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Do Not Masturbate While Seated

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Massive group-text debate going on right now. When it’s time to masturbate, are you a Stander or Sitter?

We’ve vigorously covered this debate from the wiping angle, where it remains both fascinating and utterly baffling to all parties involved. It’s a little bit different when it comes to pleasuring yourself, because I imagine the average guy mixes it up based on circumstances. Are you in bed, alone, just waking up or about to go to sleep? Well, then, you’re probably taking care of business right there, in supreme comfort. Are you in the bathroom at a family gathering or just lollygagging in the shower? Well, then, you’re standing up and getting your shit done in a hurry. Are you surfing the web for ribald content? Well then, you’re in a chair, doing AWFUL things to that chair. For real: ever since the advent of the internet, all office chairs are now as suspect as hotel bedspreads. I fear them.

Anyway, with that in mind, here is how I would prioritize the positions available to you, the home onanist:

1. Lying down. Again, very comfortable. It’s also easier on your back and leg muscles and whatnot. If you broke it down across all men through history, I think lying down would claim the No. 1 spot for most common position.

2. Standing. Some people aren’t very good at this, and that’s because they are not professionals. If you live in a crowded house, it behooves you to get your standing technique down so that you are a more versatile, freewheeling pervert. Also, cleanup is a snap. You just go over the toilet (SEXY), and the TP is right there. No need to set out lotions and tissues and scented candles on your nightstand. You can be in and out of there faster than at the Wendy’s drive-thru. I am all about efficiency these days.

3. Sitting. Do not do this. Sitting is already murder on your back and neck, and that’s without all the jerking and spasming that comes with getting yourself off. Even if you lean back, it’s still hard (hehehe) on your body. A whole generation of millennials are gonna grow up with hunched backs and triple scoliosis because they could never pull themselves away from Redtube and adjourn to the boudoir. Besides, if you’re a large person, sitting only congests that whole area, what with your gut and your flabby inner thighs choking your poor genitals. Don’t do that to your little man. Give him some breathing room. You’ll also avoid having to have your upholstery steam cleaned.



I’m at a friend’s house right now droppin’ a turd and realized they have very little toilet paper left on the roll. I’ve also checked under the sink and they’re out. What’s my plan here?


Use the little amount you have there and hope for a clean drop back there. If that’s not enough, check for tissues and/or those disposal hand towels that look like napkins but are NOT napkins, even though they should be napkins. If you still need paper after that, you have a few choices:

1. Live with swamp-ass until you get home.

2. Wipe with the roll. OH GOD SO AWFUL.

3. Get up, buckle up, walk out, and discreetly go rummaging in any nearby linen closet for extra TP.


4. Text your friend for more.

If it were a really good friend of mine, I think I’d send the text. I don’t even care if he gave me shit for it. It would be worth the relief, and he deserves to feel guilty for not setting out more Charmin before I come over for the Super Bowl.



Do teenagers even watch TV today? I have no idea.

I think they do, sure. I think they’re just like adults in that they dabble now. You check your phone for a bit, then you watch half a movie, then you check your phone AGAIN, then you play some xBox on the big screen, then you wind down with a little tablet action before bed. You’re watching TV, but it’s just one of many screens that you toggle between, to busy yourself before dying alone in an unmarked grave.


I spend more time on my computer or phone now than I do watching TV. And that means that I have come to regard watching TV as a kind of serious academic pursuit, like reading a novel. I’m like, “Time to put my phone away and watch a full hour of QUALITY television,” as if I’m engaging in some kind of vigorous exercise for my brain, when the reality is that I’m being just as slovenly as I was earlier. Sitting there watching Narcos doesn’t RESTORE any of the brain cells lost. I guarantee you my kids will go to college and get assigned to watch The Godfather for a class, and they will treat it like they just got hit with 300 pages of Tolstoy to read in one night.


When I first met my wife, she had really short hair (pretty much a pixie cut). She’s grown it out since then, and I think it looks way better now, but recently she’s been saying that she’d like to go back to having short hair. I recognize that it’s her hair and she can do whatever the hell she wants with it, so I’m a bit unsure as to how I should proceed. Do I let her know my opinion, or do I just shut up and go along with whatever she’s saying?


You can tell her you like it long. Lots of moms get their hair cut short because kids will grab it, and because managing your long hair is yet one more goddamn task to do during the day. But you’re free to say to her, “I know you wanna get the pixie cut, but you look great with it long, and I just wanted to note that.”

And then she’ll ignore you and get it cut anyway. That’s how it works. Every day, my wife asks me my opinion on something, and then I offer it, and then she blithely rejects it. If I endorse an idea, that is PROOF that the idea is unsound. I don’t even blink anymore when my opinions are left on the cutting-room floor. It’s back to drinking and fisting the popcorn bowl for me!



My neighborhood, a quiet suburb, has no sidewalks. When I walk my dog, we walk along the edge of the street, and my dog walks on the grass, usually a few feet up on peoples’ lawns, like almost everyone else in our neighborhood. The other day, a guy came out his door and shouted at my wife and I to keep our dog off his lawn. I laughed at first, thinking he was joking around. Turned out he was serious, and he was pissed for no reason I can figure out. We are conscientious dog-walkers: we always pick up poops and keep our dog controlled on the leash. I am leaning towards ignoring him, because he was such an asshole about it. Does that make me the dick, or is he the dick?


He’s the dick. What are you supposed to do, hit the dog with a cattle prod if it strays from between the lines? If you’ve got the dog on a leash, and make a reasonable effort to keep it moving along, and you pick up after it when it shits, then fuck that guy. I bet that part of the lawn isn’t even his! Like, if it’s the space of grass between the sidewalk and the curb, that might be county POPPITY! I would have the dog pee on his newspaper.

By the way, my guess is that your neighbor is ornery because some other, shittier dog-owner violated protocol and let their dog run around on his yard without a leash or something. Once something like that happens, the unspoken pact between dog-lovers and dog-non-lovers is broken, and good dog-owners like you are caught in the shouty aftermath. I have no stats to back this up, but 90 percent of all murders are the result of dog-related misunderstandings.



One of the things I can’t stand about Notre Dame is how many “RIVALRY GAMES” they have. They legitimately consider USC, Stanford, Michigan, and Navy all as RIVALS. The same goes for certain teams in the SEC. And in the NFL, not every team in your goddamn division can be your rival! The NFC East is full of that shit. Teams have too many rivals. What is the exact number of rivals a team is allowed to have? I declare you get two, and you will like it.


I’m even more strict. You get one rival. That’s it. How can you have a sworn enemy if you have to devote time and resources to hating ANOTHER sworn enemy? That’s bullshit. Notre Dame thinks it can get away with having multiple rivals because they think every fucking game they play is a world-stopping event, and that every other team considers it an honor and privilege to take the field against the spiritual fifth-best team in the Big 10. God, I hate them. Notre Dame’s only true rival is thunderstorm safety protocol.


Of course, the reason that every college team touts a second-tier rivalry game, or that an NFL team plays up every division matchup, is so that every game has a selling point. If your annual rivalry game sells out, then why not have EIGHT of them, each one separately branded and sold like a WWE pay-per-view? They’ve commoditized and cheapened the idea. It used to be about the HATE, man. If every other team is the Antichrist, then no team is! How will my children learn to properly get drunk and hurl bags of wet feces at the Packers and ONLY the Packers, as I have instructed? Really makes me worry about the future of this country.


I’m a bald 28-year-old man. My house tends to be on the colder side of things, so sometimes I prefer to wear a nightcap to keep my head warm when I sleep. I’m not talking about an Ebenezer Scrooge hat, but a tasteful Under Armour product. My girlfriend HATES it, and is telling me she won’t sleep with me when I wear my hat. She obviously has a full head of hair and doesn’t understand my dilemma. What gives?


You SHOULD rock the Scrooge hat! How sweet would that be? You could help spur a revival of the nightcap—selling artisanal, hand-woven nightcaps at a special nightcap emporium. The New York Times would profile the SHIT out of you. “In Brooklyn, Ma In Her Kerchief And You In Your Cap.” Then you could make a million dollars, and your girlfriend would see the error of her take.

In all seriousness, you should wear a nightcap to bed if that’s what makes you comfortable. The only drawbacks would be irritating your scalp and/or losing whatever precious hair you have left. But I assume you’ve factored that in. I think you should tell your girlfriend that the cap helps you sleep, and that it will save you on your heating bills, and then ask her to pick out a new one that she can live with. And then ignore her and buy the Ravens one. OH HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED.



Would it be the best or worst thing in the world if you alone possessed the power of a Forever Fart?? For example, you’re in a co-worker’s office whom you hate, and you drop a Forever Fart, and the stink will stay there forever. You’d have to obviously be very careful about when and where you drop ass. Could you wield this power??


What? No. Hell no. I don’t want that power. It would come back to bite me in the ass. It’s the same principle behind never burning bridges. What happens if I’m at a restaurant, and the service is bad, and I drop a Forever Fart to register my lasting displeasure, and then the restaurant closes, and the hottest new joint in town springs up in that same space? Now I can’t go! I’ve played myself. Even if there’s no chance I return to that spot—even if it’s a fucking hotel room in Iceland where I’ve dropped a permanent stink bomb—forget it. Karma will bring me back there somehow. Or my mom will end up in that room. “Oh, Drew, I was in this lovely hotel, but then the oddest thing happened!”



I was thinking this morning, after rooting around the bathroom and not being able to find the styling shit I put in my hair, that I haven’t combed my hair or owned a comb since probably 1995. I normally just use my fingers and hands to get the disappointing hair vibe I rock on most days. I feel like most (more than half of) men today probably don’t actually own a comb. Do you think that assessment misses the mark, and most men actually do comb their hair?


No. You’re right. Combs are stupid and useless. This is why everyone ripped on Vern for bringing one along in Stand by Me. Only a barber needs to own a comb. Unless you’re a ’50s hoodlum who has to whip out a switchblade comb and run it through your hair before having a dance fight with the Sharks, I would put your comb in the trash. Combs are too weak to stand up to a full head of hair, and often end up snagging and pulling your hair when you use them. Fuck that. A hairbrush is much more gentle. Sometimes I like to press the tines into my scalp for a pleasant massage. OOOOH BRUSH, YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME FEEL GOOD.


Do you think Tom Cruise knows what a Whopper is, and does he know who sells them? I say yes, he absolutely knows what a Whopper is. He might be a weirdo and isolated from the world the rest of us live in, but he still knows. He has to. My friend says he doesn’t think Tom ever watches TV, so he wouldn’t see any commercials. Thoughts?


Yeah, he knows what a Whopper is. The Whopper is older than Tom Cruise! It’s not like 8-year-old Tom Cruise was shunning the TV to go jump out of airplanes and audition new wives and con people into buying e-meters. He was exposed to the outside world long before turning into a big toothy weirdo. He’s come into contact with Whopper-related promotional materials.

By the way, and this is true, I’ve never had a Whopper. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a Big Mac either. My old go-to McDonald’s order was two plain burgers, fries, and a strawberry shake (for dipping the fries!). Due to my fierce hatred of mayo, I avoided the shit out of any burger that was specially sauced. So there you go. One day Gawker will force me to eat a stupid Whopper on Facebook Live, and I’ll have to go to Five Guys to wash the taste of it out of my mouth. Now that there are viable alternatives, there’s no reason for anyone on Earth to ever eat a burger from McDonald’s or Burger King ever again.



Has a set of twins ever played for the Minnesota Twins?

Not yet! But given the explosion in fertility drugs, it’s only a matter of time before the Johannsen quintuplets get a minor league deal.


By the way, according to this site, only nine sets of identical twins have ever played major league baseball, and only three of those sets have played for the same team, including the Canseco twins! I have nothing insightful to add to that. I just think baseball would be a richer spectacle if it had more ’roid-addled twin brothers speeding around in Ferraris and white leisure suits.


My Uber account is broken, and all my rides are free. It’s been going on for about a month now. Basically, it looks like I have an endless amount of credit. I’ll take the ride, and instead of my receipt saying that my card was charged $13.21, it says that my card was charged $0.00 and I used $13.21 of credit. I checked my bank account, and sure enough, no charge. At first, I shrugged it off as a fluke. The third time it happened, I decided to put it to the test, and started taking Uber everywhere. I have now taken somewhere on the order of $150.00 of free rides. I’m kind of hitting a wall with what to do here. Even now, I’m sitting in my office and faced with the choice: do I take the bus home (90 minutes) or take a FREE FUCKING UBER?! What do you think, and have you ever heard of this happening to anyone else?


You gotta tell them. It sucks, and you’ll feel like a complete goody-goody for turning in the “Bank Error In Your Favor!” Monopoly card. But you have to get it fixed, because a) Uber will notice at some point, and then they’ll send hired goons to slice off your kneecaps, and b) they’ll fuck the drivers out of that money. Every time you think you’re sticking it to BIG TECH by scoring free rides, they recoup the loss by hanging their employees upside-down and shaking the loose change out. So don’t think of this as some kind of ethical scolding. This is just me telling you to get out while you were able to get away with a few joyrides. Because at some point, they’ll get you, and they will FUCK you. They’ll take your gas, your grass, AND your ass.


My fiancé puts mayonnaise on her hot dogs. How should I handle this situation?

Just mayo? Is she British? That sounds like a Brit move.

One of the more disturbing recent foodie trends is hot dogs gussied up with mayo shit. The Kogi truck in L.A. sells Kogi dogs SLATHERED in mayo-based sauce. And the Wylie Dog at PDT in New York comes with “a baton of deep-fried mayo,” which is fucking revolting.


I know people can be unreasonable hot dog purists, because this is the internet, and people fight about the absolute dumbest shit. But whether you’re some asshole from Chicago who will gun people down for putting ketchup on a dog, or you’re loyal to Detroit Coneys, or you have some other annoying rule about goddamn hot dogs, I think we can all agree that this trend of putting mayo on hot dogs should be taken out back and shot. Is no dish safe? They’re gonna start putting it on ice cream sundaes if we’re not vigilant.


Today at work, I noticed my shoe was untied as I was taking a leak at the urinal. A public bathroom has to be in the top three worst places to have an untied shoelace, right? I had to tie my shoe with a potentially urine-soaked shoelace.


Yep. And when it happens in a public bathroom, it’s always one that has the worst drainage situation possible. Nothing worse than walking into a gas station shitter that is FLOODED with urine, and then realizing your goddamn shoe is untied. Then you tie it up quick and secure the knot, and watch in horror as the soaking pee-pee wrings out of the center. Just a bad scene all around.

I can’t think of any worse place to discover an untied, dirty-ass shoelace. Maybe Coachella. That’s about it.



So I’m a lifelong Patriots fan, and was recently gifted a couple of pieces of signed Von Miller paraphernalia. I can’t just mount that shit on my wall without having vivid flashbacks of Tom being repeatedly near-murdered by #58, but this stuff is also incredibly cool, and I respect the hell out of Von Miller, so it definitely deserves some fair treatment and a spot somewhere, right? So what is the proper way to honor signed gear from a rival team?


You need more memorabilia. That way, you can sneak in the Von Miller stuff with it, without it being conspicuous, and without your best bro Bug-O walking into your house and being like THE FACK IS WITH THE MILLAH CRAP?!

So here’s what you do: find an area to dedicate to all your sports crap. Whether it’s a shrine or a little table of tchotchkes or a full-fledged BROHOLE, make that your little sports area, and then decorate it with posters and pennants and the helmet sundae dish you saved from a game four years ago. And then put the Miller crap in there with it. The local team merch will dominate, but there will also be shit there that lets visitors know you are a FULL SPORTS MAN. And then put a kegerator next to it. Presto! You’re keeping the signed Von Miller Care Bear, but you’re also keeping it real.



Hypothetical situation: there’s a knock on your door, and it’s the Secret Service, demanding that you allow the president to use your bathroom. How do you respond?


Fuck yeah! COME ON IN. I would ask the Secret Service to give me just a moment to make the place look respectable for the POTUS, and then I would sneak into the bathroom and unlatch the chain from the flush in the tank. Then the President would take a dump in my house, but wouldn’t be able to flush the toilet. THAT POOP IS MINE. Once he leaves in a hurry, I would fish the poop out and put it right on my sports wall. Then I would post a photo of the poop to Twitter. “Such small turds for such a big important man! SAD!”


Say you had a million people in a room (a very big room, but a room for our purposes). Men, women, young, old, from every region of the country. If you asked every person to name their favorite band, how many would you have to ask before somebody said “The Fabulous Thunderbirds”? I feel it pretty confident you could run right through the whole million without having one.


I was gonna challenge you by noting that you might hit on a member of that band, or the relative of a member of that band. But then I checked Wikipedia and found this remarkable chart detailing the history of the band’s membership:


Look how many band members ol’ Kim Wilson has plowed through. THEY WEREN’T TUFF ENUFF! I bet if you asked Jimmie Vaughan, he would put the Thunderbirds LAST on his favorite band list. So, with that in mind, I agree with you. Unless Kim Wilson himself is in your million, no one is answering “the Fabulous Thunderbirds,” no matter how many tasty licks they’ve bestowed upon this great nation of ours.

Email of the week!


A few of my coworkers and I got together for an impromptu happy hour gathering on a recent Friday after work. Though the happy hour started with moderate drinking, it quickly devolved into shots and a reasonable amount of drunkenness. At one point, one coworker, who was very intoxicated, asked me and a few other coworkers if we wanted to see a picture of the girl he had sex with last weekend. Before any of us could answer, he then followed up with an offer to show us a video of him having sex with said girl, with the promise that “he’d find a video where we could barely see his dick.” When we declined, he then instead began to show us his collection of personal videos and pictures, many of which were incredibly personal and graphic, which included but were not limited to: him receiving a blowjob, and a video of a naked woman twerking.

Given that this was a non-work situation, the other coworkers and I have thought it would be better to keep it to ourselves in the office. However, I don’t know how to deal with the issue of my coworker. Do I go about pretending this never happened, or do I find some way to silently acknowledge it so we never have to have a conversation about his desire to share his own personal sex collection?


Just stay the fuck away from that guy. He’ll make a skin rug out of you.

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About the author

Drew Magary

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