Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering leaked nudes, urinals, asshole kids, and more.
I have this friend (a 24-year-old guy) who absolutely just won't text. He has an iPhone with a data plan, but just chooses not to. I'll text him and ask if he wants to get a beer or watch a game or something, and he will respond promptly with a phone call about a minute later. It drives me insane. Why can't he just respond with a simple text? IMO, there are some conversations that require a phone call and some that don't. Casually talking about getting a beer is NOT a phone-call conversation.
As far as I'm concerned, pretty much everything can be covered with a text message now, particularly anything logistical. If we're meeting for a drink at X place at X time, it helps to have that in text form, because I forget everything. We don't need a conversation for that. That's less useful. If you gotta talk to the person, you should probably text them as a warning. "Hey, you around to chat for a second?" Then I can emotionally prepare to be bored for three minutes. Here is a definitive list of reasons to have a real conversation on the phone:
- Someone died.
- Someone is about to die.
- It's cancer.
- You need to fire someone.
- Standard weekly check-in with Mom and Dad.
- "I'm gay."
- You want to cancel on someone and/or break up with them, and you want to do it via phone conversation to make yourself feel like less of an asshole.
- The President is calling.
- Your plane landed, and your loved ones must hear your voice to make sure it's not the terrorists texting them in disguise.
- The other person is in a car and probably can't text, and you need to know where the hell they are because you've been sitting alone at the bar for three whole minutes.
I think that's it.
Is it okay to look at hacked nudes?
No, but most people will look anyway. I looked. I have the built-in excuse of being able to look at Justin Verlander's saggy ass for "work," but it wasn't exactly a joyful feeling scrolling through one of the galleries. You look, you feel bad, and then you go back to eating your sandwich. You know you shouldn't look, but you also know that's it simply a click away. No need to climb up a tree and sit there with a pair of binoculars. All that legwork has been done. It's all so EASY. You can excuse yourself for looking at them by going through all kinds of pretzel-logic justifications …
- People are stupid for taking nude selfies (and so many of them JESUS I WAS BORN 20 YEARS TOO EARLY).
- People are dumb for not locking their shit down (even though Apple and Facebook and the like start off with default settings that encourage you to share every goddamn thing you have with every goddamn person, and not everyone is gonna be a computer whiz enough to secure everything).
- No one's ever gonna give a shit if I look.
- I am 17 years old and I have no soul (fair enough).
- Famous people should expect to have their privacy violated.
- Everyone else is already looking.
- NIXON DIDN'T WANT THE WATERGATE TAPES RELEASED AND THIS IS KIND OF LIKE THAT.
I think that about covers every last excuse, none of them valid. The only reason to peep those nudes is due to curiosity and horniness, and those factors usually override every other ethical concern. It's a strange impulse, given that the internet already grants you access to millions of naked people. You could see a new naked person every day for eternity and still not make a dent in the pile. But there's that male impulse to turn over every last stone. Oh, I haven't seen HER naked yet! Consider the effort made to obtain some of those photos. That's a lot of risk just to get your nut off. Shit, I freak out when I see Google Incognito mode warn me that my ISP can still track my shit. YOUR ISP IS WATCHING YOU MASTURBATE. Jesus.
At some point, we should just all look at each other nude and then get on with it. No need for this endless titty chase.
What is the average value of champagne that is kept on hand at an MLB stadium at any one time during the regular season? During the playoffs it makes sense to have a lot on hand, but it seems that teams also have a stash handy for no-hitters, perfect games etc. ... Teams seem to use the good stuff to celebrate, so how much money is sunk into this celebration-contingency stash?
I don't think they need to keep a stash for perfect games, because vendors already have champagne on hand for luxury boxes, stadium clubs, the outfield fuck-pool, and so on. They can raid those provisions if Justin Verlander tosses a no-no while everyone is thinking about his butt. I'm sure some kind of accounting form (complete with Job Number) has to be filled out to transfer the supplies. But given what I know about corporate bureaucracy, that would only take about 37 business days. After that, it's a golden shower of Andre for everyone.
They could also just grab some from the owner's suite. If you're an owner, you drink champagne every day. You are never not celebrating.
This happens maybe once a month: I'm standing in the locker room after a good, sweaty workout, freshly showered and clean and ready to get dressed and power through the rest of the workday. Then I realize I forgot to bring clean underwear. What's worse, going commando the rest of the day or putting on those soaking, sweaty, stinky used boxer-briefs?
You gotta go commando. That's the only choice. Look on the bright side: It's a little extra unexpected bit of sexiness in your day. No one will know that you went au naturale all day long, you penis just aching to come exploding out of your pants at any moment. That's living dangerously. Far better than stewing in your own fromunda.
I always forget socks at the gym, and that's almost worse. You can either wear the workout socks (gross), or you can go sockless, which is luxurious for 30 seconds and then a fetid stew of toejam for the rest of the day. Never forget your socks, man.
What vehicle has the highest percentage of "texting while driving" offenders? I'm going Fiat 500, but certain minivans probably couldn't be ruled out.
Minivans are a good choice, because mothers are usually carting six kids around in them and texting eight different people at once to rearrange eight different playdates. But I still think the majority of texting-while-driving offenders are people who are driving alone. Commuters. Commuting is boring and shitty, which means that drivers happily risk their lives checking to see if Sears texted them with a delivery time for their new fridge lock. So I think the worst texting offenders are the most popular commuter cars: Civic, Elantra, Corolla, etc.
I've looked at my phone while driving before. I looked while at a stoplight once, and the car behind me honked because the light had turned green and I was sitting there like an asshat, checking Twitter and shit. The amount of texting that goes on at stoplights is horrifying.
Today at work I went into the bathroom to take a No. 2. Floating in the toilet was a piece of roast beef, maybe pastrami. It wasn't a whole deli slice, maybe only the size of a quarter.
For the life of me, I can't figure out how it got there. So my question is this: How did it get there? The only two possibilities I could think of are 1) somebody ate so much roast beef they were able to overload their digestive system to the point that it couldn't process all of the meat, or 2) someone ate a sandwich on the toilet, which is equally appalling.
As an important note, I live/work in Philadelphia, so either of those scenarios is plausible.
I have one other idea: Our dude is sitting at his desk, eating a hoagie, and when he's done, he realizes there's a fleck of beef that fell on his desk. So, since he's going off to piss anyway, he takes the meat with him and then flicks it in the toilet and tries to piss on it for sport. That could happen, right? Or maybe he eats lunch on the toilet because he doesn't want to give anyone a bite? Oh, who am I kidding? The simplest explanation is the best one: He shat it out. Can you really shit out meat? Meat usually gets digested. It's the fibrous stuff—bean skins, corn, red pepper bits—that can make its way through your bowels unscathed.
I have no good answers. I'm tortured now. I must find the source of the shit meat.
So I originally heard this question while driving home and listening to Mike Francesa. Naturally, Francesa was a total dick to the caller before hanging up on him ("Who Caahhs?"), but the question was: If today, the players from the 1992 Dream Team were given suitable time to get in shape and practice, and then allowed to enter next year's NCAA Tournament, how would they do?
Where are they seeded? They could probably still beat some pissant 16-seed. But if they're going up against a big conference heavy right off the bat, I dunno. Those guys are old, man. Patrick Ewing looks fat as shit. He looks like he goes out with Scott Mitchell every Friday night for a bang-bang. I say they win a couple of games before succumbing in the Sweet 16, at the latest. And then Michael Jordan would yell at everyone and put cigars out on them.
What Big 4 sports team would cause the most upheaval if it up and decided to relocate? I'm tempted to say the Packers, because Green Bay has nothing else. At least if the Yankees moved to San Antonio, Yankee fans could root for the Mets and the other New York teams.
It has to be the Packers, because the Packers are publicly owned and technically unable to ever leave Green Bay, unless the town itself were to be airlifted to another state, which of course will happen when THE GREAT RECKONING comes to pass. Otherwise, you're talking about moving a team that has a loyal fan base, a storied history, and is widely praised for being the most wholesome franchise in all of sport. People would shit their pants if the Packers moved. IS NOTHING SACRED?! Now I kinda want it to happen, because fuck the Packers.
There are plenty of other good candidates, like the Yankees, Red Sox, Lakers (oh, the irony), Red Wings, Celtics, etc. But all those teams have dedicated anti-fan bases that would revel in watching them pack up the moving vans. If the Red Sox left Boston, I would orgasm onto a dinner plate and eat it. The idea of those insufferable teams ceasing to exist is almost too much pleasure for me to handle. I would chase that dragon for the rest of my life. The Packers are more universally admired (not by me), so that schadenfreude wouldn't be as highly concentrated.
Over the course of history, what proper first name has been tattooed on the most bodies? It's gotta be Brenda, right? Or Derek?
I wanna go with a stripper name like Crystal or Tiffani, but it's Mary. Not only is Mary the most popular name of the past 100 years, but it's been used more than twice as often as the NEXT most popular name (Patricia). Marys come in all kinds. You could tattoo MARY on your arm because she died in a tragic van accident, or because she disappeared in a mountain-climbing expedition, or because she was your mom, or because MARY is the real name of Brandi, the buxom brunette you met at the SkinHole. She usually never dated customers, but you walked in with a wad of hundreds, and she couldn't resist. You flew her to Vegas that weekend and eloped. You got the tattoo because you told her this would be forever. You even made a baby. And then the fighting began: thrown plates, screaming, accusations of infidelity. Then you found out Brandi had a lover name José, and they were scheming to kill you and take all your money. And now you look at that tattoo everyday and find yourself bitter and full of rage.
Anyway, I'd avoid that kind of Mary if I were you.
I recently got into an argument over whether or not pizza left out overnight is safe to eat the next day. Totally fine, right?
Does it taste okay? Then it's fine. Does the cheese have very small white dots on it that kind of look like mold growing in a dish of agar? Then that is bad. You may die. Do not masturbate to that slice of pizza.
I find that men and women have completely different opinions on whether or not food is still good to eat. My wife can't wait to throw food away. She thinks it's fucking diseased by day three in the fridge. Whereas I will eat pretty much anything that doesn't have tapeworms growing on it. Food that's been on a counter for a long time is even more appealing, because it's almost kinda sorta warm. At 2 a.m., a slice of pizza that's been sitting out for hours is fucking unreal. I can't put it in my body fast enough. Any food that passes the sniff test and the initial tasting is good to go.
While eating breakfast the other morning, I received a text message from a friend of mine that read, "Can I ask a strange favor of you?" I responded like any other normal male on the planet would respond with, "OK." Turns out, the guy got a new job and he has to pass a drug test. The text simply read, "I want to buy your pee. Your pristine drug-free pee." My question for you is: How much is my pee worth? I'm 28 year-old male, with no STDs, and no drugs. I was thinking $100 for clean piss would be fair market value.
I would leverage your piss for all its worth. What if they can trace that piss back to you? Or what if your friend leaves a piece of roast beef in the toilet, and they know it came from YOUR fridge? I bet that job is worth more than $100 to your friend. I say you ask for $500 AND you get to ask out his ex-girlfriend. That's fair market value for clean piss.
By the way, a vial of powdered urine from here costs $130. That does not come with a Whizzinator.
When do you think it is the best time to discuss your sexual escapades with a new/potential GF?
Never? I think never will do it. I think the average guy doesn't rehash any of that stuff unless he's forced to, like when the new girlfriend asks about it, or he's confronted with an ex-girlfriend out in public. When my wife (then my GF) moved in with me, I was living a couple blocks away from another girl I had dated previously. And we would see her from time to time, and I would be like, "Hey, Jen." And I'm such a shitty liar, my wife knew IMMEDIATELY that this was someone I had hooked up with. To this day, she'll make fun of me for how awkward I was whenever the other girl walked by. Never tell a woman anything.
If OJ was found guilty (which he was), would Kim Kardashian be famous today?
Yes, because the lawyers in that case had become notorious well before the verdict was ever handed down. I think Kim Kardashian would have become famous even if OJ had NEVER killed those two people, because she is someone who is clearly willing to do every inane thing possible to be famous. Paris Hilton got famous without her dad presiding over a murder case. So long as you are rich and attractive and you suck a dick on camera, the world will MAKE you famous.
This is the restroom at my office. This is how I find it on a regular basis. Why is the seat up on the toilet? If you're just taking a piss, who uses the toilet instead of the urinal? What sort of lunatic am I working with?
Dude, look at how low that urinal is. That's a kiddie urinal. You piss in the toilet to avoid gallons of splashback.
By the way, that is clearly a one-person bathroom. Imagine having to openly shit while staring at another person pissing with his back to you. I'd rather go to prison.
My friends and I go to an NFL game in a different stadium each year. We tailgate, watch football, and tailgate some more—the NFL is awesome. None of us are from an NFL city (we're actually mostly foreigners), so nobody has a favorite or home team that they cheer for. Is it ok for us to be bandwagon home team fans in each new city we go to?
Yeah, that's fine. In fact, you've probably stumbled on the secret to lifelong happiness by doing that. You've bypassed the misery of being a Browns or Bills fan and gone right for the good stuff. I can't blame you. The fact that you're a filthy foreigner also gives you a decent excuse for bandwagoning. That's not LeBron bandwagoning. That's a more noble form of bandwagoning. I should ditch the Vikings and just become a stadium nomad.
The other day I was throwing a football around with a friend and his kid brother, who is half our age. One QB, one receiver, and one defender. My friend is really trying to get him interested in what we over here call American Football, so of course, I took it easy. Let the kid make some throws and some catches.
But then he started talking trash. A lot of trash.
Is it wrong I was tempted to show the brat what's what and absolutely reject the next pass coming his way? I'm no physical specimen by any means, but please. We're talking a fully grown adult against a very young adolescent here. Could or should I just have swatted his next pass into tomorrow? And if not, is there some sort of rule about how old the kid would need to be before I could have?
I would have no issue turning on the jets and kicking that kid's ass all over the field. I wouldn't talk trash or anything like that. I would just quietly remind him that he is a boy, and I am a man with Football Dad strength. It's one thing to go easy on, like, a five-year-old. But a tween? Fuck him. UNLEASH HELL on that little sack of shit. He deserves to have the thunder brought down upon him. These kids need to be taught some humility smdh.
Do you think Obama has seen the celebrity nudes? I can imagine that Biden was the one to show them to him.
No, I think he probably has to cover his ass by not looking. But secretly, he wishes he were impeached just so he could get a look at J-Law. Maybe an aide described the photos to him soberly. "And then Ms. Upton is shown with a Mr. Verlander in various stages of undress …."
Email of the week!
I brought one of my best friends to help move stuff from my grandma's house and drive back my newly acquired vehicle four hours away. One night, I had a combination of food and drinks that I wasn't exactly used to with some family members and my friend (pretty sure the main culprit is the shots of off-brand tequila). I crashed on the couch and woke up fairly early the next day. I was awake for about 30 minutes when everyone started to get ready for the day. My grandma got in the master-bedroom shower, and my friend took the guest bathroom shower.
Suddenly, I got the unmistakable feeling of needing to evacuate my bowels within the next 30 seconds. I considered busting in my grandma's bathroom, but backed off on the image of her naked. I sprinted to the guest bathroom and started frantically banging on the door, as it was locked. My friend replied with the predictable "What?". I explained the situation, and he agreed to let me in. I hear and feel the door unlock and eased up on my clinched butt cheeks. I tried the knob again, only to find that it didn't unlock. I considered busting down the door briefly, then opted to bang on it again.
He finally got it fully unlocked, and I made a beeline to the toilet while simultaneously pulling my pants down. I make it, and empty my bowels with a violent explosion. I sat there a few seconds to catch my breath, then looked down. I had shat diarrhea in my undies up to the waistband. I had also shat all over the side of the toilet and left a trail of liquid excrement halfway across the bathroom carpet. I cleaned myself up the best I could, then had to clean the carpet and toilet while my friend was two feet away, naked in the shower. Amazingly, he is more embarrassed by this story than I am, which is why I tell it frequently, with no shame.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also order Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.
Image by Jim Cooke.
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