Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering burger toppings, bread, shitting softballs, and more.
Hey, are you in East Stroudsburg, Pa., tonight? Of course you are. FACT: Roughly 90 percent of Gawker Media readers live within a 0.2-mile radius of East Stroudsburg, Pa. Anyway, if you're around, I'm speaking to the youngs over at East Stroudsburg University tonight at 7:30. It's open to the public and free. That's right, you don't have to pay for me to bore you. What a country.
How old is too old to wear a hat backwards? I'm 43, and sometimes I catch myself in a mirror and think, "What a tool!"
Still wearing a hat backwards, eh? Colin Cowherd finds that troubling …
Sometimes it'll be hot outside, and the back of my neck will start to burn (that's easily a Top 3 spot for sunburn, along with the nose and the tops of your feet), so I gotta pull a Lincoln Hawk and turn that hat around for MAXIMUM SUN RESPECTAGE. I know it probably doesn't look cool, even though I totally still feel cool when I do it. Sometimes I'll turn my hat around and sit backwards on a chair and think to myself, "Oh, man, this changes EVERYTHING." But of course, I'm not fooling myself. After age 23 or so, it stops looking cool to rock a backwards hat. Unless …
* You just played a company softball game and you're swilling Miller Lites in the parking lot. You still look like Crash Davis if you do that.
* You're playing beach volleyball. Lemme just turn that hat around so I can whiff on this KILLER spike.
* Rally cap.
* You want to look like a BAWSE in front of your kids.
* You are playing quarterback in the tailgate lot.
I'll still keep turning my hat around occasionally to prevent sunburn and plan random acts of neighborhood vandalism. The spirit of the hat never dies, man. Cowherd can eat a dick.
I recently got eyeglasses for the first time. I'm 40 years old. Getting used to the glasses has been complicated by the constant need to clean the damn things. While I kind of expected to have to wipe off an occasional speck of dust, I've been alarmed by the sheer volume of crap that I have to clean off the lenses—on both sides. Is this just something that happens to glasses, or have my eyes been bombarded with particles of dirt and worse for my entire life without me noticing? And WTF is with all the stuff I have to clean off the eye-facing side of the lenses? Are my eyes constantly producing toxic smegma that I never noticed before?
I've been wearing eyeglasses since the fourth grade, and I promise you that your commitment to keeping your glasses clean will fade, and then it will completely die. I never clean my glasses anymore. My wife is horrified by them. She'll grab them off my face, wipe a Kleenex across them, and present me with the resulting facial-sewage runoff. Looks like the inside of a drainpipe. And then I blow her off and go back to wearing my opaque poop spectacles. THEY SEE JUST FINE BY ME. I'm not even good at cleaning the things anyway. Half the time, I just rub the glasses on my shirt, and that smears my nose Vaseline all over the lenses, making them worse. I'm not busting out some proper cleaning solution like a fucking NERD.
Anyway, glasses can get very dirty thanks to airborne particles and industrial gold-burning pollution and dead mouse dander. And the green shit on the inside of your glasses is the result of your repulsive, sweaty pores intermingling with your fancy-pants Ralph Lauren frames and creating some kind of oxidized slime that will coalesce into a fully animated monster if you leave it on there for long enough. Again, I can't be bothered with any of this. My glasses are fine. Don't touch them.
With a day's notice, could you rig your house to thwart potential thieves better than Kevin McAllister in Home Alone?
At first, I was gonna say yes, because I'm old enough to purchase a firearm. A swinging bucket of paint is cool. But you know what's cooler? Me shooting you in the fucking face. But with only a day's notice, I wouldn't be able to get a gun, thankS to my home state's mandatory seven-day waiting period. (THANKS FOR NOTHING, MARYLAND.) That means I would have to resort to other means of lethal weaponry: knives on mousetraps, ninja stars, a frisbee with razor blades taped to it (my preferred zombie apocalypse daydream weapon), homemade PVC pipe bombs, etc. I would probably burn down the house in the process of foiling the Wet Bandits, only to see them get away anyway.
So I'm not that confident, especially since everything that happens in that movie happens exactly as McCauley Culkin plans it. What are the odds a dude with hot tar on his face is gonna stand in the exact right spot for the pile of feathers you're trying to blow on him? And why don't the robbers ever have proper ID? GREGGGGGGG IS ANGRY AT THIS MOVIE'S LACK OF VERISIMILITUDE. Also, real robbers are terrifying. They're violent and high on meth, and I ain't keeping my cool when they step in the door. No, I'm freaking the fuck out, especially if the phone lines are cut (assuming I am still in the year 1990 and do not have a cell phone). Manson cut the phone lines. A cut phone line means a homicidal maniac is coming to gut you and make a skin mask out of you. I'm not gonna be able to set up a perfect zip line to the neighbor's house with that weighing on me.
If you could be the starting QB at ANY D1 school in the country, where would it be? My friends and I tossed around this question, and popular picks were Bama, Texas, and USC. Standard stuff, mostly based off of the tradition, climate, and nice young women that you would be able to pick and choose from at these schools.
What about Arizona State? It has all the weather and attractive women of those other schools, without people badgering you about playing well. I don't wanna play QB for Alabama if it means some nutjob PAWWWWWL listener is gonna put cornsmut DDT in my Gatorade if I'm not playing well. I would like all of the benefits of being a BMOC GLOREEE BOY quarterback with the added freedom to be fucking terrible.
That's important, because my goal would be to slack off, get really drunk, have sex with everyone, play HORRIBLY, and hold onto my job for longer than I deserve simply because I was a five-star recruit. We call that the Leinart Plan. That's what I would want. I don't want any part of doing box jumps at five in the morning just so we can have an edge against Wazzu. I'm getting by on PURE SWAGGER, bitch. And if I fail, it's Arizona State, so no one gives a shit. By the way, here's a picture of me in a toga with NASCAR driver Scott Speed (link NSFW) that was taken NEAR Arizona State. Drink in the sexy…
Michael Jackson is generally considered a child molester, and basically was reduced to a late-night punchline and laughingstock. But once he died, he's remembered fondly for being a musical genius and icon (which he is). It's almost as if dying totally fixed his public image. My question: Which celebrity's death helped his/her legacy the most?
Jesus. I mean, if Jesus hadn't died, he would have been a coward and a loser, and God would have had to impregnate yet another human and make a new kid who was more willing to offer himself up as a blood sacrifice for the sins of man. And then poor Jesus would have to spend the rest of his life in the shadow of Jimmy Christ. Really tragic ending for him.
Also: JFK. JFK nearly started a nuclear war thanks to fucking up the Bay of Pigs invasion, he talked weird, and he fucked everything that moved. He was also a prep school dipshit who basically got everything handed to him (including the presidency itself!). You could argue that he wasn't exactly the gold standard of presidents. But then he was murdered, and BOOM! Camelot. That was a quality Death Bump. He went from spoiled, painkiller-addled brat to a holy symbol of American renewal and a metaphorical cudgel for Baby Boomers to bludgeon you with, just like that. He should thank Oswald! And Clay Shaw! And the CIA. And Castro. And LBJ. And the fluoridated water cabal …
Let's say the average person works 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year (with vacation), for 45 years. That's a total of 90,000 hours, or 10.3 years. Now, let's say you can break up those hours however you want. You can work 40-hour weeks like most people do now. Or you could work 12-hour days every day for 20 years, but then be done forever. Or you could alternate those 20 years with years in which you do absolutely no work at all. The point is, divvy up the work hours however you like. What's your schedule?
I have been in the workforce long enough to know that the 40-hour workweek is, in theory, fairly well designed. You work five days. You get two days off. You get your nights free, even on the weekdays. That's not a bad division for a lifetime of toil. The problem is that we have completely fucked the whole system up thanks to bosses who expect you to leave the office five minutes after they do (and they always stick around the office forever, because they have no life outside of work) and family obligations that are supposed to jibe with the work week but never do, and a commuting infrastructure that wastes HOURS of your day, every day. We're talking about years of your life just pissed away, sitting on the Beltway. It's a personal and economic tragedy. So I would keep the current five-day workweek, only I would do all my work from a compound in Montana where cars and bosses are fucking illegal.
Also, I might take a year Sabbatical, and then get bored after two months of that Sabbatical and go back to dicking around at the office. Personal growth is overrated. I'd much rather be on the company dime while I check out Vines of people throwing up.
Would you rather sweat mayonnaise or shit softballs for the rest of your life?
Shitting softballs would result in a lifetime of physical pain and discomfort. We're talking about anal fissures, internal bleeding, severe constipation … no, thank you. As much as I loathe mayonnaise with every fiber of my being, at least there are no other lasting effects to sweating it out and walking around like a big, oily tuna-fish sandwich. God, just thinking about all that creamy, smelly mayonnaise lingering on my body … getting in my skin the way it gets into my sandwich when I don't want it there … BRAAAAAGHHHHHURRRRRFFFF. Mayonnaise is the fucking worst. I saw one place the other day that puts it on their Italian subs. Why would you ruin an Italian sub like that? Jesus.
Now that I live in Colorado, I smoke a lot more weed. It doesn't affect my job or personal life much at all, but I noticed that whenever I do or say anything awkward, I just tell people, "Hey man, I'm high." When I say this, all seems to be forgiven. The thing is, I'm usually not even high when I use this excuse. Am I on to something here?
I assume you're using this in casual circumstances. Like if you tell the bossman, "Sorry I accidentally euthanized that preemie, but I'm WAY high right now, brother man," it's probably not gonna fly.
But in other instances, it could be extremely useful, especially for getting out of social obligations. If I can't make it to your 43 rd birthday party (why are you having a birthday party for that age? get it together, man) because I got high and I don't want to drive, then I'm a goddamn hero. I could have gotten in my car and run over a group of intramural soccer players, but I didn't, because I am high and awesome. Let that be a lesson to you kids.
Anyway, I would use that excuse judiciously for now, because any excuse can be ruined by overuse. I now suspect ANYONE who says they got food poisoning, because people have been collectively abusing food poisoning as an excuse for being selfish assholes. Being high is gonna become the new food poisoning. Bet on it.
Have you had a piece of buttered white bread lately? My god, it's amazingly satisfying.
I know! Especially now, in the Carbs Are Evil phase of human existence. I try my best to avoid eating a shitload of bread and pasta and all that. But last Thanksgiving, my mother-in-law toasted up some white rolls and laid out some salty-ass butter and cheese and salami, and I didn't leave the spread for two hours. I would've stuck my dick in the rolls if no one had been around. And these weren't fancy-ass rolls. They were just from the store. But holy shit, they were so warm and soft and chewy, and I hadn't had bread in so long that I felt like I was seeing my wife after serving out a prison term. OH HOW I HAVE MISSED THE TOUCH OF YOUR GLUTENS.
Bread is awesome. When I die, I'm gonna order God to create a lake of Caesar dressing for me, and then I'm gonna ride around on that lake in a boat made of fresh croutons.
The other day, someone was asking in the Funbag how long could a car park before it was towed. This was taken in the Mexico City Airport, and that car has been parked there for at least five years when I started working in my current job.
Have a great day.
Did you open the car? Was there a body in it? There's no other reason to leave a car in an airport parking lot for five years except for long-term body disposal. I wonder what the Kelley Blue Book Value of an airport murder car is. I'd pay at least three dollars for it.
Let's say a college football team who received zero points in any of the polls is taking on another team in the same situation. How many points would either of those teams have to score and/or what would the scoring margin have to be for that team to shoot up to #1 in the polls the following week? Is there any outcome that would be able to catapult them to the top?
No. It's impossible. Even if you beat VanderArkanNois by 500 points, that wouldn't be enough to put you at no. 1. You would have to be playing the no. 1 team in the country, and you would have to be unbeaten, and you would have to win that game by at least 100 points, and your QB would have to shoot literal fire out of his eyes so that pollsters would be like, "Holy shit! He shot fire out of his eyes! He could kill defenders simply by gazing at them! That team clearly deserves to be ranked seven or eight spots below once-beaten Alabama. LET'S WAIT UNTIL FIRE-VISION QB HAS TO PLAY A REAL SEC TEAM."
I just ate dinner alone at a restaurant. It's not the first time, and it definitely won't be the last. I usually view it as a treat, because I should be cooking for myself, and instead I'm paying someone to do it for me. I live downtown in a major city, so there's a fair number of young hipsters, business dinners, etc. Is that sad? Do other people think I'm sad? I'm in my twenties ... is that more or less sad? I was on my phone the whole time, and there were a couple other people eating alone doing the same thing. I sat at the bar, which, to me, is a standard eating-alone tactic, because then you don't take up a whole table, and you can at least pretend you'd entertain someone talking to you.
I have a hard time doing dinner alone. Lunch alone? I am on that. Take it from someone with children: eating breakfast or lunch alone is paradise. I went to Five Guys by myself once. I got a bacon cheeseburger. I had some of the free peanuts. I pissed twice. I checked my phone whenever I wanted. No one yelled or bitched about their hot dog. I felt like a million bucks. And no one judged me for being alone, because it was lunch, and everyone has shit to do at lunch.
But dinner is a far more social affair. Anytime I'm out of town on business or something and I eat dinner alone, I usually feel like shit, because I'm surrounded by couples on dates and big rehearsal dinners and old couples who stepped right out of a Cialis commercial ("She still gives you a boner … no doubt about that."), and I'm reminded that I failed to find ANYONE who had the time or inclination to grab a bite to eat with me. I also miss my family, and then I order six brownie sundaes to compensate for my crushing, existential loneliness.
I'm way too self-conscious about being visibly alone with all those people around. I try to make like Hemingway or some other asshole who hangs around a café alone to take in the marvels of people-watching, but then I usually cut the meal short and run back to my hotel room to jack off. But if you can eat a solid meal out on the town on your own, more power to you. You can probably just hop on Tinder and find someone to join you mid-meal. Or maybe a mysterious brunette with killer legs will approach you at the bar and draw you into a steamy affair that turns into a plot to kill her husband. It's happened before!
By the way, going to the movies alone is a whole other story. I love going to movies alone. No chit chat. No saving seats for people. No one asking you why that girl had to die. I just watch my movie and then I cut outta there. It's lovely.
What is the best non-standard burger topping? Is salsa considered standard? I've settled with tzatziki as the best non-standard topping/condiment.
Is a fried egg non-standard? Because that's the best. It's so clearly the best non-standard topping that it's probably standard now. Which means I'll have to pick frizzled onions instead, which are good, because they're frizzled. They should frizzle everything. Frizzle my egg. Those frizzled onions beat someone dumping a wad of cucumber yogurt on my burger, and I say that with all due respect to tzatziki, which is tasty as hell.
In general, no exotic burger topping can outperform a regular bacon cheeseburger. You can psych yourself out real bad with a burger menu, because that lamb gyro burger SOUNDS so good, and then you pay $13 for it and end up wishing you had just stuck with a bacon cheeseburger instead. Stupid lamb burger. THEY SAID IT WAS FEATURED ON FOOD NETWORK WHO AM I TO RESIST?!
Drew, when you die and your life flashes before your eyes, do you think you get to see all the times you were blackout drunk? If you could, say, watch a two-week TV-marathon binge of all your blackout moments, would you want to do it?
I would not want to see that. It would just be a supercut of me stumbling around before finally passing out. I've never come out of a blackout and had someone be like, "Dude! You had sex with eight people and beat Putin in arm wrestling last night!" That's not how blacking out works. I don't need to see my reality-show B-roll. One time, in college, I blacked out in a street in Portland, Maine, and woke up the next day in my dorm room, two hours away. And when I called my friend to ask how I got back, all he said was I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU. So whatever is on that tape is probably boring at best and damning at worst.
With all the talk about a dedicated player being the "first in and last out," what are the odds there has ever been a standoff between two guys about who's going to stay longer? I can imagine two guys staring each other down while holding their lunch boxes while Gruden climaxes in the corner.
Yeah, I'm surprised this hasn't escalated into a public arms race with players sleeping on cots in the tape room, Joe Gibbs-style. My guess is that the term "first in and last out" has been diluted to the point where any guy who shows up for a little extra work gets the label without it being literally true. Or maybe teammates swap days to be the last man out so that they both look awesome in front of coach.
Also, I bet coach peeks in the weight room at 3 a.m. and is like, "Are you still here, Edelman and Other Edelman? GO HOME. You've scrapped enough for today!" And then both Edelmans go home, because Coach essentially declared it a tie.
By the way, on the SNF broadcast this week, they could not praise James Harrison enough for lifting weights at 4:30 in the morning. Like it made him Superman. Do you know why James Harrison lifts weights at 4:30 in the morning? Because he's fucking insane. Please don't be weird like this. Even Kobe thinks James Harrison has crossed the line.
Can we please put a moratorium on calling a group of three good players on an NBA team a "Big Three?" I think this might have started with the Celtics a few years ago (NO ONE DENIES THIS), but now every time it happens (as currently happens on the Cavs) or is rumored to happen, we have to hear that stupid phrase again. Surely we can do a little better than that?
What else are you gonna call it? "Trio" is for jazz bands, man. I'm just waiting for some team to raise the stakes with a Big Four. "Oh, you thought you were gonna win a title with a Big Three? BOOM BIG FOUR BITCH." I would bet everything on a team that had a Big Four.
What is the maximum number of days you get to use the "vacation" or "illness" excuse in an office setting? A co-worker just hit me with the "I'm SUPER behind since my vacation" line when I asked about a certain task. Her vacation ended eight working days ago.
One day. You get one day. Unless you're high.
If aliens exist, they wouldn't necessarily be human-sized, right? Aliens could be 100 times bigger or 100 times smaller. Hollywood always portrays aliens as about human-sized, and that is wrong.
And the humans never talk to them about Jesus, which GREGGGGG has real issues with. Certain aliens in movies are bigger, like in Aliens or Avatar. I guess James Cameron is the only person in Hollywood who isn't willing to conform to society's definitions of what an alien body should look like, and for that I applaud his progressiveness. The aliens are also bigger than humans in Battlefield Earth, which is a sure sign of scientific legitimacy:
Anyway, the reason you don't see mega-huge or mega-tiny aliens in movies is because it would fuck with the movie's scale. You try filming a 600-foot alien next to Russell Crowe. It would look stupid. This is why they made Galactus into a cloud for that one Fantastic Four movie, which is why that movie was awful. I'm sure real aliens can come in any size. Maybe they're as big as our sun! DAMN. Just a bunch of sun people.
Email of the week!
Our friend Jessie asked if we wanted to do dinner swapping with him and his boyfriend. That way, one night a week, each couple could enjoy a homemade meal without having to cook. My fiancée and I agreed. Since then, we have cooked for the other couple every Tuesday night, and they have occasionally cooked or brought home takeout for us. Since they come over to our place as guests, we try to cook meals that we know we'd enjoy and (hope) they'd enjoy as well. We've cooked meals like mushrooms stuffed with Italian sausage and spinach, fettuccini alfredo with bacon, old fashioned chili, etc.
Last week, Jessie said that he wanted to cook for us and asked that we come to their place on Tuesday. When we got to their place, Jessie served us dinner, which happened to be two microwave burritos. My fiancée asked Jessie if he made the burritos, to which Jessie said, "Yea, I made them." My fiancé was asking, "Is this a homemade burrito?" not "Were you the one that put this in the microwave?" After having our "homemade" dinner, I got sick, and we ended up leaving.
My fiancée and I are not sure how to feel about this dinner. We happen to be extremely angry about it right now, since we found the microwave burritos insulting. They weren't even decent microwave burritos! Is this the level of food they think we serve them? We have decided that next week we are going to buy some awesome steaks and use them to make actual homemade burritos just to shame them.
Are we taking this dinner too personal, or should we proceed with our passive-aggressive plan?
No, that's playing into their hands. Eat those homemade burritos yourselves.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at email@example.com. You can also order Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.
Image by Sam Woolley.
The Concourse is Deadspin's home for culture/food/whatever coverage. Follow us on Twitter.