like WALLOWING in the loss of their team to off themselves. What's the point of killing yourself over Tony Romo gagging away a playoff spot when you can put down the gun and text your friend "I AM FUCKING DONE WITH ROMO"? No sports fan is gonna miss out on the chance to openly deride his team for letting him down yet again. I know I never do.

(* This answer applies to American sports fans only. Sports fans in other countries are fucking insane and will gladly kill themselves and others because their favorite soccer team scored an own-goal.)

Steve:

I just got a Kindle, and on one hand I'm reading more books than ever before, on the other hand I have a stack of hardbacks sitting untouched. That's just lazy isn't it?

No. A book is a book, no matter how it's packaged. You should get just as much credit for reading an e-book as some other dipshit who reads a first-edition copy of The Sun Also Rises and then puts it up on a shelf so that everyone knows he read it. There are no studies out there suggesting that dead-tree readers take away more from a book than you do tearing through the thing on an e-reader during a cross-country flight*.

(* NOTE: I did no research to verify this claim.)

I've said this before, but it's worth repeating: Books are, like, way heavy. I read the Harry Potter books to my kid every night and by the fifth page, my wrists are ready to die. And I also have that thing where I try to turn the page but instead I turn two pages so then I lick my thumb to separate them but then I lick too much and now the book is coated in drool. That's all terrible. I'd much rather read that shit on a Kindle. And when my kids are in high school, they better damn well have converted all textbooks to digital by then. If my kid is still lugging around 200 pounds of history tomes, you'll know the greedy executives at BIG TEXTBOOK were behind it all.

John:

Every time I see Cee Lo Green I can't help but wonder, how does he wipe his ass? Not only is he fat, which makes it harder to clean yourself properly, but he also has tiny T-Rex dinosaur arms.

Yeah, but he can bend. It's not like he's immobilized. With a little bit of elbow grease, he can make it back there. The real question is if he has to hang up his 60-foot feathered sequined dashiki on the stall hook before going, or if he just lifts it up. Because it can't be easy to hold that thing up and do your business at the same time. I can't even take a shit with a sport coat on. That's a dangerous game to play.

Scott:

Every time I've got Facebook or Twitter on my computer at work, I just assume when my coworkers walk by they don't even notice. However whenever I walk past anyone else in the office I need to know exactly what the hell they've got up there. Is it possible to walk past an open computer screen at work and at not at least take a glance?

It depends on what you notice in your peripheral vision. If you see nothing but a white screen and what appears to be a grid, you're not turning your head for a more in-depth look. This is why fake spreadsheets are the go-to facade for anyone looking to hide his online activity. Spreadsheets are legitimately the most boring thing in the world to stare at. Every time I click to open Microsoft Excel, I lose one week of life. But if you see pictures, or if you see a video being played, you're turning your head. What if it's porn? It's porn, isn't it? Oh what I would give to catch someone watching porn! Shit, it isn't porn.

Emails and Word docs are also ripe for peeping. If you pass someone with a COMPOSE box open, you WILL try to sneak a peek to see if he's writing sexy email to a mistress. "YOU ARE MY WHORE." Stuff like that. Or you'll want to know if he's talking about you or a co-worker behind your back. "OMG, this job suuuuuucks and Dave has an ugly face!" You're Dave in this scenario. Sorry, man.

Ryan:

I travel for work so I have a rental car just about every week. Recently, I've hit a streak where I've gotten cars with keys that fold into the "clicker" (see picture below). If you haven't had the pleasure of messing with these keys, I recommend you go out and do so immediately. Every time I pull out the keys, I pretend I'm James Bond, getting ready to hunt and kill my latest adversary, and click the button deploying the key. I've actually scared people on elevators who think I'm pulling a knife. Just as they're ready to panic I think, "That's right...it's not a weapon...its a 2012 Jetta". Totally worth it.

I hope that kind of key has been used in an action movie scene at least once. I'd be thrilled to watch Jason Bourne gouge out a Chechen operative's eye with the key to his Nissan Xterra, or whatever vehicle paid for placement in the next Bourne movie.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to note that the PANIC button on a key fob should really do so much more. When I press it, I would like a team of Navy SEALS to rappel down the sides of the parking garage and shoot any potential rapist on sight.

I have an old car and the key fob has a little light on it so that you can locate the ignition. You know damn well that I pretend that little light is actually a pinpoint laser that can cut glass.

Greg:

Why does Wilbon insist on referring to Magic Johnson as "Earvin" all the damn time. What the fuck is his problem?

He's the worst, that's his problem. By addressing Magic as "Earvin," he's letting you, the troglodyte viewer at home, know that he has an intimate relationship with Magic. Only fanboys and losers refer to him as Magic, don't you know? Wilbon presides over that show like he's the CEO of it. "That's a nice little opinion you have, Simmons. Now let the people hear from a REAL newsman. Now I know Eldrick Woods JUST A LITTLE BIT ..."

HALFTIME!

Bo:

I've heard several claims that BIG CHICKEN is pumping hormones into their birds to make them develop faster, more meat, etc.... and these chemicals are playing a role in the increase in things like cancer, and teenagers developing DD tits at the age of 14. I eat tons of chicken and am too poor to buy the organic stuff. Do I need to worry?

Well, I've been eating store-bought chicken and ground beef all my life, and I have had NO long-term effects from it. My deteriorating spine, occasional mysterious bladder pain, and lingering nipple hair have NOTHING to do with my diet, I assure you.

Anyway, I will remain skeptical of promises from BIG ORGANIC that my chicken was raised on a pristine farm in Upstate New York where it was fed fresh sardines, given its own acre of land to own and operate, and treated to five 10-minute strokings per day. I know damn well that's probably not the case. Half the organic shit I see at the store is that Nature's Promise brand that's made by the same motherfuckers that make all the other private-label shit lining the shelves. Their address is right on their on the back: Landover, Md. Nothing healthy comes from Landover. You can't fool me, BIG ORGANIC. I know you bought off an FDA official to brand your hormone-infused kraken meat with that green ORGANIC label so that suckers like my wife will pay three bucks extra for it.

That's the worst part, when the people around you have fully bought into it. They're always like, Oh my God, this tastes soooooooooo much better. Can't you tell the difference? The answer to that is no, because I coat anything I eat in a gallon of Frank's sauce. We buy the Newman's Own Oreos and my wife is like, "These are so much better than regular Oreos!" NO THEY ARE NOT AND PAUL NEWMAN IS DEAD NOW. They're fucking Oreos. You aren't doing your heart any favors by buying the cookies that have "organic" lard in the center.

(still eats a dozen Newman O's anyway)

So don't feel too bad about eating the regular chicken. Eating 50,000 pounds of chicken a year is probably bad for you no matter what kind of chicken you're eating. And these are hard times, so who can resist a pack of 30 raw chicken thighs for five bucks? THAT'S GOOD EATIN'.

Sarah:

Which Hollywood actor would you plop into the booth to call baseball games? He would have zero preparation or training. I'd watch every game if Jack Nicholson was calling it.

With all apologies to Nicholson, who would be getting a blowjob under the announcing table for 75 percent of any telecast, I think I'd pick Bill Murray. Bill Murray is either playfully drunk or breathtakingly mean. Exactly what I want out of a color man.

Lt. Winslow:

Our fantasy draft is coming up. which means I have to pick a new "team logo" for this season. Is it going too far to use my league commissioner's DUI mug shot photo as my team logo? The DUI was well over a decade ago. I think it's f'ing hilarious. But our league commissioner can be kind of a overly sensitive princess sometimes, and does not possess the ability to laugh at himself. So I don't want to be a dick but at the same time... it's probably the best idea ever.

I was arrested for DUI about four years ago (details about that delightful moment of my existence are in the new book), and I think I'm far enough away from it now to have a laugh about it (and admit it publicly without getting, you know, fired). It can be a traumatic experience if you aren't the type who gets arrested on a regular basis ("Those men wanted to have SEX with me!"), but I think laughing about it is a good sign that you've moved on from it.

I assume your friend hasn't been arrested several times since this incident, yes? It's probably a sordid bit of his past that he finds embarrassing and out of character. Ten years is a longass time, but if it still causes him a lot of emotional distress to see the mug shot, you should probably just leave it alone.

Obviously, being a man means having friends SPECIFICALLY so that you can be a complete dick to those same friends. But I think we've all had that moment where we're like, "Oh man, Dave is REALLY upset that I joked about buttfucking his wife! Maybe I should back off a bit." That's what'll happen to you if you use the mug shot. You'll post it, your friend will get pissed, you'll laugh, he'll stay pissed, and then you'll be like, "It's just a joke! STOP BEING SUCH A GASH!" And then he'll be like, "You don't get it, man. My sister was in the car with me and she died." And then you'll be like, "Oh man, that's REALLY funny, bro!" And then he'll be like, "NO IT ISN'T I HATE YOU!" And then you won't speak for the next four years. So that's fun.

Grady:

If a midget ate out Brittney Griner with both of them standing up would it be referred to as "going down" or "going up" on her?

It's always "going down" no matter what size you are or what position you're in. The "down" means you're going for a lower body part. The only way it would be "going up" is if Brittney Griner's vagina were located on top of her head. That would be a real twist.

Anonymous:

I just received the following office wide email (about 300 in my office): "A set of keys, with a little monster with one eye, were left in the 3rd Floor kitchen. They are up at reception :)" How do you think the penis is attached to the set of keys?

Someone in your office is a big Mike Wazowski fan. Or they like cock. Or both! No need for those two likes to be mutually exclusive.

Mike:

How great/not-great would basketball games be if they converted to "make it, take it?" A pure scorer like LeBron or Kevin Durant would be huge because you could ride the hot-streak. I was watching the Marquette vs Miami game, and Miami was down 14 points with a 1:11 to play. Obviously, Marquette's lead is insurmountable, but would the game be in the bag with a "make it, take it" format? Keep making three-pointers, and all of the sudden, you're back in it. I demand that the D-league serve as the laboratory for this experiment.

I think the potential for big comebacks wouldn't overcome the drawbacks of switching to that format. If any team jumps out to an early 30-0 lead, the game is basically dogshit. Also, the rule would encourage streaky scorers to be even more selfish with the ball. The mentality would be, "Well, if I score, that's like also stealing the ball, which makes attempting this 720-degree turnaround from behind the backboard an unselfish play!" Carmelo would attempt 80 shots per game.

Also, Craggs notes that, under this format, "No one would shoot threes. It'd be short jumpers and lots of boring post play." And he's right. If your odds of making a three are 10 percent less than making a standard field goal, then that would have a drastic impact on the number of total possessions you'd get. Much better to take high-percentage shots over and over. It would suck. Maybe for the All-Star Game. Like I always say, all-star games should be rules laboratories.

Alex:

I'll have the Assawomem Breast, please.

Make it two!

Jay:

I hate throwing names into the "he had to be doing steroids" bucket, but is there any way Nolan Ryan's stats are natural? The guy struck out nearly 1,000 more people than the next closest on the list and struck out 200 guys when he was 44.

Yeah, but he sucked the testosterone out of that cow's balls MANUALLY. No pussy-ass syringes for that guy.

Also, as an aside, we need to do away with the whole "Boy, I hate to think of THIS guy as dirty" thing. If you enjoyed watching the guy play and he gave you some thrills, then that's good enough. If he was mainlining whale spinal fluid between innings, it doesn't matter to anyone but him and the whale. And frankly, most people who say they hate adding a name to the 'Roid Suspect pile don't really hate it. They're clearly thrilled that they thought of this guy being dirty before anyone else did. Part of what makes the Steroid Age so much fun is making a guessing game out of it. I adore suspecting people of using steroids. It's endless fun.

Dustin:

Unfortunately, one day Craig Sager will pass on. Do you think that he will be buried in a normal suit or in one of his signature flamboyant get-ups? Isn't it almost disrespectful to the brand that Craig Sager worked so hard to build to commit him to the ground wearing anything that couldn't be described as garish? Do you think Craig Sager and his family have thought about this?

Given that Craig is very nearly dead in this photo, I think that a garish outfit for his wake will be a given. He doesn't need to talk about with his family because wearing awful clothing is just who Craig IS. His violet polka-dotted deathsuit is already understood by all.

Email of the week time.

Zack:

Me and a buddy were recently playing tennis at the outdoor courts. An older gentlemen (approx 75 years old) drove up, parked his car and proceeded to lace up his shoes and limber up. He then walked on to the court beside us, which had one of those large rebounding walls at one end and starting hitting a ball into it. He only brought one tennis ball, and the old man gingerly hit the ball roughly ten times against the wall. He then walked back to the parking lot, took his tennis shoes off, got in the car and left. What the fuck just happenned? The old man was on the court for three minutes! He did not break a goddamn sweat.

Here is my theory: He told his wife that he was going out to play tennis, but was scheming a rendezvous with some old hag at the old folks home where he probably went balls deep in her. He stopped in at the tennis courts to create his alibi. We were apart of this old man's elaborate sex scheme! Is there any other explanation for this?

He tweaked his knee. But that's the boring answer. "Sex scheme" is much more fun. Maybe he forgot to inject his roids.

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