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Did Hitler Ever Eat A Taco?

FunbagTime for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag.

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Do you think Hitler ever ate a taco?

No. Hitler lived well before the globalization of food, and a cursory Google search indicates that he probably never visited any countries outside of Europe. Maybe if he had been compelled to make some diplomatic trip to Mexico, he would have been confronted with a taco at a fancy state dinner. And then the host would say, “Señor Hitler, we have prepared a traditional Mexican favorite for you.” And then Hitler would be like, “Ja ja, das gut!” and try to look like he’s honored to be served a taco, but failing because he’s Hitler and he always looks super pissed about everything.


But we have no record of such a dinner ever occurring. It’s possible that Hitler never even HEARD of tacos. Not once. Think about it: When would it come up? It’s not like he was surrounded by foodies. Goebbels never interrupted his war planning to be like, “You know, I found this AMAZING hole in the wall where we can grab a bite to eat after wiping out Poland.”

Hitler was, at heart, a dumbfuck redneck. Like any other limp nationalist, he was both incurious and disdainful of anything from outside of his home country (which wasn’t even his home country, but I digress). Germany was perfect to him and everything else was unnecessary, which means he spent his whole life eating nothing but red cabbage and veal testicle sausage, and scoffing at any other form of sustenance. I bet the very idea of a taco would offend him. I bet it would anger him and send him into spasms of enraged hair-flopping. I bet if he were alive today, he’d be one of those assholes who’s like, “Sushi? You mean raw fish? EW!” People like that are all Aryan nationalists at heart. I don’t trust them.


By the way, one historian traced the history of tacos here in the U.S. all the way back to 1905. Man, I bet a taco in 1905 would taste fucking unreal. I’d be so obnoxious about getting in on the taco bandwagon before the rest of my steel magnate chums.


What do you think Trump’s Twitter password is? He can’t be smart enough for two-stage authentication and all that right? Do you think he even knows it?

I think assistants handle that. If his session expires and he has to re-enter his password, he just hands the phone to Kellyanne or whoever and orders them to enter it. (If I worked for Trump, I would put all my passive-aggressive energy into making that password; something like TURNIPBUTT2016.) Trump is the kind of guy who likes to commandeer all the fun tasks for himself and leave the busywork to lackeys. I can’t blame him, really. I would totally do the same thing if I were a filthy rich conman who got away with everything. Anyway, that means he alone is in charge of composing tweets, holding rallies, opening up golf courses, pissing on hookers, and brainstorming cool new war ideas. Everything else is a mess left for others to clean up.

That’s why his Twitter has never been hacked. If he had ever bothered with setting up his own account info, the password would have been TRUMP and he would have been hacked ages ago. Or maybe he WAS hacked ages ago, and his feed has been run by some genius troll for the past 10 years, and he just had to roll with it because admitting he got hacked would be too embarrassing. Tell me it isn’t possible. Anything is possible in the truthering sector right now.



What do you think is the restaurant (in the broadest sense of the word) where diners make the least eye contact with other patrons? I’m thinking Subway, because as soon as you walk in you know that every other person within arm’s reach places a $4 lunchtime saving above any sense of taste, personal health, or even residual Jared guilt.


I think Subway is a good choice because most people eating there are on lunch break, and are therefore alone, and are therefore fixated ON lunch, and not on actual human interaction. When I’m in line at Subway, or Chipotle, or Cava, or any other joint where they assemble your lunch on a line in front of you, I am staring at my lunch being built the whole time. There could be a nuclear holocaust going on outside and I wouldn’t give a shit. My mind in on the bread selection, and the cheese triangles, and the laying down of the cold cuts, and the spreading of the banana peppers. And if the sandwich artist is stingy with the toppings, I grow extremely concerned. I want that sandwich perfect. Nothing else matters. I am a lion ready to STRIKE.

Also, I think patrons avoid eye contact at any strip club where they also serve food, or any softcore wing chain like Hooters or Tilted Kilt. You’re there to watch the game and get a boner. You aren’t there to make friends.



I’m almost 30... and I still don’t feel like an adult. For example: I’m still trying to figure out how to budget better, my savings account is “meh” at best, and I still resist setting up regular/expected medical appointments. Am I just exceptionally bad at being an adult? Or will this all magically click eventually and I won’t feel like I’m faking it anymore?


No, that’s all normal. Everything you listed up above is a pain the ass, and no sane person, regardless of age, wants to spend 15 minutes on the phone trying to make a fucking dermatologist appointment. WE ARE ALL TRUMP in that regard. You will never be able to fake enjoyment of that particular task, and you will always feel like there are people out there who really have their shit together and you do not.

BUT… Listen, when you get older, you will naturally feel more comfortable and confident doing certain things, even if you don’t like them. You will probably get a little bit better at your work, and at raising kids if you have them, and at doing your own taxes. I’m good at doing dishes, even though I fucking hate it. That’s life in a nutshell. Also, even when you improve, it won’t FEEL that way because, by the time you’ve stepped up your game, the goalposts have already been moved back. You finally bought a house, but some other fuckface your age already owns a villa in the Maldives. That guy needs to drown in his own piss.


You can go nuts worrying about whether or not your accomplishments match your age, so have a drink and kick back and accept that you will always be just a little bit behind, and that it’s not that big of a deal. I still don’t know how to fold a shirt properly.


What is the proper way to hold a taco? I grab with my hand over the top of the taco, slightly pinching the sides together, but my wife cradles it from the bottom.


I hoist it like you. How am I supposed to eat it if my hand is underneath it? I’m trying to pantomime the action right now and it seems impossible. You’d have to backhand that shit, or else you’d end up licking your own wrist. Even Hitler would know you can’t eat a taco that way.

I like to pinch the sides and lean down real close to the plate in order to avoid any meat spills. Then I turn my head like I’m about to make out with the taco. Then I take a mammoth bite and everything falls apart and I have to reassemble everything using my greasy paws. I’ll get the hang of it one day.



White chocolate sucks, right? Thank you.

It’s not chocolate! That’s always a fun fact that everyone knows that you can act like only you know. “WELL ACTUALLY, white chocolate contains no cocoa solids! Isn’t that fascinating?!”


Anyway, white chocolate on its own is disgusting, but it is a useful ingredient is certain desserts, like the fabled Williams-Sonoma peppermint bark, or those dark chocolate cookies with white chocolate chips at Panera. Have you had one of those? Holy shit, I wanna be buried with that cookie. It’s a quality cookie. White chocolate has to pick its spots.



What would happen if sports vanished tomorrow? Not outlawed (so no protesting or yelling), not forgotten, just gone moving forward and there’s nothing anyone could do to bring it back.


 THE BACHELOR. We would all watch The Bachelor, I guess. Frankly, I would just get more into video games and hardcore blackjack gambling.


I got the sudden urge to chew some gum the other night. I rummaged through the snack drawer to find some leftover Mentos from a trip a while back (Mentos is by far the greatest gum brand but that’s for another discussion). Anyway, as an infrequent gum chewer, my wife has never seen me actually place the gum in my mouth. Seeing as my craving was strong, I went with 3 pieces (I average 2, but sometimes will go up to 5), and was surprised at the severe backlash from my wife standing next to me. She claims it’s ludicrous to have more than one piece and even some times she will split a piece in half. The hell is that? Am I wrong in thinking that more gum is almost always better? She may as well be grinding her teeth with half a piece, right?


I have to back up for a moment here. Mentos aren’t gum. I don’t wanna single you out, Al, but Mentos are candy. I like Mentos better than gum because you can chew them and they dissolve and you aren’t left with a flavorless wad and an aching jaw. But they are not gum. That’s why you feel just groovy popping four or five of them at a time. They go away. Do that with actual gum and you’ll look like you have the mumps.

I think if you plan on blowing bubbles, you’re good to have more than piece of gum at a time. But if you are NOT 12 years old, then I’d just chew one piece. Don’t split it in half like a crazy person. But don’t jam the whole pack into your mouth. You’ll make smacking sounds that can be heard in South Africa with that much gum in your maw.



If Nick Saban announced that he’d never coach again, under the condition that every other FBS coach gives him 5% of their salary, would they go for it?


Fuck no. Have you met college coaches? They only want to beat the BEST, and they don’t like to admit defeat. If Mike Gundy could summon God himself down to coach a rival team so that he could then BEAT that rival team, he would. That’s true grit.

It takes a certain measure of delusion to be a high-level coach or athlete. Chances are, you aren’t going to win a championship, because dozens of other teams are killing themselves to do likewise. But you have to believe that you will, because A) There is a chance, at least mathematically speaking, B) No one wants to play for some goth pessimist, and C) The dream is what keeps you going. That’s why coaches take losses so hard. Losing is not something they like to think about, and yet it’s cruelly forced upon them, and quite often at times. Imagine watching a Chipotle guy assemble your burrito, walk you to the end of the line, and then throw that burrito into the garbage in front of you and kick you out. That’s what it feels like for a college coach to lose. No wonder they’re all crazy.




What is the correct length of broccoli heads we should eat, that is if we should eat broccoli at all? The stalk has that unchewable skin and is just purely devoid of taste (just as much like the rest of the broccoli).


Okay, I’ve sorted out how to make broccoli edible with a minimum of fuss (NOTE: There is still some fuss, because it’s broccoli). What you do it you take a head of broccoli and put it on a cutting board or plate in the sink, so that the little nubs don’t get all over the goddamn place. Then, you tear off the florets from the big stalk and put them all in a big bowl. Then you throw out the big stalk, because it sucks. Then you toss the florets with a shitload of olive oil and kosher salt. Then you spread them out on a cookie sheet and stick them in the oven at some ungodly temperature, like 450 degrees. In 10-20 minutes or so, they’re roasted into oblivion and all crunchy and salty. The end bits crackle! Even the inch or two of stem is good to eat. It’s legitimately tasty. I refuse to eat steamed broccoli ever again. Steamed broccoli can suck my dick.


Is there anything in sports more unavoidably and inconsequentially annoying than the fact that the NFL regular season occurs in a different calendar year than the postseason? It’s not enough to justify the “2016-17" designation we give basketball and hockey seasons, but enough to be confusing about what you mean when you say “the 2016 playoffs” or “the 2016 Super Bowl”.


I hate it. I hate everything about it. For my own personal style guide, and for my sanity, the Pats/Falcons Super Bowl was the 2016 Super Bowl. I don’t give a shit that it took place a month into 2017. I’m never gonna refer to it as the 2017 Super Bowl, or as Super Bowl LI. Just thinking about it makes me angry. I’d be willing move the entire Gregorian calendar just to address this mild quibble. I don’t care if hockey and basketball span the New Year, because I never pay attention to those sports before the holidays anyway. But football needs to get its act together.


Which person (not involved in the porn industry) had the most sex in 2016? At first I would say some rock star or college quarterback, but it was probably just some random newlywed couple, right?


It wouldn’t be a rock star or a college QB because both of those people have jobs. Sometimes you’re tired from studying tape or overdosing on heroin and you just can’t have a baby oil orgy with eight nubile coeds that night. The real answer is probably some millionaire sex addict who can freely devote all his money and time to fucking. Like the Sultan of Brunei. The Sultan spends all day with his dick out.


Is there anything worse than “snack size” bags? Whenever I am grabbing for a sandwich bag under the sink, I invariably pull one of these worthless things out.


I believe you’re referring to those little half-bags they sell, right?

Illustration for article titled Did Hitler Ever Eat A Taco?em/em

Look at that stupid bag. Nothing fits in it! I feel like someone short-sheeted my bed whenever I see one of these things. At least once a week, I will try to fill a sandwich bag with snacks only to A) Miss and spill a handful of Cheez-Its on the floor, or B) Discover the bag is too small to accommodate a full hero sandwich, leaving me to bear down and try to zip it up anyway, like it’s a stubborn piece of luggage.

Anyway, Mike is right: never buy these stupid things. It’s not worth saving 19 cents to buy bags that can’t actually hold anything.



Over the last two years, I have been interning at a newspaper during summer and winter break. This upcoming summer I am getting an internship at a bigger company and the newspaper I currently work at wants me to interview some of my journalism classmates at college and basically decide who to hire as the next intern. What should I look for in a candidate? Should I hire someone who I think would be a better intern than I was, or should I secure my legacy at this place and hire someone slightly worse than I was?


You should hire the best person because then you will be lauded for having an EYE FOR TALENT. That’s probably the most prized skill among swinging dicks who hang in corner offices. If you hire good people, then you’re a genius because most people out there are incompetent and annoying. Conversely, if it turns out that you hired a serial gorilla molester, that will also reflect back on you, and not well. So take it seriously and try to find the ONE candidate out there who doesn’t have a typo in his/her cover letter and shows up to the interview with shoes on. That one’s a catch.


I was heating up my leftovers for dinner (third night in a row) and wondered if Donald Trump ever came home and did the same. I’m thinking there’s no way he was ever even used a microwave, let alone had leftovers. So there’s no way he’s ever used one right? You think he’s ever had a Hot Pocket?


I think he’s eaten a Hot Pocket but never personally cooked one, if that makes sense. I mean, Trump is notorious for having awful taste in food, so if you served him a Hot Pocket on fine china (GINA) he’d be like, “Who cooked this? Lemme tell you: Whoever cooked this did a GREAT, GREAT job. Whoever cooked this is gonna be an absolute STAR.” He eats garbage all day and loves it AND loves being served it. There’s no way that man could ever use a microwave without leaving a fork in it.


Have you noticed how some household chores that you used to hate suddenly become more appealing once you have kids? I used to LOATHE mowing the lawn, but now that I have children I bust that mower out of storage at the first sign of spring grass. I can fire it up, pop in some headphones, and finally get some quite, blissful time alone. I also get some sunshine and exercise at the same time. It’s magical. My wife even shoots me an envious look when I skip out the door with delight saying I am going to mow while she juggles two toddlers and a six-year-old. What other previously awful chores can I start adopting to find these wondrous moments of parenting respite?


Cooking! Why do you think I cook? I get to whip up bold flavors and pretend I’m doing the rest of the family a big favor. Meanwhile, my wife is picking thumbtacks out of the four-year-old’s face and shooting me dirty looks. She knows. She knows chores are a haven now. That’s why, sometimes, she’ll say, “I’m gonna go do some yardwork,” and then won’t be back for HOURS. I’ve seen it happen. I’ll be sitting there, with my kids going nuts, and I’ll be like, “Where the fuck did your mother go?” And sure as shit, she’s out in the back collecting underbrush. And I can’t get mad about it because she’s doing hard labor! SO DEVIOUS.

Chores are annoying but also simple. You have dirty dishes, so you must wash them. You do not need to ARGUE with the dishes about why they need to be clean. The dishes won’t scream at you or kick the other dishes. There’s no psychological warfare. There’s just the mindless toil, which is its own sort of refuge. A couple weeks ago I assembled some shit from IKEA and I liked it. That would have been unfathomable to me a decade ago. I built a whole bed. I deserve a certificate. I wonder if working in a prison yard is soothing.



I was picking my nose today and pulled out a big, long booger. It’s winter, cold and dry, and this thing must have been building for a few hours. It was a couple of different colors and hard as hell. There were even a few nose hairs stuck in it. Question: What is an acceptable amount of time to inspect a particularly large booger?


I’d say you can take a few good seconds to admire your handiwork before flicking it into the toilet. I have a whole emotional process with that kind of booger. First, I’m glad I managed to pull it out. Second, I’m amazed by what I found. Third, I’m curious as to why there’s blood in it. And finally, I am disgusted. That whole range of emotions takes roughly three seconds. Any longer and you’re some weirdo who spends all day hanging around the Mutter Museum.


When you’re cutting up meat - say, shredding chicken for tacos or cutting a steak - what percentage of meat actually makes it past the cutting process without being eaten? There’s no way more than 60% of the chicken ever makes it on the tacos with me. I can’t help myself!


Yeah I easily eat a third of the meat any time I’m breaking down a chicken or slicing steak for the table. I’ve earned it. That charred end of the ribeye, that’s all glistening with fat and glazed with salty goodness? That’s mine. That never makes it to the table. That is my karmic reward for letting the meat rest for 10 minutes and not pouncing on it like a horny teenager. And the way I justify it to myself is by pretending I’m ingesting 100 percent protein. GOOD PROTEIN. STRONG FOR BONES. I should really just make an extra steak for pre-dinner snacking. Steak is the best snack of all.


What are your thoughts on people who clap during/after movies? Personally I hate when anyone does it. Unless that you are at the Hollywood premiere, no one who made the movie is there, so the applause seems useless. I was at Rogue One and during certain Easter eggs (avoiding spoilers) people clapped and cheered. These people are all lunatics, right?


I’m actually fine with it. I mean, that’s kind of the reason why you go see the movie in a theater. The point’s been lost in recent years because people are complete ASSHOLES at the movies, to the point where they have to jack the sound up in the theater to Blue Angels volume so that you don’t hear the moron next to you complaining about the wireless reception in the auditorium.

But sometimes, it’s still nice to be in a packed theater and have everyone invested in the movie at the same time. And if the movie is so good that you spontaneously start clapping even though no on the screen can hear you, that’s kinda cool. I know fanboys take it way too far by clapping just because the fucking Flash walked through the background of a shot while eating a hot dog. But if it’s one of those times where you feel like THE LEGENDARY FANS OF STAR WARS NATION are just naturally hyped up by what’s occurring on the screen, then that’s a pretty cool moment. That happened when I saw X2 in theaters. Nightcrawler teleported from a plane to midair and back and everyone lost their shit and started clapping. It was awesome.


Email of the week!


I just took the trash down to the curb. It’s 30 degrees out, and I didn’t wear a coat. I pretended I was an astronaut who had to go out for EVA without a suit. I rushed to get the trash to the curb before I froze to death, held my breath the whole time, and sprinted back uphill to minimize the time I was exposed to the vacuum and radiation. If NASA was watching, I wanted them to see I’ve got the Right Stuff. What do you reckon is the best fantasy when taking the trash out? And never mind municipal pick-up, it’s all on the table. If someone has to drive the trash to the county dump, do you think pretending it’s a body they have to get rid of is more fun than the astronaut thing?



Drew Magary is a Deadspin columnist and columnist for GEN magazine. You can buy Drew's second novel, The Hike, through here.

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