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.

If you've hung around the site for the past week, you're well aware that the Book-Whore-O-Bot 5000 has been booted up to help raise awareness for this book. I know this can be annoying. I know that, by the end of this week, you'll be like: "God, I'm so sick of that Drew. He can go fall off a fucking cliff. HIM AND THAT LENA DUNHAM LADY!" But today's the day you finally get to read the thing, so I promise that the Drewkakke will abate shortly after I hit my peak of #407 on the Amazon sales chart (#1 in the Nonfiction>How-To>Parenting>Parenting Books Written By Deadspin People subcategory!). Here are your reading options...

• If you like reading books printed on regular-ass paper, go to, like, a bookstore. They'll have it. If they don't have it, let me know and I will personally have that store ransacked and burned to the ground.

• If you like reading books that are e-books because you lack proper reverence for the texture of the printed page, the smell of fresh perfect binding, and the authority of text pressed in ink, YOU UNROMANTIC SWINE ... go here or here or here.

• If you live in Austin or Chicago or New York or Boston or DC and want to buy the book at a reading and witness how pasty I am in person, go here.

• If you like ingesting books through your ears, there IS an audiobook, narrated by me. The link should go up at Audible.com by 6 p.m. today. I'll post the link when it goes up.

• If you're like, "Whoa hey, how do I know this book isn't a piece of shit?" you can read reviews here. I don't want you spending your money on a piece of shit.

• If you want to read an excerpt, go here for Chapter 1, and here for another chapter fragment.

I know the word "memoir" is enough to send people screaming for the hills. But if you like the Dadspin posts or the old FKS site, chances are this is the book for you. As always, I tried my best to write the most entertaining, involving book I possibly could. It's up to you to decide whether or not I pulled it off.

OK, let's get into the Funbag below.

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 buy 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 collapses, beat socks, brain transplants, and more.

I was at the airport on Sunday night and I was in line at the Hudson News kiosk to buy a banana, and just as I got to the front of the line, a guy nearby shouted "MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! CALL 911!" This big huge guy had collapsed and people were flocking around him, including the kiosk attendants. A fire rescue team swooped in to tend to the man. They had his shirt up and you could see his big white belly exposed, rising and falling with each labored breath.

Meanwhile, I was standing there with my banana. It’s hard to know what to do in that kind of situation because you’re so thoroughly useless. I didn’t know CPR and I was not a medical professional. I didn’t need to call 911 because everyone else was already doing it. I wanted to get a better look but that would have made me a gawker. I also had no idea if the cashier was coming back or not, and I started to feel like an asshole for wanting a banana when a man was potentially dying. So I put the banana down and fled the scene.

I stood near the gate and eyed the scene from afar. Another woman was gawking as well.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I said.

“We were eating out a month ago and a waiter collapsed and died,” she said.

“Holy shit!”

“Thirty-eight years old. Just like that. They closed the restaurant down and everything.”

I watched as they carted off the big guy on a gurney. By now, he was alert enough to strenuously object. My flight boarded. Then, when the plane took off, ANOTHER person collapsed in the back. The flight attendant got on the PA and actually asked if there was a doctor in the house. That guy turned out to be OK as well. But man, we sure seem to be on an extended run of random, terrible things happening to people. Stay safe out there, man. I just want everyone to be OK.

In far more inconsequential news, there’s a book reading in Chicago on Thursday night. All the cool kids with their cracked iPhone screens will be there. Drinks at the Chicago Brauhaus afterward. Now, your letters:

Big Nick:

A Saudi court recdently decided to paralyze a man who paralyzed his childhood friend. I feel like this punishment is a thousand times worse than the U.S. death penalty. Wouldn’t this lower our murder rates dramatically? Being a quadriplegic is a much worse fate than some nice little drugs given intravenously. I swear the murder rate would become nonexistent.

In general, it’s unwise to take cues on social justice from Saudi Arabia. Introducing an eye-for-an-eye policy to the American penal system might help prevent more violent crime, but it’s not worth it. If you break someone’s arm, does that mean someone gets to break YOUR arm? Who pays the arm-breaker? Who pays to put your stupid arm in a cast? And think of the appeals process. Death row appeals already take years, if not decades. Your appeal to keep your arm unbroken will gum up the system for ages, at a cost of millions to the taxpayer. That’s BIG LAW at work. No thank you. The answer to damage is not more damage. Did we learn nothing from all those Batman movies?!

As for instituting a straight paralysis penalty for murder, who pays for the wheelchair? And for the man’s sex surrogate? I’m not footing the tab, dammit. Most people commit murder either thinking they’ll get away with it or not thinking at all. Changing the ultimate penalty for it won’t affect them much. It’s not like they read the news anyway. “Oh, they do THAT to you now?”

Daniel:

What would it be like if instead of having two testicles, you just had one enormous testicle? Like the size of a kiwi.

It would cause all kinds of pain and discomfort. Having two smaller testicles allows for the scrotum to have a natural divide. That divide offers a convenient resting place for your penis. When you sit down, your penis can nestle between your two balls and not only feel comfortable, but also well-protected. It’s like those pickup trucks that have the double wheels at the back.

With one giant testicle, that natural divide is eliminated. Now, instead of your penis sitting between your balls, it is now precariously perched atop them, falling from side to side and applying extra pressure to your most sensitive areas. You do not want “extra pressure” anywhere near your testicle(s). The slapping effect during intercourse would be devastating. And if you got testicular cancer, you wouldn’t have a second testicle to pick up the slack. Also, what gesture would NBA players make after hitting a courageous three?

William:

If you had to take a shit in a crowded bathroom, would you rather be in a stall that hides everything from the waist down, so people could make eye contact with you while shitting, or a stall that covers everything from the waist up so everyone could get a nice shot of the action?

You’d rather have your face exposed than your bare ass exposed. You can just look down at your phone the whole time and pretend no one is looking at you evacuating. And if you do catch anyone staring, you can shoot them a nasty look. The fuck you looking at, asshole? With your head covered but your ass exposed, you’d have no clue who’s looking and who isn’t. I bet there’s a fetish club out there that specializes in this exact setup.

No one looks good on a toilet. It’s the least attractive position for a naked person to be in. Your belly is at its fattest on a toilet. In a sitting/squatting position, the belly fat gets all mushed together and hangs over your genitals like a balloon waiting to burst. Your side fat rolls up. I once used a bathroom that had a full length mirror beside the toilet, so you could see yourself shitting in profile. It was terrifying. That kind of mirror should be outlawed.

Josh:

Is it ok to wear a beat sock once it's been washed (despite being clearly stained)? If so, what is proper form for answering if someone calls you out on said stain?

If it weren’t OK to wear them, using a sock to clean yourself off would become an awfully expensive habit. Most people don’t have enough money to go around just throwing away perfectly useful socks. If they’ve been through the wash, that’s good enough for me. The jizz stain is just a convenient souvenir. It is only an ECHO of the jizz. It is not jizz itself. And if someone gives you shit, just tell them you were beating off to their MOM. SICK BURN, BRO.

Seriously though, just switch to toilet paper. I know getting out of bed is, like, a whole THING, so you reach for that sock because there’s nothing else around. But once you turn thirty, that excuse doesn’t wash. You gotta get up and use the Charmin. It’s better for everyone involved.

Brendan:

Would a big terrorist attack on American soil on a holiday ruin that holiday forever? Halloween? Christmas?

Probably not. The people at BIG CANDY would never let that happen. Once the anthrax attack hit San Antonio, there would be weeks and weeks of solemn news coverage. But both the government and lobbyists on behalf of the M&M/Mars corporation would urge you to hold a second Halloween or Xmas, to let those filthy terrorists know that they’ll never stand in the way of you going out and eating too much and buying lots of stupid crap. You’ll feel super brave for going trick-or-treating on November 16th, and companies wouldn’t see any dip in revenue. Everybody wins!

Then, the next Halloween, everyone would be determined to make it even Halloweenier. MORE candy. MORE thirty dollar Darth Vader costumes. It would really stick it to terrorist mastermind Osama bin Laden II, and it would be your patriotic way of honoring the deceased. The victims would have WANTED you to hand out full-size candy bars that night. We would all be encouraged to return to normalcy, which secretly means we’d all be encourged to not give a shit.

I don’t mean this to be preachy, but we are not exactly a country that cares all that much about other people dying. The worst part about what happened in Oklahoma yesterday is that, for people not directly involved, it will quickly pass out of their consciousness. Something else will takes its place in the news cycle and the victims will be left alone with a lifetime of dealing with its aftermath. It’s impossible to imagine the scale of the grief and loss, which is why a lot of people choose to look the other way.

I’m often like this, and I wish I wasn’t. When I was in that airport and the guy collapsed, I was thissss close to hopping on Twitter and live-tweeting the thing. That would have done the poor guy on the ground absolutely no good. That would have just been me happily collecting re-tweets about his stroke. Deep down, I was super excited to tell other people about it, and that makes me horrible. Shit, here I am telling you about it now because I can’t help myself. Though, in my defense, that guy DID live. Serves him right for holding up the banana line.

Brian:

Conventional wisdom says that couples with children will get most annoyed by childless people who complain (about being tired, having no free time, how hard life is, etc.), but as a parent of three, I get INFINITELY more angry at couples with one kid who act like it's the hardest thing in the world.

Childless couples are idiots for complaining, but they have no idea what it's like to have kids so there's no point of reference. Parents with one kid at least have some experience at what it's like to be responsible for a helpless human life. They should get that it would be infinitely harder with multiple kids. Especially when they outnumber you. Oh your ONE kid is sick? That's rough. Let me tell you something. My oldest caught SWINE FLU at daycare, and my wife basically had to be an ER nurse for almost 2 weeks. As a result, I was left alone to care for my twin infant daughters, who, while being held at the same time, simultaneously threw up into both of my ears.

It’s all relative. If you don’t have multiple kids, you don’t know what it’s like to have multiple kids. You might think you know how hard it is, but you REALLY don’t know. Like, you are shockingly ignorant about how hard it is. You have to experience it firsthand to appreciate the total devastation. I look back at the three years where I had just one kid and God, it seems like a walk in the park. Only one kid? LUXURY. If two of my kids were sold on the black market, I’d be able to care for the leftover one with relative ease in between fits of howling grief.

Sometimes, my wife and I will be hanging out and she’ll be like, “Remember when we had just one?” And I’ll stare stare wistfully out the window. But I didn’t know all that when I had just one kid. When I had one kid, it seemed like the hardest thing in the world. It was tiring and painful and miserable and it didn’t feel as if life could possibly get more difficult. Oooooooh, but it can. So take it easy on the newbie parents. One day they’ll forget to use a rubber and they’ll know our plight all too well.

LewBone:

Other than injuries related directly to the penis and/or scrotum, which injury do you feel interferes most with one's ability to masturbate? A few, in no particular order: -Temporary blindness (You'd have to rely on imagination and the whole ordeal would be a mess...literally) -Broken arm/hand of choice (Personally, I struggle to switch hit) -Hernia/herniated disc -Broken ribs

Blindness would be nothing. You fap in the dark on occasion, don’t you? You lie in bed and close your eyes and imagine you’re a pool boy seducing your aunt’s sexy divorcee friend. That’s easy. The other three injuries you listed also pose little obstacle to your gratifying yourself. Take it from someone with three herniated discs: I never let it get in my way, not even right after surgery. Sometimes, when my sciatica was flaring up, I would go do my business even though I knew I shouldn’t have. And I would experience feverish pain radiating down my leg during the fap session. It probably set my recovery back a few times. No matter. When it comes to fapping, PAIN DON’T HURT.

That’s what makes men so inherently terrifying. The urge to nut is so primal within us that we will stop at NOTHING to achieve it. And the weird thing is that we orgasm every day. It’s not like this is some exciting new sensation we’re experiencing. We’re risking pain and injury to have the same stupid orgasm we’ve had THOUSANDS of times. It makes no fucking sense. If a man can gratify himself, he will. Period. Only paralysis can stand in our way. Even if we had TWO broken arms, we would still go hump the bed. We are relentless.

HALFTIME!

Nick:

Could the Deadspin writers beat the defending Lingerie Football League champions in a game of football? For the sake of the hypothetical, all players would wear normal football pads and uniforms and you would play a game of lingerie-rules football (whatever those rules are). I say any group of somewhat fit guys could easily beat a lingerie team.

But are we wearing LINGERIE uniforms? Because that would make us bloggy folk all self-conscious. God, this looks weird. I wish my parents weren’t in the stands watching. Is it wrong that I’m turned on right now?

Anyway, I think yes, the Deadspin staff would win that game. And now it’s clear that we must find a way for it to happen. I’m sure the Internet would have no strong reaction to a bunch of men shoving attractive women around for a laugh.

Again, I would like to figure out who out there actually likes watching lingerie football. Why do I need bad porn and bad football COMBINED? Two wrongs don’t make a right.

Don:

At least this fine gentleman I found is specific as to where the rapin' will occur.

On a BMW, no less. What a charmer.

Rick Wizzle:

What will happen if people in the future can actually can get a brain transplant? Would people have to re-learn everything with a new brain, like talking and walking? Or would they gain the skills and talents of the person's brain they get? If you get the brain of an in-the-prime athlete like Adrian Peterson, would you gain the coordination and skills he had to become like that person? Also, would they be able to vividly recall that person's memories? How fucked up would it be if that were the case, and the brain you got belonged to some guy who secretly tortured and killed 3 people? That would become YOUR memory.

Surely there’s a Philip K. Dick story that deals with this sort of thing. Anyway, Adrian Peterson’s brain will obviously NOT bestow upon you his ability to run with the football. In addition to his brain, you would need his legs and arms and torso and his HANDSHAKE WHICH CAN CRUSH ROCKS IF JOE BUCK IS TO BE BELIEVED.

I don’t think there’s much chance of a true brain transplant happening anytime soon, given that scientists still know very little about how the brain actually works. If doctors could pull it off, they would probably have the brain wiped clean before jamming it in your noggin. That way, you don’t get any weird flashbacks to sexual encounters that are not your own. Perhaps they could even download the contents of your old brain to a USB port and then upload them into your new brain, so that you could keep your thoughts and your spank bank.

If you were given another brain that wasn’t wiped clean, you wouldn’t be you anymore. You’d be the other guy, only he’d be inside YOUR body. Touching your peepee. HANDS OFF, BOB! THAT’S NOT FOR YOU!

Justin:

I have some friends who have recently bought a home. This home comes with a recording studio in the basement. Since neither friend has musical aspirations, how many nights after moving in will it take for them to record themselves having sex? I say by day three they have started their first mix tape.

If they were the type to record their sexy business, wouldn’t they have just used an iPhone by now? No woman is just gonna let that recording studio be. When people move into a new home, they have to GUT it and re-install all kinds of fancy countertops and cabinets so that they can tell everyone the house is THEIRS now, and have friends come ooh and ahh at all the new crown molding. Your friend is probably being ordered to rip out the recording console as we speak. He’s gonna have to sell it on CraigsList (turns out Heart’s “Bad Animals” was mixed on that console!) and the basement will be turned into a tea room within 48 days at a cost of $37,000. Houses suck.

Casey:

So I'm walking to work this morning and am about the cross a street when I look over and see a guy with no nose. Literally, no nose — just two skull holes. Needless to say, it took everything in me to not say "Fuck it, I'm going home, that pretty much fucked me up for the day" but now I can't stop thinking about that dude — his day-to-day must be awful, between at best people like me trying not to stare but clearly are or, at worst, little kids flipping out upon seeing him (among countless other shit no one could image I'm sure).

Then I realized, holy shit, we're in a city, he's obviously going to be interacting with someone, which got me thinking more — how would I react if I was a cashier at Target having to ring this dude up? What would be the best way to deal with that? Society teaches us to be tolerant about disabilities and physical abnormalities, but when you see a guy with a skull for a nose, it's pretty jarring, man.

Was it Voldemort?

You’re gonna have a strong involuntary reaction to a man with no nose because a nose is such a prominent feature on human beings. It’s the center of your face. And it sticks out more than any other feature of yours (well, most of the time, anyway). Your nose arrives at places before the rest of you gets there. It leads you. That’s why rhinoplasty is such a popular form of plastic surgery. You get a lot of bang for your buck when your changing the most noticeable part of your face. Changing your nose means you’re changing your whole face, and losing your nose means you’ve, in some sense, lost your face. You don’t look recognizably human anymore. You look like another species entirely.

This is why people were so horrified when Michael Jackson’s nose started falling off. I legitimately wanted to throw up when I saw some of the close-up shots. Your nose is extremely important, so take care of it. Don’t pull a Jake Gittes and let some thug played by Roman Polanski go cutting it off.

Pat:

What would happen if a player shot and scored at his own basket during the end of a playoff game? I mean he does it completely intentionally, either went crazy or got paid off. What happens? Do they call off the basket? What if it's a game winner? Does Stern snipe the player with laser eye beams or does his head just explode?

They don’t call off the basket. It counts, just as any own-basket (is that the right word?) counts during gameplay. And I don’t think David Stern would be mad at all. He’d be overjoyed. He has Memphis, San Antonio, and Indiana as three of his final four teams. He’ll take ANYTHING that makes people go batshit crazy. He’s probably offering Z-Bo a cash payment to score on his own basket as we speak. He’s no fool.

Alex:

Let's say I snuck into a college cafeteria and put heroin in the lasagna. 200 college kids unknowingly eat said lasagna and experience the intense high of heroin. Obviously, they now crave that feeling again, but the only clue they have towards the cause of that experience was eating lasagna. Would they all become addicted to lasagna? Would they feel placebo highs from eating lasagna?

Oh, to chase the lasagna dragon. You’ll never re-capture that first saucy, meaty high. Anyway, there might be a mild placebo effect the next time they ate lasagna, but it would be so negligible that anyone eating it would be like, “This isn’t the same. They must have put heroin in the lasagna.” And then they would go out and get hooked on heroin. Please don’t put heroin in your lasagna.

Rich:

You're in the stands for the biggest game of the year for your favorite college or pro team, and they are playing your most bitter rival. Without any prior warning or explanation, when the teams take the field of play, all of the players on your team are wearing your opponent's uniforms, and the opponents are wearing your team's uniforms. The game is about to start — who do you root for?

IT’S LIKE MY TEAM’S BRAIN HAS BEEN REPLACED BY A PACKER BRAIN. If, by some obscure league bylaw, the switch is permanent and the players on the other team are officially players of MY team, then I’m rooting for the Packers in Vikings clothing. I’d get used it after, oh, four seconds. AARON RODGERS IS OURS NOW. No one said being a sports fan made sense.

Email of the week! See if you can guess how the story ends.

Tom:

So, my sister was visiting this weekend. We don't see each other all that much, but we've always had a pretty normal sibling relationship. We were out gallivanting around town, she was taking pictures on her camera. The camera card gets corrupted, and some pictures start disappearing. Pretty common, I say, and I take it back to the lab with some tech know-how. I repair the disk, no luck.

I try some apps to recover the files, I see them, but they require you to pay to actually recover, and fuck that noise. Eventually I start getting into some real dirty command line DOS shit to get these files out. I pry them out and dump them all on my hard drive and am scanning through the folder to make sure I got the ones we took.

As I'm doing this, she starts getting a little squirrelly and starts to hover behind me as I'm scrolling, insisting she do the checking. Literally, the second she finishes that sentence, it starts to preview a video of her finger blasting herself. I damn near spit my coffee across the screen, she freaks out and closes it immediately. I slowly walk away and pour myself the strongest drink I've ever had. There is not enough bleach in the world for my eyes now, is there?

Nope.

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 buy Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, in time for Father's Day 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:

Ted:

My 2 yr old son wanted to go for a bike ride this weekend. The tires were flat so I had to get the pump out. I attached the pump and pulled the lever down and started to fill it up. Once it felt full enough, I tried to unlatch the thing and pull it off without letting a shitload of air out. I tried and failed several times to take the goddamn thing off without letting too much air out but it’s fucking impossible. It's like once you unlatch it, it grips the nozzle for a minimum of 3 seconds and undoes all the work you just did. Am I the only one who doesn't have the ninja-like reflexes necessary to pull this off?

You are not alone. It’s a proven fact that all children’s bikes have tires that lose 500 psi of air pressure every six seconds. Pumping up those tires is a deathly task. You gotta buy the cheapass pump. You gotta get down on your knees and find the nozzle. Then you gotta unscrew the nozzle, which has been calcified into place after three months of inactivity. Then you gotta get pump attached and find a comfortable pumping position, and THERE IS NOT A COMFORTABLE PUMPING POSITION. Either you hunch over the bike frame, or you lay down on the sidewalk and allow the bike to slowly crush you.

And I say all this as someone who, in general, is a big fan of the pumping motion. You can’t operate a bike pump without pretending you’re Wile E. Coyote about to blow a stack of dynamite. It’s terrific fun. But kiddie bike maintenance is excruciating shit. The nuts rust into place. The wheels get caked with mud. And because I’m a cheap bastard, every kiddie bike I buy is shockingly heavy. Fifty times heavier than a standard adult mountain bike. No way I’m springing $5,000 on some souped-up 47-speed Trek for a kid that will grow a foot within the next eight months. I’d much rather the kid drag around a six-ton Huffy with a banana seat and faulty coaster brakes. I want a robot that does all the tedious handiwork on it for me.

OK, let's get into the Funbag below. And if you’re Chicago this evening, O WE GON READ. 7 p.m. at the Book Cellar. Drinks at the Brauhaus after.

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 buy 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 big dicks, broken jaws, uneaten cupcakes, and more. Image by Jim Cooke.

Your letters:

Steve:

What if the President really WAS caught doing crack or cocaine? Like they had photos and everything? And how many Presidents have snorted coke while in office? Heroin?

Well obviously, we at Gawker Media would pay handsomely for a photo or video of the president doing blow, much more so than former editor AJ Daulerio's typical offer of $12.04.

Once published, the world would shit its pants. The Photoshop possibilities would be endless. People who hate the president would demand his immediate removal from office, citing his addiction as a clear dereliction of duty. It would open all kinds of conspiracy theory floodgates. If he's secretly doing coke on the side, what ELSE is he doing? Human trafficking? Whale blood painting? Covert drone attacks against whitey? And who else is doing coke in the White House? His wife? The veep? THE KIDS?! The barrage of speculation would drown out everything else and make it virtually impossible for anything to get done (just like the US government as it stands now!).

People who love the president would still cry out PHOTOSHOPPED! every chance they got. Or they would use the coke photo as a proof that our drug laws simply don't work. Someone at the Times would pen an insufferable editorial entitled, "Mr. President, the time has come to step down," encouraging him to focus on his health and not the plight of the country. It would be really pedantic and annoying.

Then the president would make a remarkably eloquent public statement about the whole affair and people who love him would be like OH MY GOD I DIDN'T THINK I COULD LOVE HIM ANY MORE THAN I ALREADY DO BUT THAT SPEECH HE MADE WAS THE FINEST MOMENT OF HIS PRESIDENCY. He'd remain in office despite his better judgment and we'd all quickly get used to the fact that we had a cokehead for a president. We'd still be arguing about all the same stupid shit, only we'd have a coke photo to go with it. Liberals would be like, "You're still bringing up the coke thing? GET OVER IT," and conservatives would be like, "But he was doing coke while hiding aliens and organizing the Boston Marathon bombing HITLER HITLER HITLER." That's 21st century democracy for you.

As for the history of presidents and cocaine, the most famous example is Ulysses S. Grant, who treated his throat cancer by gargling cocaine wine. Cocaine wine! Rumor has it that Grant was supplied extra cocaine by Mark Twain, which gives "Huck Finn" a whole Tarantino-esque vibe heretofore unknown. I'm gonna write this book and it's gonna have TONS of n-words, okay? Because that's what's REAL, that's how people really talk! Okay, I'm gonna go write five hundred pages in eight minutes now (does bump).

Grant's cancer "treatment" occurred after he left office, however. To find a president who did blow while in office, it helps to check out the history of cocaine itself. The drug wasn't a popular medicine until the 1880s, which pretty much rules out the first eighteen presidents. From 1886 to 1903, cocaine was an actual ingredient in Coca-Cola, which probably means that Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, William McKinley, and Teddy Roosevelt all had a glug while in office. No wonder TR built an entire CANAL.

Snorting the drug became a thing around 1905, but was banned in 1922 according to the link above. That would mean that TR, William Howard Taft, Woodrow Wilson, and Warren G. Harding all could have had a bump without any attendant controversy. Taft was a fatty, so he probably ingested a bit of everything in his time.

After cocaine's prohibition, there are two good candidates for snorting while in office: FDR and JFK. FDR was crippled with polio and likely to try anything to make the pain go away. JFK also suffered from chronic pain. Also, he was JFK, which means he was willing to smoke and snort and bang anything that moved. I UH ER UH DECLARE-AHH THIS COCAINE TO BE SOME MIGHTY FINE POWDAH!

Brian:

Would you accept Kim Jong Un's position as leader of North Korea, if offered? If you're not jumping at the chance, what kind of perks would sway you?

It's a job that offers great pay and has a long history of people underperforming. You could swoop in as dictator of North Korea, install a democracy, establish freedom of speech, hook up the internet, pull the plug on all the nukes, and be hailed as a worldwide hero. AND you'd get to skim off the government coffers while you were at it. Maybe buy a villa in the Seychelles for you and your hot North Korean mistress to use for your own pleasure. After all, you just freed millions of enslaved people. TREAT YO SELF.

The only problem with taking the job is that it places you in mortal danger. There are surely higher-ups in the North Korean military who would be interested in preserving the status quo. They wouldn't be wild about some pasty-faced Westerner barging in and bringing booze and porn and KFC to the masses. They would plan a coup d'état within minutes of you assuming power. And since you would probably have no experience in preventing such coups, you would be overthrown the next day, your body cut into pieces and paraded around the streets of Pyongyang as a warning to anyone who might think about changing the way North Korea does business.

Would it be worth risking life and limb to be able to bring liberty to millions of downtrodden people? To stop the murders and endless imprisonments? Do you or I have the courage to take that job, save those people, and make the world a better place? Probably not.

Alex:

I'm about to eat my kid's half-cupcake. It's been sitting around for three days and he hasn't touched it. Fuck him, right?

Yep. Fuck him. The statute of limitations on that cupcake expired ages ago. I watch my children's plates like a hawk. I'm not letting ANY cupcakes or chicken fingers or piles of Kraft Mac go to waste. Sometimes I jump the gun and they're like WAHHHHHHH YOU ATE MY CUPCAKE and I'm like, "Serves you right, fucko. In this world, you take, or you are taken from." It's an important lesson for them to learn, and I get to have half of a cold chicken nugget in the process. PARENTING.

Chris:

Assuming a full recovery which would you rather have happen to yourself: Kevin Ware's nasty leg break and Sidney Crosby catching the slap shot in the teeth? You have to deal with the initial incident, all resulting surgery and rehab and are subject to the average recovery period, at which point you are back to pre-injury you. I am solidly in the leg breaking camp, as I assumed most would be. Everyone was going on and on about how greusome the leg break was, and while I agreed it was shocking to see I felt that Crosbys actual injury would be far worse to experience. Surprisingly, many friends and collegues disagreed.

I take the broken leg, because you don't see the broken leg coming. You don't have that split second of terror where a hard rubber disk is coming at your face at five thousand miles an hour, where your brain is like WHOA HEY THAT'S GOING PRETTY FAST OH GOD IT'S GONNA HIT MY FACE BEFORE I HAVE TIME TO REACT NOOOOOOOOO. I wouldn't want that memory. Yes, it sucks to suffer a compound leg fracture and have a fucking bone sticking out of your leg. That's all bad. But at least you don't get a heads up. And you can still eat afterward.

There's something much more personal about taking a slap shot to the face. It's like being stabbed versus being shot. Assuming equal damage, I would MUCH rather be shot than stabbed. I don't want to see the knife plunging into me over and over again. That's a whole other level of trauma.

Plus, with the broken leg, you have a much more fun story to tell. You get crutches, and you can roll up your pant leg to show everyone the scar OOOOOOH. You totally feel like an athlete. When you get a puck to the face, all you get are horrified stares from people wondering why your jaw is wired shut and why you're drinking liquefied ham through a straw. I'll take the Ware injury any day.

Ian:

I grew up in right on the Mississippi in Wisconsin and went to college right on the Mississippi in Minnesota. Amazingly, the river seems to be the only dividing line between the dickheads in Minnesota who played “Duck, duck, grey duck” and EVERYONE ELSE in ‘Merica who played “Duck, duck, goose.” My wife, a Minnesotan, says they used to go around the circle saying “Purple duck, green duck, yellow duck, GREY DUCK,” and then run like they were on fire. This is dumb. So my question, is Minnesota the only “Grey duck” state?

In my experience, yes. I moved to Minneapolis from Chicago when I was five years old, and the whole "Grey Duck" thing completely fucked me up. Also, when you cut in line in Minnesota, the kids would say, "Don't bud!" Again, that completely threw me off. I'm fine with saying "pop" instead of "soda", but DUCK DUCK GREY DUCK makes no goddamn sense. Frankly, it's RAYCESS. Why is the grey duck the one being chased? What happens when the grey duck is caught? Is it killed? HATE CRIME.

Mike:

Triangle pizza slices or the grid system?

Triangles. The grid system is completely weird. You get tiny little crust pieces and pieces that have no crust at all. There's nowhere to grip it without my thumb getting third degree burns from the tomato sauce. It's a complete disaster. The whole reason the grid system was invented was so that people hosting children's birthday parties could get more pieces from a single pie. It's the cheapskate's cut. Half the time, they don't even bother to cut it all the way through. You just end up folding three rectangles on top of one another.

HALFTIME!

Will:

If you could win one of those contests where they provide you with a year supply of something and you could choose ANYTHING what would it be? Normal shitbum stipulations of these contests don't apply either: as much as you want when you want it.

Does air travel count? I assume you're talking about a physical object and not a service. And obviously this is something that should be consumed since a "year's supply" means you eventually run out. There's no such thing as a year's supply of gold. It's just gold. It's not like you say, "Whoa hey, that's all the gold I can eat in a year!" The gut choice would be some kind of food or beverage or vice product: lobster, caviar, fine wine, designer weed, etc. You could ask for a year's supply of cocaine and then sell that cocaine at a tremendous profit, but that violates the spirit of the question. This is something that would be for personal use, which is why I would choose... the Pappy.

I'm no booze snob. I rolled my eyes at all the Pappy talk over the past year. But then my brother-in-law got a bottle as a gift (nice gift) and poured me a glass. Yup. I get it now. GIMME GIMME GIMME.

Stewbeef:

Is butter a bread enhancer or is bread a butter delivery system?

You can eat bread without butter. It's not as good, obviously, but you can. But you can't eat butter on its own (unless you're hanging out in Antarctica, as noted here). That makes the bread the STAR of the bread-and-butter dish. The butter serves at the bread's pleasure.

Mike:

Yesterday, a group of us from work went to a local charity that uses volunteer labor to assemble meal packages for poor and starving people around the world. Our job was to place the ingredients (vitamin powder, dried chicken/spices, soy and rice) into 400 gram plastic bags that are sealed and boxed. As I was dumping soy and rice into the bags, I noticed that the required nutritional content label was on the package. Are the starving recipients of this food really going to read the labels and ponder the fat and carbohydrate levels?

I think the nutrition label gives your aid package an air of authority that an unlabeled package wouldn't have. You're delivering food to possible war-torn areas. Who's to say that an unscrupulous rebel faction wouldn't box up poisoned rice, affix a phony Unicef label to it, and drop it on unsuspecting villagers? I worked on an advocacy campaign for a country where the bad guys would load up planes with refrigerators and bag of nails and shit and then just drop them on people. As weapons. I can't even imagine how horrifying that is. So if I'm someone in desperate need of aid in a place like that, it's probably a good sign to see an official nutrition label on a package of peanut butter crackers. They may be lacking in Vitamin A, but at least I know there's no cyanide in there.

Dave:

I was making lunch for my daughter and I notice I have to violate a rabbit to get at the Mac and Cheese. Poor packaging choice, Annie.

I like to take the end of a wooden spoon and blast right through that rabbit's butt. Really lets it know who's boss. By the way, those Annie's boxes are a ripoff. When my old lady finds a box priced under $2, she hoards them like bread before a hurricane. Here now is a quick ranking of children's organic pasta shapes:

1. Shells

2. Arthurs (terrible TV show though)

3. Macaroni

4. Bunnies

5. Peace signs

6. Spirals

1,345. Anything gluten free

Evan:

What's the worst position to be in on Price Is Right…

The last person called up who only has one chance to guess and 3 assholes waiting to pounce and capitalize even if he makes a great bid and is just one dollar off?

The person who is called up at the start of the show and never makes it onstage (albeit probably because they're a moron and didn't look up how much iPads cost before going to a Price Is Right taping)?

Or the hundreds of other audience members who just get whatever "Thanks for showing up" gift they're doling out that day?

The second. At the very least, you wanna be IN THE GAME. You don't want to have trudged to Burbank wearing your finest U-Wisconsin sweatshirt all for nothing. At least if you make it to contestant's row, you have a story to tell. If you're just some pud sitting in the audience, waiting for your name to be called, you're gonna feel like you're at your company's holiday party, where everyone gets a sales prize except for you. It's horrible. No one goes to a Price Is Right taping just to WATCH. That would be asinine.

Will:

What if Nebraska had put that 7-year-old kid with the brain tumor in for an actual game? Picture it: Big Ten Championship Game, 17-13 Ohio State, Nebraska is at midfield with 1:52 to go with one timeout, and it's 4th and 3. All of a sudden, they sub in the brain tumor kid, whose only dream is to score a touchdown for the Huskers. He takes the hand off and stumbles up the middle. Does Ohio State tackle him?

SEND IN THE GUILT TRIP FORMATION.

Yes, Ohio State tackles the Tumor Boy for a significant loss. Ohio is an insane place with a team that is coached by an insane person. You think Urban Meyer would hesitate for a second with Tumor Boy out there? No chance. He tells his men to AIM for the tumor.

Football is a sport that prides itself on being merciless. That's part of the whole culture—the idea that DURRR DON'T NOBODY GET SPECIAL TREATMENT SO LONG AS THEY CAN HIT PEOPLE IN THE MOUTH DURRRRRR. So you can rest assured that Tumor Boy would get jacked up, and then Rick Reilly would compose a very bad poem about it, and then other commentators would be like, "Tumor Boy didn't STEP UP. He lacked the tumor of a champion out there." And then we'd all kill ourselves.

Jonathan:

What if, near the end of the a highly-contested game (like, say, during the NBA Finals), a scrub player at the line shits himself before taking a free throw? Do they allow him the time to go clean himself up and then take the shot, call for a substitution, or just make him take the shot with shit running down his leg? If a sub is allowed, would this lead to coaches making their awful free throw shooters shit themselves (or, if that's not possible, just puke all over the lane) so they can bring in the best shooter off the bench?

You still have to take the shot. They have mop boys at the ready to clean up your sweat and pick up stray mouthguards. I don't see why those same lackeys wouldn't have to pick a steaming turd up off the American Airlines Center court. No one said it was a GOOD job.

Most players today wear compression shorts under their game shorts, so you're unlikely to ever see an NBA player pinch a loaf directly onto the court, which is a damn shame. Back in the day, guys wore their shorts and a supporter and that was it. There was a free path for any turd to drop down and soil the court. Those were better times. HAPPIER times. By the way, that turd on the court would easily surpass a coke-snorting president in the news cycle within a matter of days. You can get a LOT of TV mileage out of a poopy basketball court.

Mike:

A guy in my building has named his wifi network "ilovefatvagina" (picture attached). 100% chance he's single, right?

I dunno. From the looks of it, he's not picky.

Shane:

I'm on my weekly 6am flight for work, and there's a guy dressed in full scrubs: pants, shirt, AND optional jacket. This guy is a total me first, GLORY BOY doctor, right? I imagine he either works with cancer patients and claims ALL of the credit when they get better, or he's a PA who is totally trying to convince people he's a real doctor.

I hope the flight gets delayed and he's like, "We can't be late! THERE'S A HEART ON ICE WAITING FOR ME IN PRINCETON."

The funny thing about doctors is that you WANT them to be arrogant pricks. If someone is splitting my chest open, I want him to be the cockiest son of a bitch that has ever walked the face of the Earth. I don't want him to be PLEASANT. I don't want him to be self-effacing or emo. "We're gonna open up your left ventricle. And even though I went to medical school in Alabama, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing!" I want my doctor to be humorless, aggressive, and I want him to recite the Baldwin speech from Malice to people at least six times a day, with no irony.

Email of the week time!

Jon:

A female friend of ours started dating a new guy. About three dates in, the guy sends our friend a text message that says, "Before we get sexual, I have something to tell you. I have a big penis." Our friend texts back, "How big?" He says, "Eleven inches." He sends her a photo. She showed it to us. It's a goddamned thing of beauty. It looks like a baby elephant trunk trumpeting his arrival. Our friend said, "What do I do with that?" I told her, "You suck it. You fuck it. Hell, you fuck half of it if that's all you can do."

Is there any other advice I could have given her? And what do you think about the guy? I think he has to tell girls about that fucking thing, but a text message after three dates?

A picture message! That's insane. Who thinks that's a good idea in the post-Salisbury era? I think it's far better to surprise someone with that anyway. Why warn them? You're just giving them an excuse to run away terrified.

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 buy Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, in time for Father's Day 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:

Justin:

A college friend of mine once hypothesized that computer graphics have gotten so good that we could potentially be watching computer generated "players" duking it out on the field/rink/whatever. It got me thinking about how far off are we from viewing holographic sporting events. For instance, during the Stanley Cup Finals, the team on the road sometimes has their fans come to their building to view the game on the jumbotron and spend $9 on beer.

Do you think the technology will ever exist where fans can watch their team on the road at their home arena via holograms? Imagine, going to the arena where your team plays and watching holographic representations of the players on the rink or field. It would actually be like you're at the game. Fuck the Super Bowl. I'll just go to my local high school field to see it.

Yes, I think that'll happen. It'll be just like the Holochess scene in Star Wars. LET THE WOOKIE WIN.

Hologram sports broadcasts are a natural endpoint of 3D technology. The technology could become so advanced that you could begin watching sporting events on a screen that projects UP instead of OUT. The game could rise up from the screen, so that you're watching the game as if you're sitting in the stadium. You could also rotate angles and zoom in and out as you saw fit, or let the network do it for you (you'd probably still be stuck with Dan Dierdorf for lower tier matchups though). Perhaps there will come a day when you can make the hologram surround you, just as we have Surround Sound now. Like standing on a holodeck, in which case you would probably switch away from the game to holoporn within a matter of seconds.

Something like that will probably be possible sometime in the future (or perhaps a virtual rendering of the game that you can "be in" while wearing Google Glass). The problem is that BIG TELEVISION adopts these advances at a glacial pace. Everything must be monetized first before it can be implemented. And if ESPN decides that it's not worth broadcasting Monday Night Football in HoloVision because the nation's grandpas are still watching from a standard def TV, then you're stuck waiting forever. Fucking ESPN. I bet they have hologames set to go already. HoloGruden would be horrifying.

Now, before we get into the Kinja-osity below, just a quick reminder that I'll be doing a reading at Book Court in Brooklyn on Monday night. You can find out more details here. Afterward, we're all gonna get drinks at Floyd. According to the great Matt Ufford, "They have something there called the Crapucopia — a bucket of 6 cans of random shitty beer (Genesee Cream Ale, Schlitz, PBR, etc) — for $12." I MUST HAVE IT.

Also, I'll be manning a booth at the Brooklyn Baby Expo on Sunday afternoon. Holy shit, I can't even imagine what that's gonna be like. Five thousand babies all named Grayson. Should be amusing.

Anyway, down into the Funbag we go...

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 buy Drew's new book, "Someone Could Get Hurt," in time for Father's Day through his homepage.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering anorexia, sperm counts, Kate Upton's brother, and more.

I was at the grocery store the other day and I saw the most anorexic woman that I’ve ever seen in my life. We’re talking P.O.W.-thin. Her cheeks were grafted to her skull. She wore size–0 pants that hung off of her. Her arms were no thicker than curtain rods. It was one of the most haunting things I’d ever seen. She had a kid in tow and I felt the urge to walk up to the woman and say, “Excuse ma’am, but you need to go to a hospital immediately. You’re going to die and your boy will grow up motherless.”

I didn’t do this, of course. I didn’t have all the evidence collected. Maybe she was deathly thin because she was already dying of cancer or something like that. After all, she was shopping for food. Hard to accuse someone of extreme anorexia in the middle of them picking out loaves of bread. There’s always that “I don’t want to cause a scene” feeling that keeps people like me from ever saying anything in that kind of situation. I really, truly don’t know what the appropriate thing to do in that situation is. That woman was dying. It was unmistakable. I went to a different aisle because I was terrified she would turn into ash in a matter of minutes.

Your letters:

Yannai:

If you could get a brand new organ (presume it's not coming from someone dead and you're perfectly healthy but just getting an upgrade), which organ would you pick? I'd go bladder. Also, don't forget to donate your organs.

Isn’t everyone gonna douche out and answer PENIS to this question? “Brahhhh I’d switch out for a dick that’s two inches bigger and then SLAY so much pussy HIGH FIVES FOREVS!”

Anyway, as someone who is content with his present manhood, can I get a full body MRI prior to making the choice so that I know exactly which organs have built up potentially fatal selenium deposits? No? Then either the heart or the liver. Oh, to have a fresh liver. Imagine all the ways you could inflict harm upon it. I know Mickey Mantle was a “recovering” alkie when he got his, but I’m certain that the second they hooked up every duct of that thing, the Mick went out and did shots off of Bob Costas’ head. That’s what the 11-year-old car crash victim who donated his liver to Mantle would have WANTED.

Here now are the most important organs in the male body:

1. Brain

2. Heart

3. Penis

4. Testicles

5. Stomach

6. Liver

7. Lungs

8. Penis (on here twice on purpose)

Reed:

Have you been to an airport that has a sufficient number of electrical outlets that are in accessible locations? I sure as hell haven't. An outlet tower with eight outlets is fine, but there is no place to sit and I'm not leaving a phone unattended. Currently, I'm at gate F1 and my flight departs from F7. While I can hear boarding announcements for most every other gate, my gate is (as always) manned from by the quiet voiced lady from the Police Academy movies. So now, I have a Sophie's choice of charging my phone or missing my flight. UPDATE: They changed the gate! I almost missed my flight!!

I like how the airport power outlet tower transforms ordinary business travelers into hippie commune folks who sit Indian style in a circle around the thing. I keep expecting them to hold hands and pray to their trickster god to make the juice flow from their postmodern totem pole into their laptops faster. They are the tower’s BITCH.

Obviously, they sell auxiliary battery power thingies that you can use in a pinch if, like me, you used up all your phone’s power playing CUT THE ROPE at 30,000 feet and are now unable to call the hospital to find out which room they’re keeping your cancer-stricken grandma in.

But those battery packs are expensive, and they don’t allow you to be DARING and push the limits of your computer or phone’s energy capacity, just like driving on an empty gas tank. Everybody loves to gamble that they can push through the “20% remaining!” and “10% remaining!” warnings and get to their house/hotel room jusssssst as the thing is about to shut itself down. WE LIVE FOR THE DANGER. I usually plug my shit into that wall socket at the airport, get antsy after five minutes of standing there, and then pull the plug hoping I added enough extra power to last me. My hopes usually go unfulfilled.

Most airports here were built prior to the cell phone boom, so they were never designed with shitloads of charging stations in mind. Those ports had to be wedged into a terminal that was never meant to accommodate them. Ideally, we would have re-designed airports with shitloads of outlets, personal TVs everywhere, dozens of Shake Shacks, and moving walkways that go fifty miles an hour. But that takes raising extra tax money and implementing governmental efficiency and we suck at both of those things in equal measure. So get used to the floor by Gate 32B. Bring a yoga mat.

Mike:

What if heroin cured AIDS? Would the government allow people to become dope fiends and force them to endure rehab if it meant eradicating a terminal disease?

Finally, a good excuse for me to try heroin! And all I have to do is get AIDS!

It depends on how much heroin cures AIDS. If just one shot of heroin cures AIDS, then I think the drug is cleared for medical use in that capacity. But if it takes a daily regiment of opiates that last months, even years, then the cure is obviously worse than the disease. Plenty of people in this world already have both AIDS and a heroin addiction. No need for more of them.

Mohit:

Why do refrigerated apples taste infinitely better than room temperature apples? I always put an apple in the fridge when I step into work in the mornings and when I sometimes forget I end up kicking myself for missing out on the taste enhancement refrigerated cooling provides to an apple.

First of all, kudos to you for actually bringing fruit into a work environment. All I ever used to bring into work was a bag of Baked Cheetos and a supplemental bag of Baked Doritios (Baked because I was very health-conscious at the time!). There’s something about a work environment that makes me only want to eat the worst imaginable shit for you: boxed chocolates, terrible bagels, cookies the size of a dinner plate, etc.

Anyway, apples taste better cold for the same reason apple juice tastes better cold. Ever drink warm apple juice? You picture it as urine the entire time. Kids will drink warm juice anytime because they are junkies and don’t care how they get their fix. You and I know better. You and I know that all juices and fruits taste better cold: oranges, pineapple, melon, grapes... warm grapes are terrifying.

Evan:

I was just talking to my sisters friend, who just became an overnight nurse in a hospital. She has been doing this for about 4 months and I asked her if she had seen anything crazy. She proceeded to tell me a tale about a man who almost died because he was vomiting too much. The part that stood out was when he ran out of stomach fluids to vomit, HE STARTED VOMITING SHIT!!!! Like diarrhea coming out of his face instead of his ass. What.The.Fuck? She said it was so bad you could smell it from 16 rooms away.

This happened to my son. When he was born, his intestines got all blocked up and nothing could pass through his digestive system. But all that digested material needs a place to go, so... yeah.

I was never told specifically that it was fecal matter coming out of my son’s mouth. It was greenish and not at all pleasant smelling, but whether or not it was true poop was a bit up in the air. When they did the fact-checking for Someone Could Get Hurt, the proofreader was like, “Are you SURE it was poop?” And I couldn’t give a definitive answer.

It made me think about where exactly, in the digestive process, does poop become poop? Is it poop once the small intestine is finished with it? Or can poop begin a little earlier? Or is it not a VIABLE bowel movement until it has left your body? And should you be allowed to get a late-term enema and KILL that poop so late in the process? I say that would make God cry.

By the way, spoiler alert: my son now barfs normal barf. So thank God for THAT!

/grabs roll of paper towels

Mike:

Do you think someone has ever been addicted to shitting or another bodily function [aside from masturbation, of course]?

According to the Wikipedia list of episodes for TLC’s “My Strange Addiction” (a show that I am fascinated by but will never, ever actually watch), here are some body-related addictions real people have either had or adopted in order to land a spot on television:

• Thumb sucking
• Hair pulling (self)
• Scab picking
• Laxatives (which, taken to its logical end, is a shitting addiction)
• Ear picking
• Coffee enemas (again, kind of a shitting addiction?)

By the way, every title on that list sounds like the name of a Radiohead song. “The Lamb/Eats Deodorant,” etc.

So yes, if there is a function out there, someone out there has gotten hooked on it. There are seven billion people on this Earth. Every potential disgusting habit or animalistic act has been performed by at least one of them. Life’s rich pageant, etc. Every possible variation of freak and weirdo is out there, ready for you to gawk at. Thank God the Internet is around these days to catalog them.

HALFTIME!

Sam:

How would the world be different if semen was potent and capable of producing offspring only in the first 1000 ejaculations? The idea being your countdown starts the first time you jerk off at like 12-years-old. How would society respond?

Frozen sperm. Soooooooo much frozen sperm. There would be a frozen sperm bank on every block, and one day you would walk into one by accident thinking it’s a frozen yogurt joint and have a scoop of iced manbatter by accident.

No man would conserve his sperm otherwise. A thousand ejaculations gives the average teenager two years of fapping and that’s it. There’s no sense in relying on these kids to have the willpower necessary to propagate the species. They would blow through that load without giving it a second thought. In order to get all that sperm before they go flushing it down the toilet, we would have to pay them (CAPITALISM!) to freeze it. And then BIG SPERM would flip that sperm for an obscene amount of money. Black market sperm would be a hot item. And counterfeit sperm made from gelatin and melted butter would become a constant thorn in the side of law enforcement.

That would be here, in America. In the Third World, where frozen sperm technology isn’t exactly proliferate, desperate government officials would likely harvest semen from young men BY FORCE, perhaps using a hatchet of some kind. Or they would arrange it for young men to impregnate women and girls by force as well. Teenage boys would be put out to stud and unwilling women would be forced to get pregnant at gunpoint. Also, this would be the new national anthem of every country...

Ben:

What do you think the odds are that you have accidentally eaten human meat in any form in your lifetime? I'm thinking that someone could have lost a finger in a hot dog factory, or some disgruntled employee butchered up his murder victims at the Jennie-O factory (is human white meat, or red meat?). I would say that the odds are low because they would issue an immediate recall, but it seems like it’s possible it could happen without the meat packing company knowing.

This is assuming that every scrap of meat you or I have ever eaten has been processed by a factory that is overseen by the FDA. I wish that were true. But I ate at a kebab cart for breakfast today and I know damn well that the shit they carved off the gyro spit came from the floor of an Armenian prison. That’s what gives it such a distinct flavor. I MUST HAVE IT.

I don’t know that it’s a LOCK that you’ve eaten human meat as a result of careless food manufacturing. Obviously, we’ve all consumed blood. Any chef that cuts himself and ISN’T being watched by a “Chopped” camera will likely carry on as if nothing happened because chefs are repulsive people. You’ve probably consumed a pint of chef blood in your lifetime (Mmmmm... tastes like HPV-induced throat cancer), along with bits of skin, nails, and hair. But a real chunk of human flesh? I say maybe a trace amount. If there were an intact pinkie toe in your hot dog, I assure you the media would be alerted.

Nick:

Who would win in a fight to the death: an MLB pitcher armed with nothing but a pile of baseballs, or an average person armed with nothing but a baseball bat? For the sake of argument, let's assume that the pitcher can't just rip the bat out of your hands and beat you with it. He has to take you out with a fastball to the skull before you can get a clean shot at him with the bat. So, who ya got?

Though we should factor in the distance between the two men at the start of the fight (it helps the pitcher if you both come out from corners that are 90 feet apart), I think the man with the bat prevails in pretty much any scenario. Even if you have to run to the pitcher from a distance, you can run at him in a zigzag pattern, like you’re avoiding an allitgator. Nuke LaLoosh will have a harder time nailing you if you’re a moving target and not a stationary batter. And once you get within striking distance, the fight is essentially over. The pitcher needs time to wind up and a certain distance from you to get the pitch off. That’s not happening with you an inch from him, beating him to death. I think this would make a fine drill for the St. Louis pitching staff.

Chris:

What if alcohol had zero calories? Would people start drinking during every meal of the week? Creating a massive influx of alcoholism and liver disease?

Unlikely. People who like drinking now are usually undeterred by the caloric properties of Milwaukee’s Best. Because alcohol is overseen by the ATF and not the FDA, beer and wine and liquor don’t come with nutrition labels, which is a big help for those of us who like to binge drink but don’t want to think about the consequences of it. The only difference is that young women would be less cautious about booze fattening them up and drink even more liberally, leading to a whole new enjoyable run of Drunken Hookup Failures.

Jesse:

Did you realize Kate Upton has a brother? I didn't until I saw her mentioning him in tweets. Does he have it the worst of any celebrity sibling? You have to deal with just about everyone on the planet - man, woman, other - wanting to bang the shit out of your sister.

It’s true. And I would feel bad for David Upton, except that he might just possibly be a douchebag:

Hahahaha short people #SucksToSuck

— David Upton (@David_Upton_) June 2, 2013

Baths > showers

— David Upton (@David_Upton_) May 26, 2013

What grown man likes baths more than showers? This is not a fellow to be trusted. Perhaps being Kate Upton’s brother and spending the past few years having all your friends talk about how badly they want to nail your sister MAKES you a douche, or perhaps he was always a douche and deserves such taunts.

Justin:

What does it say about me, that whenever I walk through a turnstile, I subconsciously raise my arms and vigorously thrust my pelvis to get through the thing? I do it every time.

It says that you are a HERO. Don’t you dare think otherwise.

Dan:

I recently learned that Sir Isaac Newton died a virgin. This raises the question: would you rather be doomed to a life of mediocrity and anonymity, but be able to get it fairly regularly (we are assuming that the sex is of a reasonably good quality and frequency), or would you rather die a legend and be immortalized as one of the greatest mathematicians and physicists of all time, but NEVER have sex? I’m not talking about dying a virgin as a well-respected-but-little-known scientist, like a higher-up at CERN. I’m talking about a level of fame where 5th graders learn who you are 400 years after you die.

Yeah, but what good does it do your corpse if fifth graders are learning lessons from you after you’re dead? Unless you’re a GLORY BOY who thinks he’s gonna look down from heaven with a smug grin and see pictures of himself in a textbook, you probably don’t want to go through this life unsexed and, frankly, unloved. It’s a cliche to say it, but life is pretty pointless without finding people you care about and occasionally stick your penis inside of. That’s ALL that matters, really. The whole reason men work is to make money to impress women to have sex with those women. And the whole reason men like me work is to make the money that pays for the house that keeps the wife happy and pays for the college that ensures the kids don’t grow up stupid (but not so smart that they can’t get laid). All of it is in service of love. At least, that’s what I tell my old lady when I kick her out of the house during Vikings games. IT’S ALL FOR YOU.

When I was a fat teenager, I had an intense fear of dying a virgin. And there were, of course, superficial reasons for that. I didn’t want to die a loser, and I didn’t want to die never having known the PLEASURES OF A WOMAN. But I also didn’t want to die alone, without anyone giving a shit about me. And when you’re a sixteen-year-old virgin, you really feel as if that’s a distinct possibility. It seems so HARD to get laid, or to get a girl to even SMILE at you. I used to cry at night, I was so upset about it. Being hard up will make you an insane person.

Email of the week time!

Chris:

I work in a research building that is home to several other companies, including a "Lifelong Learning Center" that offers classes for senior citizens. This means my office building is generally crawling with septuagenarians who take the closest parking spots, clog the hallways while they hold conversations, and infuse the building with their unique senior potpourri. This is all stuff I can tolerate, but the one thing I find abhorrent is their treatment of the bathroom.

When the old men get in our public restroom all bets are off. Those dudes are ruthless in there, peeing on the floor next to the urinals, not flushing the toilets, leaving a cloud of stench that lingers in the air and on your clothes the minute you walk in. Naturally, I try to avoid this area as much as possible, but I am not a camel, and occasionally I have to evacuate those three cups of coffee I need each morning to keep from falling asleep at my desk.

This morning I reached the point of no return and rushed off to the restroom. As I'm standing at the urinal an old man walks in whistling some tune (probably something by the Andrews Sisters) and pulls up next to me. As soon as he does this he stops whistling and emits a noise that will haunt me the rest of my life. The noise was not the low grunt I was expecting, but a high-pitched whine that sounded something like "Arrrrghoooeeeuhhhhhhhmph." Assuming the devil was coming out of his penis, I wrapped up my business and damn near sprinted to the sink to wash up. While I'm scrubbing, he finishes his business with another noise, this time deeper and with more of a growl to it. Being thoroughly frightened, I skipped the towels and dried my hands on my jeans as I raced toward the security of my office.

I want to know what the fuck that dude was doing that made such an awful noise. Is that what all men have to look forward to — a prostate so temperamental you need to summon demons in order to squeeze the piss from your bladder?

God, I can’t wait to get old. So much fun.

There’s a scene in The Green Mile where Tom Hanks is taking a leak and is in extreme pain, and he says, “I’m pissin’ razorblades.” Ever since seeing that scene, I’m scared that I too will end up pissing razorblades at some in life. I bet it happens at least once to old men. God, that’s terrifying. Maybe we should have separate bathrooms for old folks.

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 buy Drew's new book, "Someone Could Get Hurt," in time for Father's Day 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:

Rex:

My wife and I have two daughters, 4 and 2, and we were beginning to start thinking about possibly taking the insane little hellions to Disneyland. We live in Oakland, so even though we are in California, getting to Anaheim is still at least a six-hour drive...Or we can fly and torture all the other passengers for an hour to get down there. I just read where Disneyland is raising the price of a single-day admission ticket to $92 for adults, and to $86 for kids aged 3 to 9. Our younger daughter would be 3 before we would possibly go, but...That's $356 goddamn bucks just to walk in the door and kiss Old Walt's Nazi-sympathizing statue! Even with places like AAA and Costco offering things like three-day packages for the parks and hotels, it's about $2K for three days of wandering in, standing in lines for hours, then getting mad at your wife for going on this shithole trip just so your kid can get a picture with Cinderella, who probably hates all kids anyway. Seriously...Why the fuck would any sane person do this?

I know many parents who have done either Disneyland or Disney World (usually Disney World, since I live on the East Coast). In many cases, it was the parents' idea to go, which is insane to me. I figured Disney World was something you did after your kid screamed at you for YEARS to go and you finally caved in just so that they would shut up. But no! No, some parents conceive of the trip and then go of their own volition, which is bonkers. There is usually a passable amusement park within 90 minutes of any major American city. A day trip to Six Flags seems like a far better way of limiting your misery.

Every parent I know who goes to Disney World says the exact same thing about it: "It wasn't THAT bad!" They always come back having convinced themselves they had a good time because the thought of dropping three grand to spend five days in line for a fucking monorail is too much for any sane person to bear. They say that Disney World appeals to parents because they know how to accommodate families better than most resorts. There are activities. There are changing tables all over. There are no dirty looks when your child cries at a Disney World restaurant. You are in the family-friendliest environment of family-friendly environments. And that's all well and good, but still: Fuck Disney World. Unless your name is John Jeremiah Sullivan, I can't imagine that spending that much money delivers that much more memorable of an experience for you. The only way to make Disney World WORK is to stay at the park, have a crippled person with you to help you cut in line, and go off-season, on a Tuesday in Jancember (seriously, there IS no offseason). And that still a VERY expensive undertaking.

Disney World is, at heart, a sacrifice. The parents who go do so because they believe their children will have the greatest time of their lives, and that's worth enduring lines and airports and what not. And that's very noble, but I'm farrrrr too selfish to make that kind of sacrifice. FOR OUR VACATION WE'RE FOLLOWING QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE AROUND THE COUNTRY, CHILDREN. DEAL WID IT.

Quick note: On Monday, I'll be doing a live chat over at BookTalk Nation with Leitch. So sign up for that if you're lonely. Now let's get into the Funbag below.

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 buy Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, in time for Father's Day through his homepage.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering big dicks, broken jaws, uneaten cupcakes, and more.

Before we get to the Funbag, some notes of vital interest. If you're in New York tomorrow night, I'll be doing Scott Rogowsky's Running Late show over in Brooklyn. It's like a live talk show-type thing. You can buy tickets here. You get a free beer (not kidding) if you mention Deadspin at the door, plus $2 off your ticket if you enter the promo code MARTY online. Among the other guests tomorrow night will be human Straw-Ber-Rita Tucker Max, so that'll be interesting. I'm told the event space has a bar for afterward, which makes it one-stop shopping for us all.

And if you're in Boston on Thursday night, I'll be doing a reading and signing at the Harvard Coop at 7pm. FACKKKKK YOU. Drinks and Game 4 afterward at John Harvard's. Then, I'm back in DC on Saturday doing a reading at Politics & Prose at 6 p.m. Again, drinking afterward. Somewhere. Probably Comet or that other bar across the street. I dunno.

OK, with that out of the way, let's get to your letters:

Josh:

Who would you put on your Mount Rushmore of Most Punchable Faces? And can I cast all four of my votes for Florio?

First slot goes to Hitler automatically. He's a shoo-in, like the RSTLNE combination you get in the final round of "Wheel of Fortune." Somewhere out there, a person has already carved his face into a cliff for this very kind of anti-memorial. If Hitler were resurrected and a local entrepreneur offered the general public a chance to punch Hitler in the face for three dollars, the line for the Hitler booth would stretch around the globe six times. NO ONE DENIES THIS.

There are certain necessary elements for a punchable face, and Hitler has them all. You must be bratty. You must be a loudmouth, so that a punch to the face will silence your constant braying. You must have a damning personal history. And you must have a resting expression that, simply on its own, causes people to want to ball up their fists and throttle you right in your stupid fucking jaw. Hitler has all that going for him. His is the most punchable face in history. Him and Jesus. JUST KIDDING.

So, with those qualities in mind, let's chisel the rest of our cliff face:

• Hitler.

• Mike Lupica. Not only is he a loudmouth and a brat, but he has those glasses. You just know he paid $800 for those things. God, it would feel so good to drive my knuckles right through those glasses, to hear them go CRUNCH and feel the frames snap, watching with joy as the shards from the lenses (in my fantasy, they are not shatterproof lenses) pierce his eyeballs and cause them to leak fluid all over Bill Rhoden's lap. There are so many sports personalities you could put on this list (Christian Laettner, Bobby Heenan, Eli Manning), but Lupica tops them all.

• Chris Brown. I hate giving him the satisfaction of canonizing him on this mountain, but fuck him. He's a savage woman-beating troll who is BEGGING to be 25th Hour'ed. He's so punchable, he knocks Justin Bieber off the mountain, which is crazy because the whole world wants to beat some sense into Justin Bieber.

• Billy Zane. As nominated by Spencer Hall. It was between him and Ethan Hawke. "Not the better half (sneers)." FUCK YOU ASSHOLE PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH.

Devon:

How many people, in the history of human existence, have joined the Mile Low club? I guess we're limited to people in submarines, or deep underground in mines? Has to be lower than the number of people in the Mile High club, right?

According to Wikipedia, modern submarines have a crush depth (crush depth means your sub goes too low and, you know, gets crushed) of 2,400 feet at best. That's not even half a mile. So whatever smoking hot navy buttsecks is going on aboard the USS Freelove, it's not happening a mile below. Some submersibles can dive to much lower depths, so I suppose it's possible that James Cameron brought along a hooker in his capsule to give him handies at the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

That's probably a better bet than land-based holes. "Did you know the hole's natural enemy is the pile?" The deepest man-made hole in the world is the Kola Superdeep Borehole, which goes nearly eight miles deep. But there's not a boudoir at the bottom of that hole. There is just Satan attaching a boot to a fishing hook and yanking on the line to fuck with Russian scientists. A mile below the surface of the Earth is likely to be a hellish place—hot and lacking in oxygen and all that. No fallout shelter is buried that deep. In all likelihood, the number of people who have boned that far beneath the surface of the Earth can be counted on one hand. Why, we could build a Mount Rushmore of them!

Tom:

For 6 million dollars (tax-free) would you agree to let Shaq anally fist you once a day every day for a full calendar year? You get Christmas and your birthday off.

Every day? Not a chance, especially if he has the rings on. Even ONCE a year would be a stretch, and I mean that literally.

Mike:

If one athlete were to die in a plane or car crash, which athlete would create the most stir/news about his death? ESPN would practically shut down their headquarters if Tebow died, so I'm putting my money on him.

At this very moment, it would be LeBron, because LeBron is not only one of the biggest stars in all of sport, but because his sport's showcase event is going on right now. If LeBron were to crash his Ferrari (right before he hits the other car, I bet LeBron makes the same face he makes when he gets called for a foul) and die TODAY, right before Game 3, that would cause a lot more dilemmas (and therefore, discussion points) than if he died during the offseason. Do they play the game tonight? If they put it off a day, what do they do about Game 4? If the Spurs win the title after that, do we put a little asterisk by the title in the shape of a Ferrari being T-boned? If he died in a plane crash, maybe the rest of the Heat would be completely freaked out by air travel and not want to fly back home. Maybe Don McLean would write an ENDLESS song about LeBron's death called "The Day The Basketball Died." Skip Bayless would orgasm on the air. Loudly. It would be mass chaos.

If we're taking the actual circumstances of sport out of the equation and just focusing on the biggest name dying in a crash, then the answer is Tiger Woods. Because who knows what he was doing at the time of the crash. Maybe Jayden James was blowing him while he was piloting that underwater submersible. Lindsey Vonn should have known better!

Kevin:

Say you're Tom Hanks in Castaway, how many days after the crash when you are stranded do you hold out to fap? Do you fap into the fire? And is Wilson off-limits?

Wilson is off limits. Friends don't do that sort of thing to each other. I say he jacks it after a day or two: After getting over the shock, making fire, building a shelter out of palm fronds, and scavenging for food and water, he'd finally have a chance to sit down and realize he has nothing better to do. After that, FAP FAP FAP FAP FAP.

Ian:

With everything I've learned from a decade of watching CSI, do you think I could get away with being a serial killer? I mean a serious, curfew-enducing serial killer with a nickname like the "Bartime Butcher." With what I know about DNA, fingerprints, blood, hair, security cameras, and facial recognition software, I feel like I could evade Lieutenant Dan and Sam Malone for a while.

Well, the CSI shows take place in an alternate universe where every city has about ninety active serial killers, and all of the serial killers are BRILLIANT. "Don't you see, I cut up the bodies to resemble characters from Milton's Paradise Lost! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!" They all execute their crimes in a precise and efficient manner. You, Mister Amateur Killer, still have an awful lot to learn about killin' folk.

If you want to become the Brown River Killer, you shouldn't be watching CSI. You should be watching Blood Simple, so that you get a very good idea of just how much blood you're gonna be dealing with, and just how messy it is to try to clean up. SO MUCH BLOOD. You'll need that kind of wake-up call about how daunting your task is going to be.

Chances are, you'll be able to pull off a handful of these crimes and get away with it if you are an expert in victim selection. GQ ran a long piece a few months ago written by a woman who came face-to-face with truck stop killer Robert Ben Rhoades. The whole thing is horrifying, but the most disturbing aspect of it is how selecting runaways and hookers made it easy for Rhoades to kill. If you're a serial killer and you pick the CNN-friendly white girl from a suburb, your face will be on Nancy Grace within an hour of you committing the crime. But if you pick one of Rhoades' "invisible people"—poor, abandoned, and usually not white—the lack of prompt reaction from law enforcement is pretty frightening.

I should note at this point: PLEASE DO NOT GO AROUND SERIAL KILLING. That would be bad.

Gerald:

Do you think, in our lifetime, we will see a gay couple on the same team? Of any sport.

Given the rapid progress the gay rights movement has made just over the course of the past five years, it seems like an inevitability. Although the idea of a gay couple on a team brings up all kinds of workplace issues that exist well outside the boundaries of plain old discrimination. Two players sleeping together are shitting where they eat. Like any office romance, if things turn sour, they turn VERY sour. So I don't know if the sports world—which ABHORS the idea of players being distractions—would approve of such affairs. And then you'd have the people at BIG GAY being like, "You're just disapproving of their relationship because you secretly hate gays! GAY HATER!" And then everyone would be annoyed at one another.

Personally, I would like to see gay couples in sports right now. It would jack up the drama of any game by at least 20 percent. Is Colin Kaepernick actively avoiding throwing the ball to Vernon Davis because they broke up a week ago? What will happen now that Alex Smith has laid down a "he goes or I go" ultimatum to the Chiefs after breaking off his torrid affair with coach Andy Reid? And what if Peyton Manning and Tom Brady are actually lovers? MY GOD BEST RIVALRY EVER. I'm all for it.

HALFTIME!

Blake:

Suppose you were transported to 1950 and they asked to you transcribe as many song lyrics as you can from your lifetime. How many songs could you crank out? Initially I thought I could come up with quite a few, but then realized that my odds of getting songs 100% accurate were pretty pathetic.

So you have to get every lyric in the song right? That's pretty rough. One of the shitty things about getting old is that, for the life of me, I can't commit any new songs to memory. I could listen to them a thousand times and still not get every word right. But ask me to write down the lyrics to some old song like "Tears in Heaven"—a song I don't even like—and I could throw them down in about six seconds. I MUST BE STRONG AND CARRY ON... The songs you hear as a kid and teenager get emblazoned on your brain, and they stay that way, often at the expense of newer, awesomer music.

And that's only rock songs. Don't forget about kiddie songs, ad jingles, and dozens of other musical snippets that crowd the average American's psyche. If Blake here was more forgiving about getting the lyrics exactly right, the average adult could probably write down thousands of songs. Perhaps more. It's quite staggering when you consider the sheer volume of songs—good and horrible—that are archived inside of you. I'd be really impressed with my own ability to retain information if that information didn't include all the lyrics to "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)."

Mike:

I'm not a huge golf fan, but I live near this year's US Open, so I'm going. Do you have any suggestions of something cool to yell if I get close enough to know it would be heard on TV? "Mashed potatoes" was funny, but seems to be played out. "Get in the hole" was never funny and is DEFINITELY played out, so I'm looking for something clever. My only idea so far is the chorus of Killer Tofu by The Beets. Please help me.

This is golf, so if you yell out anything silly, all the humorless pricks in the gallery will turn around and stare daggers at you, as if you strangled a puppy in front of them. So remember to get drunk enough to not care about such things. Normally, I would say to just yell out BLOWJOB!, but I assume you don't wanna get kicked out. Some more unorthodox choices...

• Get in MY hole!

• FANCY!

• BURN THE WITCH

• GET LEGS! (still my favorite automated yell from the gallery back when I played computer golf in 1994)

• WAFFLES AND SYRUP!

• BAH GAWD! THEY KILLED HIM! (Jim Ross voice)

• DERRRRRRRRRRP

Justin:

How much money would it take for you to never watch sporting events on TV again? You can go to games and you can check scores and watch SportsCenter (torture, I know) but you cannot watch any sporting events, professional or collegiate, on TV ever again.

I gotta GO to NFL games? Christ. Can I stay in the concourse and watch the TVs there? Or is that cheating? I have to actually sit there and watch the whole time? That sounds like hell on Earth. If I can watch highlight packages and still follow NFL.com GameCenter, I suppose that isn't that bad. I would spend the rest of my life staring at my team's GameCenter, pumping my fist like an idiot any time a long arrow appeared on the drive chart (I have cheered while staring at a GameCenter in the past; it can be done). If you paid me enough money, I could hire a team of monkey butlers to re-enact every game, which would bring me no shortage of amusement. Call it $20 million and we can seal the deal. I barely watch non-football sports anyway.

William:

Could you beat Kobe Bryant one on one right now?

I'm not sure how far along he is in his rehab. Can he walk? If he can walk, forget it. You and I are toast. Even hobbling around on a reconstructed Achilles, he would find a way. Kobe Bryant is an insane person. If beating you in a meaningless exhibition means throwing lye in your face and beating you to death with his hospital cane, he'll do it. He's a sociopath.

Guy:

For the next 3 months, I'm going to be living in the house of my sister & her husband. I've already started to notice that my bro-in-law literally NEVER washes his hands after using the toilet. I'll admit I'm a bit of a germaphobe; but in my humble opinion, neglecting to wash your hands after potty time is not only classless, but disrespectful to your fellow man. Sometimes he cooks dinner, and I'm tired of making excuses not to eat. How do I approach him about this?

Just tell your sister. Let her bust his balls for you. That's easy money.

Matt:

I was on a Greyhound from a small-town Northern Ontario to Toronto today and there were 30-40 Amish people on board - adults, kids, teens - it was crazy. As the bus gradually got closer to the city they progressively lost their shit more and more at things that are totally ordinary to me. Pressing their noses to the windows at the sight of a shitty zoo, miming how rollercoasters work when passing a theme park, pointing at every single fucking plane they saw, etc. If you were completely ignorant to big city life what would freak you out the most when you first saw it? It's gotta be the first sighting of a hooker, right?

I think it would be the buildings. If you've lived in a barn for the first fifteen years of your life, and you've never even known about the existence of buildings, you're gonna have your SKULL BLOWN by the sight of skyscrapers reaching a hundred stories high. I am a fully grown adult and I have been to cities before, but skylines STILL blow my mind. Anytime I see a skyline from a car window or a plane I'm like HOLY SHIT THERE IT IS. It's the big city, y'all! Even now, when I walk up next to a tall building like the Hancock building in Chicago and I stare up at it, I'm still amazed and horrified. What if falls on me? Could that happen? How the hell did people build that thing?

So imagine being an Amish person—a time traveler, essentially—laying eyes on the Manhattan skyline for the first time. I'd be astonished. I'd be so astonished, I wouldn't even notice the first hooker until twenty minutes later. And then I would go fap in my overalls.

AB:

How does receiving anal sex effect your bowels? Does it make pooping a lot easier given that your butthole is used to stretching with ease? Also, on the flip side, does pooping yourself become more of a worry as it's harder to really clench up? I imagine it's the difference between a vacuum sealed ziploc bag vs. one of those shitty Shoprite bags.

Since I am not personally familiar with the havoc that repeated anal sex can wreak on your excretory system, time for a simple Google search:

Well, the anus does indeed become a little looser. That is why the actresses in blue movies so often have rather gaping bottoms. This widening can lead to minor problems with ‘soiling’ of underwear.

OK! That settles it. Nothing like visualizing a gaping, leaking asshole with afternoon snack. I imagine that lube and fancy oils can help mitigate this damage, along with the size of the object being inserted inside of you. If you've got a gallon of Astroglide and a pencil dick to work with, you're probably minimizing the damage. But if it's Big Jim Slade going to town on your dry asscrack on a prison floor, that would probably compromise your sphincter. So take care of that bunghole! It's the only one you've got. Don't let Shaq fist it!

Email of the week time!

Adam:

My junior year of undergrad (2002-2003) I lived in my fraternity house, which was really just an old dorm building that was built sometime during the height of the Cold War. On the side of the house right outside of the door exiting from the kitchen, we had a dumpster "area" that basically consisted of a wide-open square piece of asphalt. Anyway, as typically happens with fraternities, trash, cans, bottles, food, and other unidentifiable objects would build up in the house over the course of a few weeks until we would clean the house top-to-bottom.

After one big cleaning day that winter, the dumpster area was piled high with trash bags, rotten food, leftovers, etc. Later that same night and after a few of us had been drinking pretty heavily, we were hanging out in the kitchen making food when we heard what sounded like a bum rummaging through our trash area. As drunk as we were and ignoring the hepatitis and HIV infections we would undoubtedly get if we actually physically encountered a bum, we decided we should go yell at him to stop picking through our trash.

When we went to the door, though, the rummaging noise stopped and when we opened the door we didn't see anything. We figured the bum saw us coming through the window and took off, so we went back to eating and drinking. About 30 minutes later, somebody went to throw out some trash in the dumpster area and came running back into the kitchen, screaming like he'd just been stabbed by a hobo. The rummaging noise, it turns out, was actually an opossum.

At this point, we all ran over to the kitchen door and looked out to see the biggest and nastiest God damned opossum any of us had ever seen. This son of a bitch must have weighed 20 pounds and as soon as it saw us, it started hissing and snarling at us like it had rabies. At that point we figured that we needed to get rid of this thing before it nested in our dumpster area, but we were all too drunk, scared, or both, to dare step outside and test how territorial this thing was.

As I mentioned, our fraternity house was really just an old dorm building, so it was four stories tall. In our collective inebriation we determined that the best way to get rid of the demon spawn in our dumpster was to go up to the 4th floor, open the window, and drop heavy objects onto it. The first item was an old-school CRT computer monitor. Unfortunately, trying to line up a square shot on an opossum with a computer monitor from four stories up is difficult, especially when drunk, so we didn't get the kill shot we were looking for. Instead, we delivered a glancing blow to the beast and it appeared we managed only to hurt its leg and piss it off even more.

Despite almost being splattered with a computer monitor, the thing went back to rummaging while we regrouped and found our next weapons - two cinder blocks. The next attack went much better, as from the kitchen window it appeared that one cinder block landed a direct hit to the middle of the opossum's back and the other literally landed on, and severed, its tail. Convinced we had conquered the beast, we checked out the battle scene and were satisfied that we had, in fact, murdered the thing.

A few hours later some of our brothers returned home from the bars and we needed to proudly show them what we had accomplished...the only problem was that the only evidence left in the dumpster area was a broken computer monitor, two broken cinder blocks, and a bloody opossum tail. That's right, THE GOD DAMNED THING SURVIVED HAVING A CINDER BLOCK DROPPED DIRECTLY ONTO ITS BACK FROM FOUR FLOORS UP AND IT WAS PLAYING POSSUM!! I didn't sleep right for two weeks, afraid that the opossum would show up like some kind of deranged Michael Myers-like marsupial and seek its revenge.

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 buy Drew's new book, Someone Could Get Hurt, in time for Father's Day through his homepage.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering drafting, baller hotels, wedding bands, and more.

I've been traveling a lot lately, and since I'm Mister Big Fancypants Author Person, I've been put up in nice hotels—the kind of boutique hotels where, if my parents were staying there, they wouldn't be able to figure out how to turn the lights on and shit. And the remarkable thing about these hotels is that, when you walk in the door, you IMMEDIATELY want to have sex with someone. There are floor-to-ceiling mirrors and bearskin bedspreads and minimalist white decor and desks that come just up to genital height. You walk in and you're like Holy shit, I need to fuck someone right away or this whole room will have gone to waste!

I can't even imagine what the hooker call-in percentage is for some of these rooms. If you're a single man or a married scumbag staying in one of these rooms, ordering a hooker seems almost mandatory. I got in the bed and all I could think was, 85 hookers have been in this bed in the past week alone. And man, was that HOT. I fapped a dozen times before falling asleep. I hope I did those rooms proud.

Anyway, before we begin, a quick note: I'm going on vacation this week. There will be no baller hotel for this vacation, just a cramped beach house with more people in it than local fire codes allow. As always, going on vacation with children is 50 times more stressful than just staying home and doing nothing, but my protests again fell on deaf ears. That means no live FUNBAG this week, which is a shame, because we're only seven years away from perfecting it in the Kinja format. Now, your letters:

Ryan:

What's the proper way to seat two couples at a sporting event?

BOY BOY GIRL GIRL. This isn't a Barefoot Contessa summer brunch party. There's no need to intersperse genders like my mom always does at Christmas. Far better to have the two men sitting together to talk about SPORTS AND BEER AND CRUSHIN' PUSSY while the ladyfolk talk about lady things, like weaving, and cherry scone recipes, and the best way to get stains out of curtains. That's totally what all women talk about. BO-RING.

As a bonus, if you're on the edge in this situation, you can always do that thing where, an hour into the game, you lean over and catch your wife's eye and are like, "Hi honey! Are you having fun?" It's like you're checking in on them while on a business trip a thousand miles away.

Jeff:

Why is it that we have never seen Superman (or Superboy, or whatever the heck he was in Smallville) have any sort of sporting desire? In this modern age, surely he would have driven his parents crazy wanting to try for little league or pee-wee football at some point, or at least track in high school.

If you go by the Superman mythology, Superman wouldn't play sports because that would give away his true identity. Also, Superman would be dominating football games for his own enjoyment, which would make him a GLORY BOY and nothing at all like the selfless, gritty, scrappy Clark Kent we all know and love.

And remember, Clark Kent is supposedly a NERDY NERDLINGER who probably isn't interested in sports because he's a loser, a loser who just happens to be the most powerful being to reside within the Earth's atmosphere. I'm sure that remarkable power wouldn't go to his head at all!

The Superman story is better this way, frankly. You don't want to go the theater and watch Doucherman, where Clark Kent suddenly realizes that being Superman means you can single-handedly win football games and score all the hot pussy you want, and then adjusts his priorities accordingly. Then you'd have the citizens of Metropolis drafting legislation to keep him out of all four major sports leagues so that he doesn't make the games boring, and then you'd have Tony Kornheiser objecting and saying PEOPLE LOVE DYNASTIES, and then Superman would hang out at Marquee and use his x-ray vision to browse for shaved ladyparts. That's not a story that America is ready to hear. We cannot handle Doucherman's truth.

Eric:

Do you prefer the morning workday poop or the late afternoon workday poop? I like the poop in the morning after I've only accomplished powering on my computer and realizing all the stupid crap I have to deal with during the day. Pooping during those dreadful pre-9:00 AM minutes is crucial because at my desk I would just be regretting my life's path up to this point.

No one likes pooping under duress, and the morning poop is more likely to an angry, harried affair. I have to shit before the client comes in! That's no fun. You want time to BASK in the act of pooping. You want it to be a critical time-burner in the middle of a boring day.

This is more information that you need, but my morning bowel movements are ALWAYS poorly timed. Two kids need to be dressed for school, the baby needs his diaper changed, and the life insurance agent is about to drop by when suddenly my digestive system is like, "YOU NEVER MAKE TIME FOR ME ANYMORE." That's no fun. Much better to shit in the afternoon, when everyone has eaten lunch and no one wants to do anything, and you're just dying to leave. A 20-minute toilet session can really help push the day along.

Ben:

So I am watching highlights of Sunday night's NBA Finals game on Monday morning in the office when I get the following pop-up ad in my video stream:

Terrified, I checked the website on my phone, since I try to be diligent about steering my work computer away from semen-related websites. Turns out it is a marketer of "semen tanks for the bovine, deer, equine, goat, sheep and canine artifical insemination industry." They also have a Twitter account, @SemenTanksCom.

"We have the semen tank you need for your artificial breeding program." THANK GOD. You can get an equine semen transporter (hard case) for just $75. That's not bad! Even though the idea of a tank holding potential gallons of horse semen is horrifying, it's also a somewhat reassuring demonstration of the power of capitalism. If there's a market for anything out there, someone has found a way to make money off it. There are horse semen tank providers. There are deer urine milkers. There are the people who make the shit you buy at Spencer Gifts. People fill the cracks.

I went to the lamp repair store the other day to get my lamp fixed, and as the guy took my lamp to the back to get it to stop flickering, I wondered if he was happy. Like, did he own this store because he adores fixing lamps? Is that his true PASSION? Or did he just fall into the lamp trade? Do you have to go to school for lamp repair? Is it a more lucrative field than I'm aware of? I wonder if that guy fucking HATES lamps now, and spends all his time at home in a dark room because the idea of touching one more goddamn lamp makes him sick. If I worked in a lamp store, I would rub every single lamp every day just to make sure I wasn't missing out on a genie.

Phillip:

Something I saw recently about the amount of dead people scattered on Mt. Everest reminded me of something I have wondered for a while. Roughly how many dead people do you think there are buried around the earth (including people who just died in extreme conditions like Mt. Everest) outside of proper cemeteries? Like, people who died in fringe battles of major wars, people who fell overboard into the ocean, people who now sleep with the fishes in the Hudson River, bodies of missing hitchhikers buried in a shallow makeshift forest grave, the aforementioned Mt Everest group, etc. Multiple millions maybe?

Definitely. There are, by some estimates, over 100 billion people who have ever lived. I imagine few of them had proper burials or cremations. Think people who have been killed in volcano eruptions, swept away by tidal waves, swallowed by ice crevasses, dumped in mass graves, and shot and left for dead. Plus everyone who vanished before dying. You're probably talking about billions of people. Why, you could be standing on a skull as we speak!

I wondered if you could literally bury that many people and have enough room on the Earth's surface, so I did some basic math. The average funeral casket is seven feet long and over two feet (28", to be precise) wide. If all 108 billion people who have ever lived were buried side by side, the resulting cemetery would take up over 63,000 square miles of landmass, a little smaller than the size of Wisconsin. That's not much in grand scheme of things. So when people tell you that cemeteries are a waste of space, just let them know that there's still PLENTY of room out there for all our dead bodies. GOODY!

Sometimes I wonder why we bury people at all. Obviously, you need to do something about a corpse before putrefaction sets in, but I'm not wild with either burial or cremation as an after-death option. I am terrified that I'll die, be buried, and then wake up. Or that I'll die, be set on fire, and then wake up. I really don't want that to happen, even if the odds are low. I need the odds to be zero. Better to just leave my corpse in a baller hotel room and send in a new hooker to defile it every hour. THAT IS DYIN' LIKE YER LIVIN', PEOPLE.

Richard:

Given the amount of imported fruit and vegetables from all over the world and multiple people handling them every single year before going on shelves, what do you think the nastiest thing someone you know has unknowingly ingested? Monkey sperm? Or something worse?

Poop, sperm, various bugs and human meat are all on everyone's "I hope I didn't eat that list," but I'll still go with roach eggs. If you swallow poop, at least it's over with. It stays poop. There's a special horror in eating something that is alive and has the potential to grow. That's the worst nightmare.

I read a textbook once that showed the parasitic worms you can end up shitting out if you eat too much raw pork (mmmm... raw pork). The picture scarred me for life. At any moment, there could be roach hatchlings or little spaghetti worms wriggling around inside me. What if I go to take a shit one day and a litter of live baby scorpions comes out? OH GOD PLEASE TELL ME THAT ISN'T THE CASE. You know it's happened to someone out there.

RSS:

I just got engaged, so I'm in that period where I get to imagine how kickass everyone will say my wedding is without having to do any actual planning yet. The one thing I keep imagining is having enough money to hire any band/singer I want for the wedding. I keep ending up on like Justin Timberlake or Bruno Mars because bands that actually rock, like the Black Keys, wouldn't really be able to play all the sentimental shit you need at a wedding. Who would be your choice?

Yeah, you have to sacrifice your own tastes so that everyone at the wedding has a fun time. That's kind of the worst part of the wedding, because every guy who starts out in the wedding racket is like WE'RE NOT GONNA HAVE SOME DIPSHIT NORMAL WEDDING. WE'RE GONNA HIRE FUCKING SLAYER FUCK YEAH. And then your fiancee crushes your dreams and you hope that the band or DJ plays at least one Replacements song before going into the KC and the Sunshine Band catalog. With the enjoyment of your guests in mind (fucking guests), someone like JT or Mars seems like a decent choice to play some Motown covers, mix in a few old standards, and also do contemporary hits. Or you could go full troll and hire some asshole Swedish DJ to play your wedding and fill the reception hall with dry ice and laser beams and just confuse the hell out of the all the old people. "This night is gonna be an AMAZING night! (turns bass up to five thousand)."

HALFTIME!

Matt:

Why do they even make dress shirts and that are not wrinkle-free? Who is more to blame for this, Big Iron, or Big Dry Cleaning?

The worst part is that I can talk myself into thinking my shirt doesn't look THAT wrinkled. I'll look at some shirt I've worn seven times without dry cleaning and think to myself Hey, that still looks pretty sharp. And then someone sends me a photo from the cocktail party and I look like a fucking panhandler dressing up for a meeting with his parole officer.

But that's just a sign of how much men despise going to the dry cleaner. Walking out of a dry cleaner with two shirts on wire hangers cloaked in formaldehyde-drenched plastic is an exercise in aggravation. Do I sling this over my shoulder? That looks elegant, right? Or do I just hold up all the way back to the car, like a fucking pud? Then I try to hang it on the little hook by the back door of the car and NEVER get it on the first try. Or I lay it down gently in the back seat, like I'm about to change a baby. IF THE SHIRT GETS WRINKLED ALL HOPE IS LOST. Shirts are bullshit.

Justin:

You know those electronic traffic signs that don't do anything really other than show you how fast you're going? And they blink and shit when you go above the speed limit? Have you ever timed it perfectly so that you blow past one perfectly in line with a slower (ie legal speed limit) car, and it only shows the slow car's speed? Good god it's THRILLING. I feel like Tubbs in the Miami Vice movie when he flies the jet back into America directly underneath the other jet and they appear just as one jet on the radar.

I never know whose car the sign is ratting on. It could be the one passing by the sign, or it could be one 20 yards away from it. Half the time, I think the thing is programmed to just spit out random numbers between 40 and 70 every half a second. It's naggy bullshit. If you wanna arrest me, ARREST ME. Let's not play silly games, copper. I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU, PIGS.

William:

How much would you pay for a picture of Johnny Manziel doing cocaine?

Just to be sure, I checked with Craggs. Here is his full pricing guide...

• Johnny Manziel doing blow off the corpse of Pablo Escobar: $10,000

• A Manziel-looking person standing in the vicinity of cocaine-looking white powder: $5

By the way, time to revisit what Gregggggggg Easterbrook said about Manziel winning the Heisman (Easterbrook stumped for Manti Te'o instead because Te'o was a four year starter and was the spiritual love child of Mitt Romney and Barack Obama)...

For Manziel, being the first frosh to win the Heisman may turn out to be a curse. The Good Book warns, "Woe unto you when all speak well of you."

My God! The prophecies have come true! Quick, everyone! LOCK YOURSELVES IN YOUR BASEMENTS BEFORE THE MURDERCROWS ARRIVE THREE DAYS HENCE.

Abigail:

I recently moved in with my boyfriend of five years. We get along quite well and (as of right now) I enjoy coming home to him every day. However, from the moment we see each other, his hand is constantly down his pants scratching his balls. Not occasionally or every once in a while, I'm talking about full-on scratching and flapping and jiggling from about 5pm to bed time. He says this is how every guy is after a hard day at work but I can't help but get annoyed when we're eating a nice dinner and he passes the salad dressing I asked for with the hand that was just shoved down his pants itching his manjigglies. Am I being too harsh or is this how every guy is upon arriving home?

Every guy has to indulge in ball-scratching, but not every guy pulls the full Al Bundy and sticks his hand down his pants and leaves it there for seven hours. I used to do this in high school because A) It felt great and B) I thought it made me look cool. Like, I legitimately thought people would see grabbing my balls and be like THAT MAGARY GUY DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT NUTHIN'! Of course, I ended up giving off the exact opposite impression. Girls were repulsed. That's a standard teenage boy thing: If I can't have sex with you, I'll just do everything in my power to gross you out. Bonus points if you dip while doing it!

So your boyfriend is probably a bit old to be pulling that sort of thing. He should be granted the right to adjust and scratch as needed. Sometimes you can satisfy this urge by going over your pants. Sometimes, you have to dig down and pull your balls out from between your deathly hot thighs. But there's no need to keep one hand on the satchel at all times. You can put your foot down. You can say to him, "Look, I know you have to manage your parts down there, but that's fucking gross. Do it when you gotta do it, or else that hand never touches this boob." And then stick your boob out. Men listen to boobs.

Adam:

Knowing your teams strengths and weaknesses from following pro football, how do you think you would do running the draft for that team if your only resource is mock drafts and columns by sportswriters? For example, you can read Mel Kiper and Todd McShay, but you cannot watch any video or have any scouts. You're limited to watching cable television and reading major websites or magazines. Is it possible that, by eliminating any personal observations at all and relying on totally neutral groupthink, you'd actually make better picks? I literally watched under five minutes of college football in 2012. However, I am a big Jets fan and am confident I could do a solid job drafting just off what I read on ESPN and Rotoworld.

That's the lure of the draft. It LOOKS easy. All the players have been loosely ranked for you, before you even have to make a pick. That why people like to watch the NFL and NBA drafts. You get to fancy yourself an executive for a moment and imagine that your eye for talent is equal to (or, frankly, better than) the dipshit running your team. With only general mock draft consensus to work with, you'd probably do all right for the first round or two. You wouldn't necessarily do a better job than every other team, but you'd probably have the same hit-or-miss ratio. Anyone can make a first round pick.

The problem is those later rounds. Well-run teams like Pittsburgh and Green Bay probably have a better hit percentage on their fourth and fifth round picks than other teams, and that makes all the difference. The Bengals were notorious for not having a scouting department for years and years. When they hired two scouts a a year ago, they tripled the number of scouts in their organization. And the Bengals have the long history of suck needed to prove that it's a poor idea to draft on instinct and PFW player capsules alone.

Think about if you were put in charge of an NFL team and you did this for real. You fired all the scouts and you told everyone that Kiper's analysis was all you needed. And you stuck your hand down your pants in the war room because you had it all to yourself. You'd be Dan Snyder. People would fucking HATE you. Everyone would accuse you of being a cheap asshole who knows nothing about football, and they'd be right.

Brad:

If you could ride any animal now or in the past, what would be the most awesome? It has to be the raptor or some flying predator, right?

A pterodactyl, for certain. It flies AND it kills, like having your own giant DEATHHAWK to ride around on. That beats any land-based animal, even a lion. I think we'd all like to saddle up a lion and be like WHO'S KING NOW, BITCH?! But you gotta go with a flying animal. You could pretend you're living on Pandora, like a fucking asshole.

Ben:

I was showering at the gym the other day, while in an adjacent shower stall some guy let out the biggest, loudest, wettest shower fart you could possibly imagine. I was able to hold in my laughter, but barely. Then, all of a sudden he bursts into laughter over it so immediately I do the same. So there we are, just two grown men laughing hysterically to each other over a shower fart. I’m telling you the rest of my day was made because of how good of a laugh I had.

Awww, that's cute!

Aaron:

What's your take on using a laptop while in the bathroom? Everyone loves pulling out their phone to pass time while sitting on the throne, so why not take it a step further and go for the laptop? I've done this on occasion, I'm a college student with roommates and I assume they think I just went in to the bathroom for a quick wank. What are the consequences of using a laptop while in the bathroom? P.S. I did not write this email from the shitter.

I would never do it just because of the logistics involved. You have to walk into the bathroom, put the laptop on the sink (or hold it up with one hand like you're a waiter delivering a tray of cocktails, which is the world's lamest/most annoying way to hold a laptop), drop your pants, sit down, and then place a scorching hot laptop on your bare thighs, giving the potential radiation a clear path to your genitals. That doesn't strike me as comfortable at all.

And then what happens when you're finishing up? If you're in a stall, you have to balance the laptop WHILE wiping. The potential for disaster is enormous. I use my phone while pissing and shitting and I know I'll drop it into the can one day. That's the cost of doing business. But getting fecal matter on a keyboard or dropping an entire computer into a toilet just isn't worth it.

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

Steve:

My wife called me at work today to let me know that our 10 month old daughter had just shit on the floor. The baby scampered away mid diaper change. Of course she is unwilling to stay still for the 2 minutes it takes to complete the task. My wife realized this was a battle she was not going to win. So, rather than endure a pissed off baby, she let her crawl around for a bit with no diaper on. After a few minutes she wrangled the little savage and got her dressed and moved on with her day.

At this point she started to smell something slightly askew but attributed the scent to the fact that she had just changed the baby's diaper. Little did she know that there was a deuce lurking in the shadows. Apparently the color of our carpet acts as some sort of fecal camouflage. So sure enough a few minutes she took a step right in the phantom loaf that my child had just pinched off. At this point she calls me to inform me of my daughters indiscretion. While on the phone she stepped on yet another pile of my daughters poop.

The part of the whole incident that I found most strange is that it didn't gross us out at all. In fact we shared in a quite hearty laugh. She just stepped on not one, but two turds and we go about our day like nothing had happened. Why does baby shit hold such a different stigma than adult shit? I mean we have had her shit on our hands, feet, carpet and clothes. Seriously, her poop has no boundaries. Meanwhile, if I walked into the bathroom right now and someone left a log in the toilet my instant reaction would be "what the fuck?!?!" If I ever stepped in another adults shit unknowingly, I might need treatment for PTSD. I would be absolutely fucking mortified. If I step in my baby's shit I think, "Awww! Well isn't this going to be a funny story for the next family get together!"

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 buy Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.

Time for your weekly LIVE edition of the Deadspin Funbag.

Drew's on vacation. We're all down in the comments, waiting for your questions. We'll take whatever's on your mind—fire away.

UPDATE: We're done. Whale of a time. Let's do it again before too long.

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering hearing loss, tomato paste, pool diarrhea, and more.

I was on a flight earlier this week when the cabin pressure changed and my ears popped. So I did the normal thing where you swallow five hundred times in a row and hope no one notices you swallowing so profusely, and nothing happened. My eardrums still felt like they were buried under a pile of sand.

So I resorted to the extreme measure of holding my nose and shutting my mouth and blowing out, turning my head into a stress doll. And that shit didn't work either. So then I started to freak out and think to myself Oh my God. This is it. My ears are fucked forever. I listened to too much ROCKING GOOD ROCK on shitty Sony headphones and now I'm gonna hear everything like I'm underwater for the rest of my life. I am Pete Townsend now. Then I got off the plane and tried the stress doll thing one more time, successfully unplugging my ears and finding myself in agonizing pain.

That happens with me sometimes. My hearing will shift and I'll think I need a cochlear implant, or the vision in one of my eyes will get blurry for just a moment because I've lost a contact and I'll think OH MY GOD I'M BLIND. And the shitty thing about it is that I'll totally go half-deaf and half-blind one day. It happens to EVERY old person. It's just a matter of when, which is not a fun thought. This is why I drink, to avoid that kind of existential dread. I'm sure the long-term effects of alcohol abuse won't speed up my hearing or vision loss at all!

Your letters:

Josh:

How would you rank professional athletics on Nature/Nurture scale? The NBA and NFL lotteries are largely won at birth, whereas cash and one-track parents have led to many a professional golfer, race car driver, or tennis star. Right? Genes still play a role, but even mixing in all weird sports like BMX and skateboarding where professionals make millions, what's the least-chance to best-chance breakdown of the average fetus making it big? Basically, on what discipline should I force my five-year-old (who will NOT EVER run a 4.1 40 nor be seven feet tall) to toil for my own personal amusement and retirement fund purposes?

I think a lot of it depends entirely on the size of the talent pool involved. One of the reasons that NBA and NFL players are physical freaks compared to the rest of the general public is because they HAVE to be. So many people out there like to play basketball that it takes a seven-foot-tall megalodon with superhuman peripheral vision and hands as soft as a Dairy Queen vanilla cone to stand out from the millions upon millions of people out there hoping to play in the NBA one day.

This is different from the talent pool of a sport such as, I dunno, handball. If you want to become an Olympic handball player, the only requirement is that you need to be able to afford your own equipment. There are sixteen people out there desperate to become American handball gods, so your odds of succeeding are far better. You don't have as many potential competitors out there for the gig. If the 25 million people who play basketball nationwide decided to play badminton instead, the current US badminton team would be reduced to rec-league caliber in a matter of seconds.

That's why a sport like golf is such a mirage for control-freak parents out there. One look at Phil Mickelson's tits and every American parent says, "Whoa, hey, my son could be that guy." The folly is that millions of other parents are thinking the exact same thing, and so while it may be "easy" to train a small white child to become a competent golfer, there is an innate feel for the game and a level of mental concentration that you must have in order to separate yourself from all the other dipshit Andrew Giulianis out there and become a real touring pro.

Here is how I would rank a handful of randomly chosen American sports on the Nature to Nurture Scale, with the top of the chart being sports that only welcome talented freakshows and the bottom representing sports that reward your little Wes Welker for his overall gymrattiness:

1. Basketball
2. Track
3. Football
4. Baseball
5. Boxing
6. Horse racing (NOTE: Kind of an anomaly here, since you have to be an anorexic dwarf to be a jockey)
7. Soccer
8. Gymnastics/Figure Skating
9. Hockey
10. Bowling
11. Tennis
12. Swimming*
13. Golf
14. Skiing/Snowboarding/Xtreeeem motocross
15. MMA
16. Surfing
17. Wrestling
18. Lacrosse
19. Fencing
20. Luge
21. Squash
(*I think that people tend to have more respect for athletes who could conceivably succeed in many different sports. LeBron was a great high school football player. Tony Gonzalez was a college basketball player. Those are REAL athletes. I think they get more respect from people than someone like Michael Phelps, who is perhaps the most dominant athlete of his generation and yet would probably look like a fucking rabbit on stilts if he tried to suit up for an NBA team.)

Andy:

My son is 4 and is in preschool. One day after school, he tells me, "Lily's mom died. Somebody killed her." I launched into a talk about how sad that is, and about how Lily's mom is a memory now, and gave him about an hour's worth of help processing it. The next day, I drop him off, and Lily's mom is right there dropping off Lily. I had a whisper conversation with my son about how Lily's mom is actually fine and there she is, and then I left. Should I have told Lily's mom that the class thinks she's dead?

It depends on the source of the rumor. It could have been Lily who told the class her mom was murdered, or your son could have started it, or the class could have heard it while listening to a Beatles record in reverse. If your son just made it all up, there's obviously no reason to tell Lily's mom because it was your stupid kid who started it all. But if Lily told him, "Yeah, my mom was hacked to death by a deranged stalker," then maybe you tell the mother. If you have the courage to do so. You probably don't have the courage to do so. I know I don't.

Kids are breathtaking liars. They lie constantly, about everything, for no reason at all. And they do it with a straight face, like a fucking sociopath would. There's no spike in blood pressure of any sort when they lie. I have no idea what's the truth and what isn't. Hanging out with your average first grader is like being trapped on Shutter Island. One of my kid's friends said she broke her ankle, and my kid made all kinds of sympathy cards for her and shit. But that kid didn't have a busted ankle. That was straight-up perjury. And the worst part is that my kid refused to accept that it was a lie.

ME: She doesn't have crutches. Her ankle is fine.

KID: No! She definitely broke her ankle!

ME: Did she go to a hospital?

KID: No.

ME: Then you are being PLAYED.

So much lying.

William:

Has anyone ever drank food coloring to quench their thirst?

No. To see if they can shit red, yes. But as a straight-up form of hydration? No. It would probably kill you to chug a quart of food coloring. Nothing that concentrated can possibly be healthy. When you use it to dye a drink or a bowl full of cake batter, the label is like, "You only need a couple drops," and you're like, "Pfft. That can't possibly be right. Let's use half the bottle." And then you cake glows like it's made of plutonium. Food coloring is terrifying shit. In the hands of a child, an entire house can be painted green with it.

Colin:

What do you think is the best sport to have played in college for post-collegiate popularity/success/girl-impressin'? For example, while it's great fun to be a hot shit linebacker at a big football school, you won't really get the chance to impress too many folks with your big-hitting in your local city's flag-football league. On the other hand, being a Division I table-tennis stud, while not cool IN school, gives you the chance to own your neighborhood's block parties and BBQ's for years to come.

I dunno, I think telling people that you played quarterback at Georgia or something is a pretty decent calling card if you want to land that real estate job or chat up that girl drinking from a plastic yard glass at the local douchebag pickup joint. It's fun to be proficient at some hipstery bar game like ping pong or pool or shufflepucks or whatever, but you're still not gonna live the high life as consistently as A.J. McCarron is about to.

Soccer is also good because you can always head over to your local park and dazzle all the yummy mummies with your crazy foot juggling skillz. You could even join in on the local futbol match featuring dozens of Latin American expatriates who wear full uniforms, bring their whole families to the park for the day, and could probably beat the USMNT single-handedly. Those guys are not fucking around when they play pickup soccer. They even hire refs just so they can curse them out.

You can also coach youth soccer, which shows women that you are both athletic AND you work well with children, which is enough to send their ovaries a-churnin'.

Honorable mention goes to baseball. Imagine the tail you could pull at your company's softball picnic. "Jim played at Rice, you know."

James:

Is there a bigger grocery scam than tomato paste? It comes in 6-ounce cans, but you never need more than, like, two tablespoons of the stuff. And once that can is open, you can be damn sure it'll be a jungle of mold within about 72 hours. What am I supposed to be doing with the 80% of the tomato paste I'm not using?

He's right! This is why you should always buy tomato paste in a tube, which is a real product. That way, you can seal the tube back up and use the rest as part of a hilarious prank in which you replace it with your brother's tube of Crest. MWAHAHAHAHAHA.

HALFTIME!

James:

De-snotting my infant son's nose with that rubber bulb thing is a total nightmare. He screams in pain because he can't blow his nose, and then when I try to suck out the snot, he screams louder and fights back. Eventually I have to pin all limbs down and trap his head but even then the ungrateful bastard doesn't appreciate what's being done. I've reached the point where I feel like I'm waterboarding the poor kid, and I've thought about pretending to interrogate him while I try to relieve his sinus pressure. "TELL US WHO SOLD YOU THE PASSPORT", you know, that sort of thing. Is that a wildly inappropriate reaction? Will I scar my son?

Nah. It's a baby. It won't remember anything you do to it. In fact, they're engineered that way on purpose, so that you can suck out its boogers and stick it with vaccine needles and leave it abandoned in a crib for hours at a time. If they remembered any of those necessary parental methods, it would be scarred for life. But fortunately, your baby is essentially Guy Pearce in Memento. You should tattoo a bunch of messages on the child so that, when he turns four, he becomes fully conscious and finds out that he may have murdered someone three years prior.

Cleaning a child's nose is the worst, by the way. THE FUCKING WORST. Before you have a kid, everyone warns you about dirty diapers and spit-up, but no one ever mentions the booger thing. There are boogers the size of Texas inside your infant. Sometimes, you'll pull on one and it'll just keep going, like a string of handkerchiefs coming out of a magician's hat. It's horrifying.

One time, my son had a head cold and I went into his room late at night to help him. And when I got near the crib, I saw what can only be described as a WALL of dark brown boogers plastered across his face. We're talking a crust of damp, curdled snot the size of a grown man's mustache. I nearly threw up. It remains the grossest thing I've ever seen as a parent. There were PILES of boogers all over the crib. It was the boy's weight in snot. Even now, years after having seen it, I get nauseous thinking about it. So let this be a warning to you future parents out there: THE BOOGER THREAT IS REAL.

Dusty:

I was walking back to my apartment tonight and noticed a new sign on the pool gate (attached below). I don't know about you, but that thing set my fucking imagination on fire. SO MANY QUESTIONS. What was the incident that prompted the sign? Were there multiple offenses? How did they decide the specific diarrhea timing rules? Did they consult a doctor and/or scientist regarding pool diarrhea probabilities? How could they possibly enforce this (there's no lifeguard at the pool ever)? Are we tenants going to be issued some sort of diarrhea enforcement UPC codes?

"Currently Active Diarrhea" would make for an excellent fantasy football team name. I like that they demand two weeks' notice. Diarrhea in a pool is just that horrifying of a concept that they want you clear for 14 full days before they let you back in. It's just like the health form I had to fill out before getting on the Kid Rock boat. Officials can deal with solid feces. That's not such a big deal. But liquid fecal matter is like being attacked by the T1000. People want no part of it.

Obviously, someone sprayed diarrhea all over your pool. "I want the entire pool scrubbed, sterilized and disinfected!" They can probably fish out a solid turd, do a chlorine shock on the pool, and be back in business with relative ease. But when someone has the runs and it spreads into every corner of the pool, you're talking about a full drain job, with no guarantee that every last flake of old cabbage has been accounted for.

As an aside, I would just like to note that pool filters are terrifying. Once, when I was a kid, I picked up the lid of a pool filter and saw a roach inside the size of your hand. It scarred me for life. Anytime I see someone lift the lid on a pool filter now, I expect to see a fully grown raccoon/bee hybrid.

Tyler:

My most recent Snapple purchase (a dubious source, I know) claims that honey is the only food that never spoils. Is this really true? If so, why aren't scientists adapting the secrets of honey to make my crabcakes immortal?

It's kind of true, if you believe this Snopes thread, and I believe everything I read on the Internet. The sugar kills the bacteria or something. But you and I both know that honey can crystallize if you leave it around for too long, turning it pasty and opaque. I have no problem with this "spoiled" honey. Eating it makes me feel like a rebel.

Tim:

So the wife and I just bought a home, and I just found that a month and a half before our purchase some woman was shot multiple times on a street corner about one block from my current house. The case is solved, and drugs/alcohol were a big issue. I Googled the case a bit to see what was up, and it turned out the girl who died had a very public Facebook. Her last post? "Big penis or small penis?" That was all it said. Got me wondering if that's the weirdest final Facebook status anyone has ever had, and the whole idea of Facebook memorials in general since they kind of last forever especially if they're really public. Just makes me glad mine is on private.

Perhaps that final post of hers was a clue as to the kind of murder weapon used. We've discussed murder houses in the past. As always, I like the idea of moving into a house that's been significantly devalued due to past bloodshed. And the whole Facebook thing adds a fun twist to the whole affair. I would definitely mention the "Big penis or small penis?" post while giving party guests the house tour. I could even keep unwanted relatives away by disclosing the house's history to them. "Sure, come and visit us for a week. Oh, did I mention the HORRIFIC DRUG SLAYING that took place here? A penis may or may not have been used."

Keith:

I was driving the other day and my progress was impeded by a train. Is the train the worst driving obstruction you can run into? You don't know how long they are (I couldn't get close enough to the tracks to look and see how long of a train we were dealing with; turns out, it was endless) and they go so EXCRUCIATINGLY slow.

Sometimes I press my face against the windshield to get a better look. A CABOOSE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, LET ME SEE A CABOOSEY.

By the way, I have a kid who loves trains and goes batshit insane anytime we get to a railroad crossing and a train goes rumbling by. Suffice it to say, if he is in the car, we NEVER come across a train. But if I'm alone in the car, I will see six different trains with every possible combination of gondola car, hopper car, boxcar, flat car, cattle car, magnetically levitating donut car, etc. Trains don't give a fuck about entertaining your children.

Brian:

At what age are you too old to enjoy a bachelor party? I'm 39, been married for 12 years with an eight-year old son, and heading to a bachelor party in New Orleans in a few weeks. While it would have been fun 15 years ago, the thought of coming home to fatherhood/husband duties (often ratcheted up because I've been on 'vacation') and work makes me dread the trip. Is this just one of those things that's less fun as you get older or am I being a complete gash?

It's just part of your natural evolution. When you get that old, the idea of staying in a hotel room with five other filthy pigs and drinking until you feel like shit suddenly seems unappealing. And then you have to fight with your own psyche being like MAN UP, BRO! FUCKING PARTY!

When you get to age 35 or so, you usually just want to have a nice meal and then get a decent night's rest. Staying up for hours and hours and actually talking to other human beings starts to feel like fucking work. It sounds insane, but it's true. My wife and I went to some party once and the next day were both run down from talking to other people so much. That shit takes energy that I don't have anymore. OH THE AGONIES OF SOCIALIZING.

When you get to my age, you also don't have any interest in talking to strippers or meeting new people in bars anymore. You have enough friends. You don't give a shit about impressing people anymore. And you're old enough to know within seven seconds whether or not a person you encounter is a complete fucking idiot or not. Being stuck talking to someone you don't want to talk to is agonizing. I went to a bachelor party a few years back at a beach house. There were no strippers. We just went swimming, grilled steaks, drank some beers, and then went to bed. It was ECSTASY. I'm too old now to be in someone's stupid Wolfpack.

Andy:

Just went for my 1st pee of the workday, after a prolonged search I realized I'd put my boxers on backwards. Amazing how something so simple can lead to such frustration and confusion. So do I correct it or just live with it for the rest of the day?

My God, the peehole disappeared! It's tempting to change, but then you have to change pants in the work bathroom, which is always fraught with danger. Anytime I see a man changing clothes in a public bathroom, I assume he's just finished killing someone/masturbating/escaping from prison. And any time I change clothes in a public bathroom, I'm terrified other people will think the same of me. You have decide whether or not that brief moment of angst is worth experiencing a full day of frustrating urinary toil. I say take a scissors and cut out a new peehole.

Email of the week time!

Gadi:

The other night I wake up with searing pain spreading from my wrist up my arm. I jump out of bed screaming, waking up the wife who asks "what's wrong?" I respond, "I dunno what, but something friggin' bit me!" Her reply? "Oh yeah, I saw a bumble bee in the apartment earlier. I figured it flew out on its own." That's when I see, out of the corner of my eye, not a cute little bumble bee, but a terrifyingly enormous yellow jacket hovering over my pillow.

After running out of the room while screaming like a little girl, I had to gather my composure and force myself to return to the scene of my violation and murder that bastard, with my upper hand slowly going numb and arm feeling like it's going to fall off. I spot it on the light fixture, and freak out yet again as it hovers onto my bed (no doubt marking its territory after causing me to flee). I hit it with a broom, and it pops onto the floor, writhing in pain and anger. After hitting it a bunch of times with the broom, I take it to the bathroom to dispose of the carcass, too afraid to confirm the kill, at which point it drops off the broom and starts convulsing towards me. I finally manage to broom-smash its guts out with the side of the broom, thinking the nightmare was effectively over. Yet I still go to bed every night in fear of being stung (in a worse place than my wrist), and I have yet to really forgive the wife.

Image by Jim Cooke.

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 buy Drew's 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 the question of the week.

Tom:

I think Spud Webb can still dunk. My stupid friend says no way. We figured if anyone can get to the bottom of this, Deadspin can.

Spud Webb is five-foot-seven and, as of July 13, he will be 50 (!!!!) years old. Spud and Jordan, both turning 50 in the same year. There's a YouTube clip of Webb "dunking" at age 47 that's clearly fake, as you can see below...

Webb now works as a player development exec for the Texas Legends, an NBA D-League team. I contacted the team's publicist (yes, they have a publicist!) to see if I could ask Webb personally if he still had his old hops. They have yet to get back to me.

But again, the man is 50 years old now. Even an athlete as remarkable as Spud Webb isn't immune to the ravages of time. If Webb could still dunk, they wouldn't have to make a phony video of him dunking. All he has left now is the memory of who he once was. And now I feel incredibly old and depressed. Here's how buc nasty Webb was back in the day...

Holy shit, that man could jump out of the arena. By the way, Spud has an official Twitter feed (@SpudDunks). He has tweeted exactly zero times.

Okay, let's get into the Funbag below.

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 MegaBron, salsa, mugshots, crutch etiquette, and more.

Whoa hey, it's 4th of July week! Time to take the kids to the town fireworks celebration, fail to find a decent spot on the grass, get eaten by bugs, pull my hair out as the fireworks display starts two hours later than I want it to, and then watch half a firework explode from behind some asshole's camper that's obstructing my view. TREMENDOUS. Anyway, since the Fourth falls on a Thursday, this week's live FUNBAG will be tomorrow, so that you have something to do while waiting for the Bolt Bus. Got it? Time for your letters:

Gene:

In the past I was dating a girl who had a bit more hair decorating her muff than I prefer. How does one politely go about requesting a trim?

Just do your own landscaping first. Trim your pubes in the bathroom and make sure she catches you, and then you can be like, "I'm just grooming myself to love you." Then she'll be like, Oh my God, he grooms himself for me. Meanwhile I've got the Forbidden Forest in my shorts! (runs off to buy pack of Lady Schicks). And there you go. It's just like managing kids or corporate underlings: MODEL THE BEHAVIOR YOU WANT OTHER PEOPLE TO FOLLOW. You'll be feasting on hairless pink Twinkie for the rest of your days.

Brandt:

I'm wondering which you would choose out of the following scenarios: First choice is you can turn water into wine, but you are only allowed to do so in a showbiz or performance setting. You get all the fame associated with being able to do so, but you cannot sell the wine or make it into any kind of product. The second choice is the ability to turn water into wine, but no one will ever know you are able to do it. You are allowed to bottle it (let's say you can magically turn bottled water into bottled wine), but it can only be sold at grocery stores under an embarrassing name like Uppity Giraffe and it has to be the cheapest wine available. In which scenario do you make more money?

I think you make more money pulling off the Jesus trick in public. The trick is getting people to believe you. If you saw a guy do that on TV, you would naturally say, "Bullshit. Fuck that David Blaine wannabe." You would have to put in hard hours touring the country, attending numerous state fairs and livestock expos, demonstrating your superpower to people in the flesh. Soon, you would have a following, a devoted sect that sees YOU as the Second Coming of our Lord. They would give you all the money you ever wanted. They would offer their daughters to you to appease you. They would take every stupid thing you ever said ("And woe unto those who wear Tevas...") as gospel.

Soon, you would be seen as a threat to politicians, popes, Islamic clerics, and any other authority figures whose power you could potentially undermine. One day, while turning water into wine for a group of ecstatic followers in a remote village in Chile, the CIA would shoot you dead like a dog. Then your followers would rise up against their respective governments and 60 separate civil wars would begin simultaneously. Hundreds of millions of people would be killed. From the ashes of this post-Armageddon hellscape would rise the new collective nation of Brandtistan, where Brandtism would be the dominant religion and the few remaining bottles of your hand-made Thunderbird would be placed atop new ramshackle churches. Pretty sweet way for you to spend the afterlife on Jesus' hovercloud, if you ask me.

Jason:

If, somehow, you were guaranteed to hit a home run on your first at-bat of every game, do you think a team would put you on the roster? The home run has to be a normal pitch, meaning the opposing team could still walk you if they wanted. You are still a bumbling, uncoordinated idiot on defense and in any other at-bat. It seems like it could really pay off in a tie game, but you still risk the walk, and you still suck at defense. Would they really eat up a roster spot for such a thing?

For a guaranteed home run or walk every game? Yes. They can pinch-hit you at any time and be guaranteed a base, then they could sub in a pinch-runner for you at any time to get your slow ass off the bases. That would be well worth a roster spot, certainly in the American League. Major league teams already employ plenty of fat slobs who can't run bases or play defense for shit, all because some of them can hit 30 or 40 home runs and walk 70 times a season.

The interesting thing is, do other teams know you have this home-run superpower? If they do, you'd just be walked in every plate appearance. But if they didn't know, I wonder how long it would take before they realized it. Let's say your team knows all about your little "gift." Your first ever plate appearance would result in a home run, obviously. But if the other team didn't know that this was a guarantee, it could be days before the entire league began to catch on. The record for most consecutive games with a homer is eight. (Junior Griffey, Don Mattingly, and Dale Long, if you're curious.) So by the end of your first week, people would start to be like, "Who is young scrappy whippersnapper who hits nothing but home runs? WHY HE'S ABOUT TO BREAK A RECORD, HE IS!" ESPN would do live look-ins of your at-bats. Fans of your team would demand to know why you aren't playing entire games and only showing up for one lousy plate appearance. Your manager would get crucified before publicly admitting that you're just a lucky freak. By the next week, you'd be walking every at-bat and you'd never break the record. Stupid fans. If only they had kept their mouths shut.

Matt:

Assuming you have to put chips and salsa on a plate (like at a Super Bowl party or other sports gathering that would make you look like a chip hog if you take the entire bag and jar of salsa and plop it in your lap), how do you calculate proper chip:salsa ratio? My usual M.O. is to take more chips than salsa because you can always down the last few chips without salsa, and you would look like a messy fucker if you lick the last of the salsa of your plate. Of course there is always the option of getting up to get more chips or salsa to finish it off, but you are right back to where you started doing chip:salsa mathematics.

If you can, get a small plastic bowl to put on your plate and then surround it with chips, because salsa on a plate is complete horseshit. The salsa water spreads out and soaks the chips. And to get a decent amount of salsa on your chip, you have to do the whole snowplow thing where you push the pile around, creating a tomatobank and trying to scoop it up. Horrible. That's no way to live. You never get enough salsa on your chip that way. If it were possible to place the entire contents of a jar of salsa onto a single chip, I would do it. There is literally never enough salsa on one chip for me.

So my advice is that you just hover near the jar and dip that way. If you bother with the plate, you'll just plop two spoonfuls on it and be unhappy forever. Don't do that to yourself.

Clinton:

How would the game of football change if everything were exactly the same, but the football weighed 10 lbs?

No more passing, obviously. It would become a run-only game, with three-tight end sets (GREGGGGGGGASM!) and iso play after iso play. It would be just like watching Big Ten football now. ZING!!!!!

John:

What if every time a game became tied, the score went back to 0-0?

Nothing interesting. People would watch less because they'd assume they were watching a sloppy, low-scoring affair. We like points here in America. Points let you know the sport is working.

By the way, one of the WORST coaching clichés of all time is the "It's a 0-0 game, as far as I'm concerned" halftime speech. Every coach has said this at every halftime of every game that has ever been played, and it's fucking stupid. You know what, Coach? It's not 0-0. We're winning by four touchdowns, so we're gonna slack off a bit at the beginning of the second half, only to eke out a victory at the end. Your reality-distortion field isn't that powerful.

Brett:

Will we ever see an athlete so great that the league has to pay the guy off not to play? The only thing that I can think of would be a 7-ft. tall pitcher with an arm like Pedro Martinez throwing 120 mph fastballs.

That would never happen. The only way it would happen is if the player in question had some kind of "enhancement" (drugs, cyborg arm, cure for death) that other people would deem an unfair advantage. They're never just gonna kick out some natural freakshow athlete who happens to be utterly dominant. Every sport on earth would KILL for a potential Sidd Finch to draw in crowds and make fans gasp. Shit, I've been waiting for that kind of athlete to arrive my whole life. Not just LeBron, but MEGABRON, who is eight feet tall, runs a 4.0 40 and can score 60 points a game. And he wins 20 rings. I'd never stop watching him, ever. It hurts my soul to know that MegaBron doesn't exist and probably never will. Sports are such a letdown.

Jacob:

So I got in skiing accident recently that left my knee busted and me on crutches. Now with all bad that goes with it I find one positive in the situation. The crutch is a nice tool to flip the switch, press elevator button, flush the toilet etc. What's the etiquette? Am I a bad human being for using dirty end of the crutch to touch what others will have to touch later? Or am I allowed to do it because of my disability?

You're allowed to do it so long as there's plenty of room to flip the switch and you're not swinging that thing into people or blocking their way (you're also allowed to imagine that your crutch is actually a robotic extension of your arm and that you are Inspector Gadget). Unless you went crutching through a manure field, most people (outside of straight-up germaphobes) aren't gonna think about the sanitary implications of a crutch. They're gonna be too busy thinking to themselves, LOOGIT THAT COOL DUDE WITH CRUTCHES I BET HE BROKE HIS ANKLE IN A KNIFE FIGHT.

I have a seven-year-old and the kid became obsessed with crutches after she watched some stupid American Girl movie (starring Nia Vardalos and Ian Ziering, no joke) and seeing the little girl in it break her ankle. She thought crutches were the shit after that. So, being stupid, we let her buy a kid-sized pair with her allowance money. That kid proceeded to crutch around the house for a fucking month. She'd hobble around outside and then track in mud with her stupid crutches. The wife and I each got a crutch to the foot every week. I tripped over them eight times a day. The girl got armpit sores, she was using them so often. I WILL BURN THOSE FUCKING CRUTCHES.

HALFTIME!

Steve:

What is proper mugshot protocol? Do you smile like a normal picture, try to look hard and tough, or give yourself sad eyes to make you appear innocent? Assume the mugshot will make its way to Google for the viewing pleasure of anyone willing to search, and there's a 50-50 chance that you will one day find it taped to the back of your chair at the office. Also, should a mugshot facial expression vary by the crime or should everyone just pick a style and go with it no matter what they did wrong?

Most people are so drunk and/or high and/or tired when they get their mugshot taken that they can barely bring themselves to pose in any way. They're barely aware they're being photographed. That's how you end up with something like Nick Nolte's mugshot. It's a non-pose, which is what makes it so delightful. It's perfect representation of what Nick Nolte looks like shitfaced at ALL times.

A mugshot is, by its very nature, embarrassing. There's very little you can do to make it any better. Here are some of your options:

• The "Go ahead and take that mugshot, you fucking pig" pose. This is very similar to your high school football photo: chin up, neck muscles flexed, no expression. You're trying to let the cameraman know that this isn't bothering you in the slightest. HARDCORE.

• The "I look smug" pose. This is where you smirk instead of smiling because you think a smirk makes you look self-deprecating. Instead, you look like a prick. Please note that this is how Bill Maher looks at all times.

• The "Wha?????" pose. You only now just realized the full implications of getting liquored up and driving into the senior center pool. You're at the police station! Right now! They took your fingerprints and everything.

• The mean pose. You're really going for it here. Chances are, your lily-white ass will regret making the rage face when the camera goes off. People will want know why the hell you did that.

• Standard smile. Perfectly fine unless you were arrested for child porn. DO NOT SMILE IF YOU WERE ARRESTED FOR CHILD PORN.

• The "one eye closed because you're high" pose. My wife looks like this in all pictures even though she's not a methhead. It's uncanny.

• The zombie pose. Your mouth hangs open. You look like you're gonna eat me. Please don't eat me. I got my picture taken when I was nailed for DUI (for the whole story about that, I refer you here), but it was a Polaroid. No official mugshot. I really don't remember what I looked like. I think I was so pre-occupied with how I should pose that the camera caught me mid-confusion. I think most mugshots probably look that way. By the time you've decided to pop your collar, the camera's already gone off. Commit to a pose today, so that you have it ready after you get tagged for sprinting naked onto the field at Camden Yards. I suggest an exaggerated shrug, as if you're Larry David posing for a DVD cover.

Greg:

My girlfriend refers to Poison Ivy as just 'Poison'. Her whole family does. Used in a sentence it would be something like, 'he's got poison on his hands, he can't hold the baby,' said as rednecky as possible. Fucking weird, right?

For a second, I thought you were referring to Poison Ivy, the movie, as if she and her family were HUGE fans of it. That would be even stranger. But yeah, they should say "poison ivy" in full. What the fuck kind of poison am I supposed to think is on their baby otherwise?

Dan:

Assuming it was siphoned off and sold on the open market, what would be the most valuable/expensive 20 foot by 20 foot piece of real estate on Earth? Have to think that it would be something with religious significance (Dome of the Rock, the Pope's throne from St. Peters, Western Wall) but the Oval Office and Statue of Liberty would be strong contenders. Am I underestimating anything, like Paul Finebaum's radio studio?

There's probably still a studio apartment in Manhattan with those dimensions that goes for more than the Pope's throne. Seriously, I don't know how on Earth anyone affords to live there.

How about the Kaaba in Mecca? It's slightly bigger than the dimensions you gave, but six million people go there every year to pray to it. People face it and pray to it even if they're in fucking Alaska. Now that's a powerful little spot of land. If you were to seize domain over it and hold it for ransom, you could extract BILLIONS from all the Saudi oil barons desperate to keep it. Or they would just send a team of operatives to cut out your throat and behead everyone in your extended family. They'd probably choose the latter. Don't fuck with their prayer cube.

Many of the world's most priceless stretches of real estate—the Leaning Tower, Buckingham Palace, the Sistine Chapel, the White House, the house where OJ did it— occupy a footprint larger than the one you gave, and all have history as their main selling point. If you were to take history and religion out of the equation and go by the usual factors in real estate (location, view, absence of white-trash neighbors), the answer is probably some fuck bungalow in Hong Kong that has a nice view of the water.

By the way, now that the old Yankee Stadium is a parking lot, I assume the most valuable piece of sports real estate in the US is either Fenway Park or Wrigley Field. Oh, what I would give to hold those stadiums hostage. YOU FUCKERS WILL JUST HAVE TO PLAY DOWN AT THE LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL UNTIL YOU PAY ME MWAHAHAHAHAHA CALL ME BUCKY BARTMAN.

James:

What percentage of doors that have the sign "Emergency exit, alarm will sound" are actually telling the truth?

Judging by New York subway stations, all of them. They really want you to feel like an asshole for going through the emergency exit. It's not my fault your fucking turnstiles treat my rolling suitcase like a sparring partner.

Whenever I see a sign like that, I'm always too scared to go through it. Even a sign can cow me easily. I'd be useless in the face of a zombie apocalypse. The zombie would chase me to some door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and I'd lack the bravado to go through it. Meanwhile, any time I see some other person saunter through one of those doors, I become quietly outraged. HE WENT THROUGH THE DOOR! HOW ARE YOU NOT ARRESTING THAT MAN AS WE SPEAK?!

John:

My name is John, normal enough. The problem was that my ex-girlfriend's name was Johnna. John and Johnna. Try hearing that 500 times a day. Fucking miserable. Though this isn't why we broke up, do you think two people with the same name have ever stayed together? For example, two Jamies, or two Frances's?

Oh, I'm sure it's happened plenty of times. You single folk out there know how annoying couples can be, so imagine so dipshit couple out there that share a first name. CHRISTMAS CHEER FROM CHRIS AND CHRIS! Imagine if Mike & Mike actually WERE married (Greenie's the power bottom, obviously) and you would have a firm grasp at how annoying that couple would be. They probably think that their shared first name is a karmic prophecy that they were meant to be together. Avoid them.

Caleb:

I'm sitting in a mediocre hotel in room in DC and I ordered room service because room service is awesome. Yes, the prices are outrageous, but where do you draw the line? Tonight I spent $12 on a pitcher of iced tea that probably cost a nickel to make but I didn't think twice about it. You know why? Because iced tea is fucking refreshing. And you can't put a price on refreshing. But maybe I need a reality check.

Were you expensing it? What are you, made of money? YOU MAKE ME SICK. Everyone has fond memories of room service as a child because children are lazy and will eat anything. But as you get older, the idea of paying $37 for a burger and soggy fries in a lonely hotel room loses its appeal. Plus you have to deal with the whole knock on the door and letting the guy in with the tray. It's such a vulnerable moment. What if you two decide to start dry-humping each other? I bet that's happened. I just feel bad because the guy is busting his ass to bring me food in bed, like I'm the fucking king of England.

In general, hotel food is the most boring food you can eat in any city you visit. It's all overpriced (I'm the kind of person who feels awful ordering expensive shit even if someone else is paying for it, which is dumb), and it's usually the same shit you can get at any hotel. The only time it's a real comfort is when you've arrived at the hotel at 11 p.m. after a seven-hour flight delay and you just want something to eat before you DIE in the hotel bed. That's when room service is really at its best. But if you're just ambling around and perfectly capable of exploring town, paying 12 bucks for iced tea is dumb.

Sean:

What would the NBA be like if instead of shooting the free throw automatically after a technical foul, you could wait to use it at any point in the game? Same with penalties in football. Imagine that you didn't need to use the defensive holding call across the field because you got a first down and could instead use your automatic five yard first down at the opportune moment. More importantly, how bad would dipshit coaches screw this up?

As free throws go, I'm not sure it would matter where you took them at any point in the game because your point total would end up the same (in theory; I guess maybe some guys shoot better in the third quarter or something). If you save it for when the game is tied at the end, well now that game wouldn't be tied if you had just taken the free throw earlier. And the last thing basketball needs is MORE free throws at the end of a game. The last thing I want to see in a dramatic basketball game with five seconds left is some guy standing at the line.

The idea is different for football because you're essentially saving those penalties so that you always either get or prevent a first down. I'm not wild about that idea either, because I already hate the automatic first down in football. I don't want more of that. And a coach's job is hard enough already. No need to make it more complicated.

Email of the week time!

Tyler:

Let's say that it's the night before draft day in 2000 and the Patriots somehow become aware of the future. The know they can take Tom Brady in the 6th round. They know they'll win Super Bowls with him and experience the highest of highs. They know he'll play his entire career with them. AND they know he'll murder somebody in 2015. A legit murder. Do they still draft him?

If they can't do anything to prevent the murder? Yes. Fuck yeah, they do. Remember, football ends up killing most players. What's one more body?

Image by Jim Cooke.

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 buy Drew's 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 the question of the week.

Drew G.:

My birthday was last week and it got me wondering. Do you think they sing Happy Birthday in prison?

No. No, they don't. Unless you're a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, it usually behooves you to keep as low a profile as possible while doing time, which means that you don't go around shouting, "Hey everyone, I turned 26 today!" You know what your birthday present will be if you do that? A SHIV TO THE RECTUM. You don't want to stand out in there for any reason at all. In fact, I bet many a vengeful prison guard has walked by a cell and screamed out "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VINNY!" just to get a guy beaten to death in the yard. That happens way more often than a kind-hearted guard passing you a bottle of keistered hooch and whispering a quiet, "Happy Birthday, old Bonesaw" to you without anyone noticing. That hooch ... oh, how it tasted so good when it hit your tongue!

I bet the average prisoner celebrates his birthday with a visit from his wife or girlfriend. He walks into the visitation room and sits down. He sees his wife on the other side of the glass and picks up the phone. And she says, "Happy birthday, baby." And he mouths a quiet "Thank you" in reply. And she tells him about how she made him toffee chip cookies but that the guards wouldn't let him have the cookies because they worry she might have secreted contraband in them. But he tells his wife, "That's okay, baby." And then the wife starts talking about the kids. "Oh, little Johnny is growing up so fast! He hit three home runs last week. He's the spitting image of you!" And then she finally breaks down in tears and says, "OH LORD, I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE. IT HURTS TOO MUCH TO SEE YOU CAGED IN HERE LIKE AN ANIMAL." And then he's like, "Calm down. I got a real good lawyer and he says I can get outta here soon. I love you so much, baby." And then the prison guard cuts him off, and then he gets angry at the guard for ruining the ONE tender moment he had with his wife in months, perhaps years. And then the guard beats him with a nightstick right in front of the missus as she begs for him to stop.

That's probably your average prison birthday. Now, to the Funbag below!

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 trolling, crowd farting, onions, and more.

I was on a flight yesterday and half the people aboard were asleep. And this wasn't some nighttime flight, either. This was at like, 10 in the morning. How the fuck can so many people sleep so well on airplanes? On every flight I board, there are 60 motherfuckers who are passed out with their necks wedged between their seats and the fuselage. I'd pay a hundred bucks for that superpower. I couldn't sleep on a plane if it were 3 a.m. and you'd spiked my drink with ether. I don't get it. Lucky bastards.

Anyyyyway, your letters:

Wario:

Over the past year I've noticed that I have stopped caring about sports as much as I used to. For example in college, I would live and die by how well my teams did. I could tell you the league leaders, standings and upcoming big games for all the major sports. Now I can barely remember who made it to the NBA championship last year. I still get excited during football season, but it's more for getting shitfaced at the bar and trying to take random drunk girls back to my place. And only God knows when the last time I watched a 9-inning baseball game.

I'm trying to figure out what changed. I know this comes with age/responsibility, but I'm still only 25 so there's no kid/wife to absorb my time and nothing major changed with my career. Is there more to this? Maybe the fact that everyone has a smart phone, so you can look up any game score or videos of Robinson Cano picking his boogers in the dugout at the drop of a hat?

I don't think it's some general phenomenon going on. Some guys remain rabid sports fans for their entire lives (whether or not they do that for show is another question—I bet Skip Bayless doesn't even watch games anymore, he just likes being hardcore about his HOT SPROTS TAKES), some guys drift out of it. But either way, you really have to work hard to keep the fervor going.

As you get older, the number of champions and players and coaches and all that other sporty shit you have to remember grows and grows. When you were 18 or so, you probably witnessed and remembered about ten to twelve NBA Finals. Those 10 to 12 champions are easy to keep track of, and so they become indelible. When I was in college, I could probably go back every year to when I was 8 or so and tell you the name of every NBA Finals champ and loser, every Super Bowl winner and loser (and every conference champion participant), every World Series winner and loser, every Final Four team, and every Stanley Cup champion. NFL stuff aside, I probably can't do that anymore. The list has grown too long for my brain to accommodate. I need little reminders to jumpstart my brain. OH RIGHT, ILLINOIS MADE THE NCAA FINAL THAT ONE TIME. If I wanted to keep my sports brain limber now, I'd have to study, and I don't wanna do that.

A wife and kids make being a sports fan more difficult as well, but as you said, you haven't had to deal with that yet. Your smartphone, along with ESPN and the rest of BIG SPORTS-MEDIA-INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX has made it remarkably easy to remain a sports fan without watching any sports. You can see highlights. You can read along with Twitter commentary and create a strange image in your head of what the game looks like ("Some kid in the stands just picked his nose LULZ 4EVER"). You can watch video clips of the very BEST moments. And when you can do all that, you have a natural inclination to feel as if you don't need to watch the rest of the game. Again, this isn't true of everyone. Some guys like watching whole games. And I'm sure some guys like that so that they can say, "Did you even WATCH the game?" when they get into some stupid fucking bar argument.

But we live in an age of constant distraction, where it's virtually impossible to sit through a whole movie or football game without getting up and doing something else for a moment: checking email, sneaking in an episode of The Daily Show between halves, etc. The temptation to do lots of shit makes it more difficult to sit down and just watch one whole thing.

That's not necessarily a bad thing. But the shame of it is that watching the whole game means you get to process it in a way that only you can. There's so much shit that doesn't make the the highlight reel and doesn't get pointed out by Peter King or whoever that you miss out on the shit that would have interested YOU about the game. Everyone has that "For me, the REAL turning point of the game was when fucking Max Starks false-started!" ready to go after they watch a full game. You see it only in the way that you can, as opposed to highlights TELLING you what mattered. Gregggg says you should watch the All-22 film for extra know-it-allitude!

I watch the NFL every year, and every year I get a little bit scared that I'll turn into some old snobby asshole who can't bring himself to be interested in the game anymore. When I was a college student, I was a huge Michigan Wolverines football fan. I watched all their games and got all fired up whenever they beat Ohio State and what not. Then they won the title in 1997 and suddenly, I was like, "Welp, that about does it for me!" Somehow, I was satisfied enough to stop giving a shit. I barely watch them now, and I can't tell you why that is. I feel like a prick for falling out of my old fervor. To my relief, that hasn't happened with the NFL yet. I still legitimately enjoy watching entire football games, which is good because I'd totally be a pussy if I didn't BRO!

Mike:

Why has Chipotle not expanded into breakfast? Chipotle breakfast burritos? GOLD. Take the rice out, replace it with eggs, offer chorizo as a protein, and BOOM, you have Chipotle breakfast.

Because you would die. No one needs a thousand-calorie burrito for breakfast. The office toilets of America aren't equipped to handle that kind of onslaught. By 10 a.m., your office would smell like an exploded plastic factory. Of course, the real reason that Chipotle doesn't do breakfast is because their CEO is control freak who hasn't changed the menu since the restaurant's inception. I guess if you start making breakfast burritos, it's a slippery slope down to Doritos Locos Brunchlupas or something.

This is a shame, as all breakfast items are improved 500 percent when wrapped inside a tortilla, especially when the tortilla is warm and kind of puffy and you can see the billowy layers of it tearing with each bite OH GOD I NEED THAT RIGHT NOW. Breakfast burritos and breakfast tacos are perhaps mankind's most important innovation. You could bring peace to Egypt with them.

Bobby:

Will Mel Kiper Jr. be inducted to the Football Hall of Fame one day as a contributor to football?

I'm sure he thinks about it constantly. At night, right after Mel spritzes his hair and dons his hairnet, he lies down in bed and visualizes the day when all of his tape study and schmoozing come to fruition as Peter King stands before the voting committee and says, "Mel's a great guy, you guys."

But no, I don't think Mel will ever be formally inducted into the Hall of Fame, even though Chris Berman somehow made it (yes, that happened). You could argue that Kiper's had a hand in growing the NFL draft into an enormous standalone event, but there are probably a bunch of broadcasters and stadium announcers and dudes wearing barrels who are also angling for one of those "contributor" spots. Kiper has pissed off too many people to edge out his competitors, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who don't view him as an "official" part of the football community anyway. HE PROBABLY STILL LIVES IN HIS MOM'S BASEMENT.

I think he deserves a spot in the hall, maybe a special exhibition section where you can watch a Mel hologram break down the footwork of every other inductee. You could even throw your soda at it.

John:

I see so much trolling on the internet - blogs, all manner of social media sites. So many assholes, fucktards, annoying people, downright mean people and people simply trying to get a reaction. Do you think this type of behavior or existed 20-25 years ago when all this internet and social media sites were not around? Did this type of behavior exist for all of modern history and the internet/social media phenomena simply exacerbate the behavior, or do you believe this behavior has always existed and the internet/social media simply made everyone more aware of it? As a 39 year old, I grew up without the internet/social media being such a big part of your life and now living in a world where it is ingrained in your life. I feel like the world was much less meaner in the past.

The world has always been a mean place, it just happens to be that the Internet allows you to see much more of that meanness firsthand. Obviously, as has been noted many times by many cranky people, the internet gives people an opportunity to anonymously shit on other people with little or no consequence, something that wasn't really possible before. Take it from me. Before the web was invented, I didn't hand out flyers around town saying GREGGGG EASTERBROOK CAN EAT A DICK (oh, but what fun that would have been).

The advent of the web means that a greater portion of the world's collective id has been exposed. All of our outrage and lunacy has been amplified. Obviously, this isn't a great thing when it means that some 13-year-old can be cyberbullied into jumping off a bridge. I have kids and I fear that, one day, some fucker will target them on Facebook and chisel away at their self-esteem until they're finally broken. This makes me a hypocrite, given that I've shit on people online plenty. But I fear it all the same.

But is the world a meaner place because of this? No. For every person being bullied online, there are multiple people connecting in more positive ways. People find spouses online. They find gaming companions. They find work contacts. They find old girlfriends on Facebook and fap to their bikini photos. All of that good far outweighs the bad. If anything, it's nice that the Internet gives people a place to vent, rather than bottle up all their evil thoughts until one day they walk into a McDonald's and start stabbing everyone. In Florida.

And you can always find supportive corner of the Internet. Imagine if you were some closeted gay kid back in 1950, with no one to talk to honestly about your sexuality without fear of social exile. You have no shortage of places to go now. You can find a home. You can always find someone who can comfort you by explaining that YouTube commenters are the bottom fucking rung of humanity. It's a more open world now, which makes it cruder, but probably better in the long run. Now let me tell you about what a shitbag Mike Greenberg is ...

Lewbone:

Do you think you could write the lyrics for a major pop singer and/or rock band and still have the songs be successful? So, let's assume a shitty band like Nickelback has recorded a song with no lyrics or vocals, and have asked you to write everything. Do you think you could write the lyrics, give it back to the band to have them sing, and have the song be successful?

In general, I think the average person could be a successful lyricist if they had the musical talent backing them up. I mean, no one's forgetting Dylan Thomas because Nickelback came along. The important thing about the lyrics is that they FIT, that they don't block up the beat so that all you hear is Pitbull going LET'S HAVE A REAL GOOD TIME LET'S HAVE A REAL GOOD TIME LET'S HAVE A REAL GOOD TIME ... So long as the vocal melody dominates more than your horrible poetry, Chad Kroeger can work with you.

Lyrics, in general, can only help improve a song. When you like a song, you usually like it regardless of its lyrical content. But then some turn of phrase will hit you and you'll be like OMG IT'S LIKE TAYLOR SWIFT IS SINGING ABOUT MY LIFE Y'ALL. It's a nice little bonus when the lyrics hit you. That's why I'll always remain loyal to Cannibal Corpse. The lyrics to "Fucked by a Knife" REALLY complement the music, you know?

Russell:

What if teams could put their players back into the NFL or NBA draft? There would be a lot of issues with the whole process (compensation to the old/new teams, contract issues, players not getting drafted, etc.) but it would give teams a chance to free up roster spots/cap room. Honestly it would probably be a complete clusterfuck but that's really all I know being a Jets fan.

Yeah, the value of that idea would be almost entirely dependent on the incentive given to teams to do it. If you're sticking a shitty player back into the draft because you don't want to pay him anymore (Hi, Mark Sanchez!), that doesn't really do much for the draft process other than add dead weight to it.

A better idea would be to make the NFL a real keeper league, where you can only keep, say, 40 players on your roster, and you have to let the rest who aren't free agents go back into the draft or something. Then loaded teams like San Francisco would have to make impossible choices, praying they don't turn a future superstar loose. Seems kind of unfair. But then again, FUCK JIMMY HARBAUGH.

Matt:

Ever thought about having two dentists? You would always schedule them back to back so the second one would think you have the most amazing teeth and hygenic routine. There would be a mini-legend developing in the dentile community and you could offer to star in one of their local commercials. I think that would totally be worth the $300 out of pocket it would cost per year.

You don't think dentists talk? They're a tight-knit community, brother man. They'd figure out your scheme within a few months. They'd be at some cocktail party ...

DENTIST 1: I met a patient last week who had the most amazing teeth. This guy Matt Lowcock had teeth like pure ivory!

DENTIST 2: Lowcock? But he's MY patient!

DENTIST 1: Why, that no good scoundrel!

DENTIST 2: Let's "forget" the novacaine next time he pulls that stunt. And let's tell him needs sealant on every tooth. NO ONE NEEDS SEALANT AHAHAHAHAHA.

DENTIST 1: AHAHAHAHAHAHA.

DENTIST 2: AHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Dentists are evil.

HALFTIME!

Jason:

How frustrating is Jeopardy when they run out of time during a category you can actually do well in? Just cut down the useless interviews, Trebek!

Not only that, but the contestants will ALWAYS start the round picking the category you like least. "Ooooh, 18TH CENTURY OPERA! I'll kick things off with that, Alex!" Manwhile, the TACO FILLINGS category goes completely uncalled. It's insanity.

Also, you know how there's always that little beep telling contestants there's only a minute to go? I bet that's horseshit. They've gone past a minute before. I haven't timed it, but I've seen them go through four questions after that horn. No way that only took a minute.

Evan:

I hate onions and have hated them all my life. I try not to order anything that has onions in it, but people sneak onions into EVERYTHING. I'm 27... how much onion have I consumed so far? The thought makes me shudder.

I have a neighbor who's allergic to onions, and she basically can't eat anything because of it. It's staggering how frequently onions are used in food. They're one of those stock ingredients that seemingly every restaurant item includes, along with garlic, butter/oil, salt, parsley (sprinkled on everything), pepper, MSG, sugar, and lard. You'll never see those items listed in the menu because they're treated as givens. If you hate them, restaurant dining is virtually impossible.

Onions serve as the base for innumerable soups, stews, sauces, and more. The people at BIG ONION have made it all but impossible for you to avoid them if you hate them. You've probably consumed your weight in onions by now. They're probably growing inside your body as we speak, sprouting shoots and overtaking your vital organs. Soon, you will become encased in layers of stinky, wet oniony goodness.

Thankfully, I don't share your aversion to onions, not even the dreaded RED onion, which causes Scott Conant to burst into flames upon making eye contact. The only time I hated onions was when I was a kid and ordered a burger at Mickey D's and it came with little onion bits on it. I thought they were maggots. Kids are imaginative like that. However, I did take three seconds to rank all the onions. ONION FLAME WAR YO:

1. Vidalia

2. Scallion

3. Pearl

4. Yellow

5. Red

6. White

Ben:

Is there a food category that reheats better than Chinese food? It's gotta be the best type of food for leftovers. On the other hand of the spectrum, trying to microwave pizza never turns out well and half the time I try to stick it in the toaster oven, I just burn the slice. How would you rank foods based on quality of them when reheated?

Chinese works the best because rice heats up well and you can use the sauce to mix it all up. Half the time, I don't even bother reheating the Chinese food. I just go to the fridge, look around, grab a hunk of chicken out of the carton to snack on, close the fridge, and then repeat that process 90 times until the carton is empty. And then I hate myself.

The worst food to reheat is pasta. Old pasta is fucking terrible. Even in soup, it's shitty. Sometimes, I give my kid chicken noodle soup to take to school and she'll bring it back home without having eaten it because kids are annoying, and by then the pasta will have sopped up all the water and broken apart and congealed and begun to look like old skin. It's sickening.

Jordan:

Did knowing the sex of your child impact your ability/desire to have sex with your wife while she was pregnant? We're having a girl and I think I'm a little more reluctant to pop in and say hello than I would be if it was a boy.

The baby's gender shouldn't affect your desire to have sex with your pregnant wife and make amateur fetish videos like Ready to Drop 26 with her. The fetus is tucked safety away from your penis thanks to cervical dilation. Neither a girl fetus nor a boy fetus will notice what's going on next door. And while every guy likes to believe they're Dr. Frankendick and can penetrate that opening by sheer force, I don't think you have to worry about that happening. If it did, I'd worry more about the amniotic sac bursting and a miscarriage occurring than the Oedipal after effects of a girl fetus seeing your one-eyed hot dog for half a millisecond. SO POUND AWAY.

Mike:

You know that point when you have 1.5 to 2 bites left in a roast beef sandwich (or any other meat that might not separate with one bite, like beef fajitas) , and you take the bite and all the meat starts to pull out, and you stop, and think to yourself, "Well damn, I don't want just mustard and meat stained bread on my plate", so you unlock your jaw and take in the extra mass?

Yep.

Garrett:

I live in Iowa. I don't think it's too bad of a place to live, however, my friends on the West Coast, who have never been anywhere in the Midwest besides Chicago, seem to think I live in a slightly improved version of "Little House on the Prarie". What's your top 5 for states with the worst preconceived reputations?

So which five states have the most undeserved bad reputations? Bearing in mind that I am a horribly ignorant person who enjoys judging places and people without ever having formally met them, I think my list would look like this:

1. Kentucky. I hear it's really pretty and NOT the open-air hillbilly meth lab that I always picture it being. Also, bourbon.

2. Texas. The food is awesome, the rent is cheap, and every liquor store is the size of Madison Square Garden. Despite being populated by batshit insane people who I imagine drive big Cadillacs with longhorn hood ornaments while firing guns in the air and getting blown by a trophy wife, Texas is pretty solid.

3. Florida. Obviously, it deserves its terrible reputation. But that doesn't stop you from pining for it in the middle of February now, does it? It's warm, it's relatively close by, and you don't have to exchange currencies if you go there for a tropical getaway. Oh, mock Florida all you like. YOU'LL BE BACK. By the way, I'm in Orlando right now on assignment. Everyone here looks like they retired from the pro wrestling circuit.

4. Utah. It's got mountains and hiking and stuff. All you have to do is avoid the polygamist white supremacist compounds and you're gold!

5. Ohio. Just kidding. Fuck Ohio.

Jordan:

When do you think the typical male hits hit his bowel prime? I'm thinking in terms of being able to control them and use them as you see fit. I can feel a fart coming on and decide whether to unleash a loud one or let it seep out quietly without anyone nearby knowing. I can immediately detect if it's going to stink and vacate the premises. I know it's tough to measure, but I'm in my mid-30's and I feel like LeBron James these days.

It's less a matter of age than it is diet and self-maintenance. If you're in your 30s, you probably have to be a bit more health conscious than back when you were 18 and eating Taco Bell bean burritos and quaffing hard cider on the hour, every hour. You COULD have healthy bowels then, but you don't because you are YOUNG AND YOUR HEART WAS AN OPEN BOOK.

Then you get older and you get pickier about food, which means you eat better food. And maybe you discover the wonders of Metamucil, as I have. So by age 30, you're a well-oiled pooping machine. Then you turn 40 or 50 and I assume your colon falls out of your asshole. I fear old man bowels. They're coming, and they cannot be stopped. Literally. They just leak all day long.

Rob:

Everyday at work, I have to ride in the service elevator. You know what the service elevator is: that creepy ass elevator that has the cage door and then the outside door that opens up. Generally when you see it in a movie, whoever is on it is about to get gruesomely murdered. Where is you somewhere you go on a daily (or weekly) basis that you feel like you will be part of a horror movie simply by venturing to that location?

They either get murdered or they have FILTHY sex in it (see Fatal Attraction). Bonus points if the elevator has a door that opens UP, like a garage door. That usually means that a kidnapping victim has been brought to the secret hiding place of master drug kingpin Felix "The Owl." Torture then ensues. As I've always said, the creepiest place you have to deal with daily is the standard parking garage.

Kevin:

How much money do you think it would take for an individual to pay a sitting US President to resign immediately?

So much that the amount would trigger mass inflation and ruin world currency markets, rendering it worthless. Even then, the president would likely turn it down. Consider all the work, all the travel, all the LYING, all the horrible pandering to idiots that you have to do to make it that far. To just take the money and quit when you spent years trying to amass that insane amount of power? It would never happen. They value their power boners more than any truckload of gold bricks. And presidents retire to vast riches anyway. I say the man cannot be bought.

Bryan:

What's worse when changing the poopy diaper of a squirmy toddler: fully undressing him below the waist (socks, shoes, pants, etc) and then redressing all over again? Or attempting the high risk, high difficulty, pants-around-the-ankles diaper change?

I always think it'll be faster to change the kid standing up but it never is. They don't hold still. You find yourself bent into an impossible position to hold. And sometimes, I get the dud diaper where you open the stricky flap and the sticky part tears off completely, leaving you with no fastening adhesive. It's a horrible moment. Plus, with his pants around his ankles, your kid is all pissy because he's been pants-manacled. You're better off just laying the kid down and stripping him bare.

Patrick:

When gathered in a large group of people with no real escape, how many people on average are letting one rip? 1 in 100, 10 in 100?

The average person farts 14 times a day. If you assume that a fart lasts a second, then it would take 6,171 people to average out a fart for every second of the day. So if you go to a Knicks game and the joint is 40 percent full, someone is probably farting.

Email of the week!

Ryan:

Just yesterday, I come out of my bathroom, look out the window, and what do I see? Oh, my wonderful apartment neighbors... Are they clothed? Of course not. Are they fat? Of course they are. Is the fat lady spreading her asshole open with her hands so the dude can take pictures of it with his camera? Of course she is. Did I immediately run and grab my fiancee so we could both laugh our completely closed, non-photographed assholes off? Of course I did. Then it got weirder... Several minutes later, that guy departed the room and a second dude arrived looking all secretive and draped in a blanket. It looked like he laid down, received a naked massage from the fat lady, looked at the dirty asshole photos, and then got up, draped himself in a blanket again, and snuck out. The original man came back a few minutes afterwards and they fell to sleep together (sex was never had). What did we witness?? Why didn't she close the blinds?? Who was the mysterious second man??

Please note that Ryan sent photos of this, but I have left them out of the post because … well, there are about a thousand different reasons why. Trust me: It's for the best. My guess is that Patrick saw a postmodern art installation. I call it SUNSPOT.

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 buy Drew's 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 the question of the week.

Elliott:

How many American males lose their virginity each day? Strictly Americans, strictly guys. I say it's three or four digits, my roommate says it's maybe 15. He does not want to admit there are hundreds if not thousands of people having a better day than him EVERY DAY. Will you put the nail in his sad coffin for me?

I guess we better figure out the number of virgins in the country first. The average American make loses his virginity at age 17. I lost mine at 20 (I totally told the girl I wasn't a virgin; I imagine it took roughly four seconds of me fumbling around for her to realize that I was utterly clueless). You guys who got lucky earlier in life can die in a riptide.

Let's make this easy and assume that a 17-year-old loses his virginity on the day he turns 18. As of 2010, there were roughly 37 million males in American who were 17 or under, hence 37 million male virgins. That includes babies, because babies have NO game at all. If you take that 37 million virgins and divide it by 17 (assuming that they are evenly divided by age group, even if that's probably not true), you get 2.2 million 17-year-old males currently living in the United States. That's 2.2 million floppy-haired kids skateboarding at your bus stop. GOD I WANT TO SLAY THEM ALL. If you divide that by 365 (another dumb assumption, but whatever), you get 6,000 guys who turn 18 every day. In theory, that means that you have 6,000 boys every day who go from being statistical virgins (17) to statistical non-virgins (18).

That would make it roughly 6,000 terrified boys every day who are awkwardly trying to stuff their semi-flaccid penis into a classmate, asking them "Is it in?" and then asking, "Could you maybe suck it for a bit, so that I'm super-ready to go?" and then limply orgasming after six thrusts. OH THE JOYS. There are millions of people out there having more fun than Elliott's poor roommate, but it ain't the 6,000 poor bastards losing their cherry today.

Now, to the Funbag below!

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 expensive hookers, cool fat people, male engagement rings and more.

Read more...

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 the question of the week.

Read more...

Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we’re covering Tiger Woods, ticks, an unsolved murder, and more.

Read more...

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 the question of the week.

Read more...