Today, we’re talking about Chewbacca pooping, Trump, dinosaur fights, sneezing, and more.
I bought the scooter a few weeks ago to shorten my hellish commute. Yesterday, I was stopped at a crosswalk when a car waved for me to cross. I ‘floored’ the scooter, straight into a curb I hadn’t seen, and did a violent somersault over the handlebars, ending up flat on my back in the middle of the road. Somehow my old and decrepit 42-year-old body sustained no injuries, although my helmet got all scrapped up. I did not die (yet), but if I did die, I’m glad the headline would have been, ‘Man Dies From Unexplained Brain Embolism’ instead of ‘Man Dies In Scooter Accident Just Like His Wife Said Would Happen’. Could you rank for me the most embarrassing ways to die?
There’s no need to rank them because the No. 1 answer is to die while being caught masturbating. Sure, there are a lot of stupid, Darwin-award worthy ways to die. Every five seconds, someone in Florida dies because they challenged an alligator to a biting contest. I myself nearly drowned a couple years ago and it would have been entirely my fault. But it’s not really THAT embarrassing to die at your own hand. What is embarrassing is having your pants around your ankles and you dick in your hand, staring at a fucking MILF video buffering while you have a stroke.
It’s my greatest fear, and it has been since I was like 13. In my dreams, I am naked in public. I don’t know why I’m naked in public, and no one else in the dream does either! And then I’m like OH GOD I GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE! EVERYONE CAN SEE MY DICK! But then I don’t get out of there! I end up getting on like, a plane instead. While nude! Then I wake up and have to pee! It’s horrible. I don’t want to die nude and horny. I don’t think it’s a lot to ask. Every other potential death takes a backseat to it, even if said death involves you eating the curb while riding a fucking Lime scooter.
By the way, I went to Nashville a couple weeks ago and, like D.C. and San Fran, Nashville has been infected with scooter bros whizzing by on fucking Birds. The streets there are littered with souped-up Razors. And I really do mean “littered.” People who use Scooter sharing apps just leave them lying in the middle of the fucking sidewalk, like my five-year-old dropping a candy wrapper on the floor. They don’t even bother to stand them up. All these scooters are gonna make scooter babies and pretty soon the roads will be choked with enormous piles of orphaned scooters and we’ll need a bulldozer-sharing app just to get anywhere. I hate BIG SCOOTER. Someone regulate these two-wheeled dipshits! Walking ain’t that hard!
How many McDonald’s menu items could Trump name?
Well let’s see… he definitely knows the Big Mac, right? We all love the Big Mac, right folks? A lot of people say to me, “Are we gonna bring the Big Mac back?” because you never, ever heard Obama talk about the Big Mac. Well I’ve been talking about the Big Mac for YEARS, and I’m proud to report that it’s back. You look at that hamburger and it’s a really, really BIG hamburger folks, maybe the biggest mac there is.
And then there are the French fries. Let me ask you folks something: when did it become politically incorrect to eat French fries? I had a woman say to me, “Oh Mr. Trump, I used to love French fries, but then a bunch of liberal protesters saw me eating them and told me I was racist.” And that’s so wrong and incredibly disgusting, and I’m gonna hire a special prosecutor to look into that. We’re gonna be a nation that says “You want fries with that?” again, believe me.
Then there are the McNuggets. I had a guy come up to me the other day. Big, strong guy. This guy, he says to me, “Sir, I’ve never cried in my life. But the day you became President, I got a 20-piece McNugget on sale, and that never would have happened if Hillary had won.” And then he cries right in front of me. And this is a proud guy. Really huge. I mean he could probably be huge even down there, right folks? That’s nothing to cry about.
Who’d win in an average fight between a Triceratops and a T-Rex?
This is tough because a cursory Google search suggests that those two animals were similar in mass (with the T-Rex potentially topping out a bit heavier), but that the T-Rex was five to 10 feet taller than its dino counterpart. ME GRIMLOCK WIN TALE OF TAPE!
So then it’s a question of whether or not you think the low man wins. I could see the triceratops just ramming away at the T-Rex, cutting out its legs over and over again. And what’s the T-Rex gonna do about it? It’s got those little boy arms. All the T-Rex can do is bend down and pull a Marv Albert on the triceratops’ back. I’m not sure that’s enough.
However … it’s worth noting here that the triceratops was vegetarian. And, as well all know, vegetarians are SOFT. The triceratops may shy away from battle to go pick daisies, and that’s when the T-Rex can really take advantage. I say the T-Rex wins because CARNIVORES WANT IT MORE.
This may all end up being moot because we’re just a year or two away from scientists being like, “Actually, the triceratops didn’t exist,” or, “Actually, the T-Rex was more peacockian in nature.” Because science ruins everything, the bulk of our anthropological resources are now being used to make dinosaurs shitty. I’m sick of it. I don’t want the historical record corrected on dinosaurs. This planet only has a few years left and I’d rather that all the paleontologists of the world focus their energies on finding treasure, buried aliens, or MEGA dinosaurs. That’s it. If you’re digging around just so you can pull a Neil DeGrasse Tyson and smarm the good dinosaurs out of existence, you haven’t helped anyone at all. “This discovery about pterodactyls actually being a type of housefly could be a MAJOR discovery!” Bullshit. All bullshit. Find Xenu’s bones or get out.
The other day I was interrupted right before sneezing and didn’t sneeze and now I have, like, this mental block where I can’t sneeze. It’s been 4 days since my last sneeze. Sometimes I feel like I have to and nothing comes of it. Is this how I die? Humans NEED to sneeze right? I’m fucked, aren’t I?
I think you’re fine. If you’re freaking out over not sneezing, just go ahead and pluck a nose hair. I do this from time to time—because I’m a psychopath, you see—and the resulting sneeze shows up on local seismometers. I think you’ll be pleased with the result. I can also personally induce sneezing by eating anchovies (whuh?) and very dark chocolate. You should see my sleeve after the latter occurs. It looks like I just won a dirt bike rally.
But no, you do not NEED to sneeze in order to live. It’s not a vital function. Hell, I’d pay to never sneeze. When I sneeze, it sounds like a bilge pump factory exploded. Heads turn. It’s awful. Never sneezing is a far better fate than the opposite scenario. Take this girl in Texas who sneezed 12,000 times a day. You want fear? Fear THAT. That poor girl has no mucus lining left in her system and sounds like a fucking car alarm all day and night. I fear endless sneezing fits and endless hiccup fits in equal measure, and so should you.
By the way, kudos to Justin for this sentence: “It’s been 4 days since my last sneeze.” You sound like a reformed sneezing addict. “Sneezing cost me my marriage.”
Did you know Patrick Mahomes puts ketchup on his steaks?
Yeah yeah, I heard all about that. I don’t give a shit. I swear to you on my life that I don’t care. My enjoyment of Patrick Mahomes’s football skills last night were not wholly dependent on whether or not he has good foodie habits. If my man wants to ketchup his steak, let him ketchup his fucking steak. I don’t get mad at a Pete Wells restaurant review because he’s got a shitty jump shot!
Besides, I can guarantee you that there are athletes out there with much much much worse food habits than Patrick Mahomes (as I recently discovered, ketchup on a steak isn’t an optimal way to enjoy steak but that doesn’t mean it tastes BAD). Allen Iverson lived on nothing but beer and Skittles for decades. It’s fine. It did not detract from the joy I got watching him, certainly not as much as other factors might have.
I am guilty, along with the rest of the internet, of impugning people’s greater character because of a food opinion they hold. That’s a fair thing to do if you’re talking about an actual food writer, or the President. I don’t like people whose limited food tastes almost certainly hint at a greater lack of curiosity. And I can make fun of Tom Brady turning his nose up at strawberries because it gets at what a prissy weirdo he is. But if I judged everyone on whether or not they had one bad food take, I’d only like roughly six people. There’s only so much I can control in this world, and the way in which Patrick Mahomes enjoys a ribeye is not one of them. I don’t need him to be a flawless sophisticate. I just need him to keep cranking the fucking deep balls.
How does Chewbacca shit? I don’t think he craps like a dog. My guess is he uses the toilet on the Millennium Falcon or whatever, but wiping must be a nightmare with all that fur. And you have to imagine Han Solo has to cut dingleberries out of Chewie’s matted ass pelt at least a couple times a week, right?
Nah, I don’t think they have that kind of relationship. Chewie isn’t Han’s pet. Han doesn’t take Chewie to the groomer to get his anal glands expressed twice a month. If Chewie has dingleberries, that’s his problem. Han isn’t the type to go lovingly comb them out.
I assume there’s an entire EU novel series out there dedicated to Wookiees and their sanitary habits, but I’m not gonna consult any of those books because I want to enjoy being alive. I think Chewie shits on the toilet, and then gets up and leaves. That’s it. I don’t think he bothers to wipe because his paws would pick up too much stray poop, and because he doesn’t care about smelling. He’s a giant sasquatch. Sasquatches don’t get huffy about air quality. Maybe Han tried a few times to get Chewie to do a little rinse after going, like using a space bidet. But I assume those requests fell on deaf ears.
Moving the Chiefs/Rams game to LA because of field conditions was just a ploy to get Mexico City to build a new taxpayer-funded stadium, right?
No, I think it was genuinely because the field sucked. Did you see those photos? That field looked like it had just hosted a dinosaur fight. I don’t think Roger Goodell was exactly thrilled at the prospect of having to refund tickets and rearrange months of event planning at the last second just to make sure no one tore a kidney out on that field. That probably vexed him greatly. As much as I enjoy reading and circulating Goodell-related conspiracy theories, I really do think this was a simple case of the league having to move in haste because they were too fucking stupid to notice that the stadium had longstanding turf issues. The fact that actual Rams fans showed up last night is a happy accident.
Regardless, Mexico isn’t getting a team. In fact, it’s telling that the NFL constantly uses London as a stadium bargaining chip when Mexico City is much closer and has a very large, built-in fanbase for NFL football (the Cowboys, in particular). And yet, the NFL almost never talks about formally expanding south of the border. I wonder why that might be…
“You have two NFL franchises in an area that I don’t know how stable the geological plates that were below us [were], but nothing happened, so that was good.”
You see, London is wealthy and sophisticated and worthy of being duped into giving the NFL an obscenely favorable land deal, whereas Mexico is a land of altar sacrifices and strange tremors and smoke demons and terrifying POVERTY GRASS. You can’t seriously expect the NFL to take such a place seriously.
Dinner or Supper?
Dinner! What am I, a Puritan? Do you see me wearing a bonnet and finding witches to burn? In this house, we eat dinner. Supper is for people who still use napkin rings.
In all seriousness, my mom used to use the word “supper,” but only for big event meals and/or when she was serious about us needing to come to the table. Calling it supper was the nagging equivalent of calling you by your full name. JETHRO CLEATUS FELTERSNATCH, YOU COME DOWN FOR SUPPER THIS INSTANT YOUNG MAN!
How long should a sports station be able to flash the “Breaking News” graphic on their bottom line after said news has happened? Alex Smith broke his leg during the 12:00 games yesterday and they were still calling it “Breaking News” through the end of the afternoon games, without updated information. Would the duration differ for a normal news station?
I’m already on record as saying that they should just ditch the ticker altogether. There’s no need for a ticker when you have one in your pocket already. The whole world knew about Smith’s injury before he even got carted away. Twitter absolutely obliterates television when it comes to breaking news, which makes it all the more glaring when ESPN is like BREAKING: ALEX SMITH’S LEG SNAPPED IN HALF AND USED AS DRY TINDER at 10 a.m. the next morning. Who is this for? If I’m watching ESPN, there’s a good chance that I already enjoy paying attention to sports, in which case I don’t need ESPN to feed me old-ass news for 36 straight hours.
I’m of the mind that BREAKING should only be used for something so new that it just happened … something so new that no full article about it has been filed yet. And it has to be earth-shattering news, like the following:
- Sudden death of someone important
- Nuclear attack
- Alien nuclear attack
- Pee tape
- Jesus back
- Really big NBA locker room fight
That’s it. That’s the list, and you only get two hours to flash that across the screen before it gets relegated to being its own ALIENS tab in the crawl. But you and I know that ESPN and general news networks will never ever stop abusing the BREAKING chyron because it works. The second I see that word, my Pavlovian response sets in and I prick up my ears only to be let down with some shit like, “Former CIA director says President Trump a bad role model.” It’s the worst.
I recently found out my wife is having an affair (YAY!), but they have ended things and now we’re both just a couple of blubbering idiots. I’m obviously not happy, and she’s moving in with her parents, but we have agreed to wait before running off to the lawyer’s office. We have two kids, a great house, make good money between the two of us… am I crazy for considering putting this behind us and trying again?
No, I don’t think you’re crazy. You don’t want to break up your family and reboot your entire life. I’d say that’s a fairly natural response, even in the wake of such a terrible act of betrayal. My wife could go on a seven-state killing spree and I’d be like, “Well that’s completely evil and unacceptable … but do I really want to move?” Then I would be like, “Well now, if you wanna stay together, I get to go on a killing spree too. It’s only fair, missy!”
Couples reconcile all the time … sometimes out of love, sometimes out of convenience, sometimes because Melania will be ass-deep in legal bills if she ever leaves the President. If you sincerely believe that your wife will make an effort to build trust back up, repair the marriage and save your family, then I get why you’d consider staying together. The odds aren’t great, and you’re gonna need counseling because there are probably a lot of issues apart from the infidelity that you need to address. You may end up feeling like a sucker again. But I dunno, I’d rather risk being a sucker than let pride dictate every single thing I do. Too many guys these days base major life decisions over whether or not Reddit will call them a cuck. Also, I never want to see the inside of a lawyer’s office, ever. No thank you.
Why the hell are so many restaurants trying to upscale standard bar/casual dining fare? If I want to watch a game and get a bite I have to choose between a roach-infested health code abomination by the highway, or paying an extra $5 for my burger because it has the word “aioli” in it and fucking “frites” next to it. Is this the world we’re leaving for our kids?
All I know is: do NOT order the fish tacos. Every fucking bar in the world now has fish tacos on the menu, and they’re ALL terrible. For five seconds I’m like, “Ooooh! Fish tacos!” before remembering that I’m in Iowa City. Every bar reacts with warp speed to the bastardization of some local food trend gone global, and fish tacos may be the worst offender. Stay the fuck away from that mahi-mahi, man. Don’t be like me and get suckered into spending $15 on a fish stick and sliced radish wrap. You’ll regret it for days.
Whenever you look at a fancied up bar menu, be sure to do your homework and ask yourself, “Can this place pull this kind of dish off?” Most of the time, the answer is no. Most of the time, you should order a burger and walk away with your limited winnings. Don’t gamble on a Gordon Biersch paella. You will lose everything.
Just got splash back on my dick and balls from a port-a-john. So horrible. Feel like I’ll never be clean again. Gonna barf.
You’ll be fine. Just take a shower and have a drink. It’ll go away. It all goes away eventually. One time I had to barehand a dog turd. I got over it, and so will you.
Pooing or pooping, who ya got?
As someone who appreciates the full spectrum of softcore scatological profanities, I use both terms. But I definitely use poop more. It’s more satisfying to say POOP. When you say “poo,” it just kinda lingers there on your tongue, like a fecal chunk that hasn’t dropped into the bowl yet. So gross. Poop is closer to the sound a good, satisfying poop makes, so that’s why I use it.
How many states should the average American visit over the course of their life?
I would say all of them but let’s be honest: more than a few are optional. Let’s run down the list real quick and make snap judgments based on pure ignorance:
- Alabama – Yes. Looks very pretty.
- Alaska – Yes. Very big, lots of wilderness.
- Arizona – Yes. Grand Canyon.
- Arkansas – Optional. Apparently Fayetteville is cool, but it’s not like I’ll be on my deathbed, lamenting never going to fucking Arkansas.
- California – Yes.
- Colorado – Yes.
- Connecticut – Yes, because pizza.
- Delaware – Yes, because the beaches are nice.
- Florida – Yes.
- Georgia – Ugh. Yes? I think the deep South is beautiful, but I don’t know if I need to see ALL of it.
- Hawaii – No question.
- Idaho – Yes.
- Illinois – Yes because Chicago rules.
- Indiana – Nope. Throughly optional.
- Iowa – Same.
- Kansas – Also optional. Good run here!
- Kentucky – Not optional. I genuinely wish to see Kentucky, and not just because I want to get drunk and pass out under the Derby bleachers.
- Louisiana – Not optional.
- Maine – Yes, but make sure you visit during the five nice days of weather they get per annum.
- Maryland – Yes because Annapolis.
- Massachusetts – Ugh, yes.
- Michigan – Yes.
- Minnesota – Yes, but I’m biased.
- Mississippi – Yes. Who says no to blues AND racism? Not me.
- Missouri – No. Come on. It’s Missouri. It sucks.
- Montana – HELL YES. Go right now. It’s like living inside Sam Elliott’s voice.
- Nebraska – No.
- Nevada – Yes, because Vegas.
- New Hampshire – I like New Hampshire just fine, but you can probably stick to just Vermont and not really miss anything.
- New Jersey – Let’s say no just to be dickish.
- New Mexico – Yes. I’m told there’s art.
- New York – Yes.
- North Carolina – Yes. Asheville is one of those places where you’re like, “Hey, I could live here!” even though you definitely never will.
- North Dakota – Nope.
- Ohio – No. Someone asked me why I always goof on Ohio, and I feel like its inherent Ohio-ness is the only justification I require. It’s Ohio. It’s a bowl of stale pretzels someone left in the center of the nation.
- Oklahoma – LOL no. I know OKC has become an officially interesting city, but that’s not enough.
- Oregon – Yes.
- Pennsylvania – Yes.
- Rhode Island – Not really. Newport is pretty if you like assholes with sailboats.
- South Carolina – I’m gonna say yes even though the interior of South Carolina is a fucking wasteland. If you enjoy driving on highways made of old sidewalk rubble, this is the state for you.
- South Dakota – Yes because of Mt. Rushmore.
- Tennessee – Yes.
- Texas – 1000 percent yes.
- Utah – Yes. Utah and Kentucky are neck and neck on my “I have an unreasonable urge to witness this state in person” list.
- Vermont – Yes.
- Virginia – I guess so. The Griffon at Busch Gardens is a bitchin’ coaster.
- Washington – Yep.
- West Virginia – Yeah! I’ve been to West Fuckin’ Virginia, but only Harpers Ferry, which doesn’t count. I wanna go deeper into the country, do some moonshinin’.
- Wisconsin – They give you beer at toll booths in this state, so yes.
- Wyoming – Yes.
Okay, let’s tally them up. I listed a dozen states as optional, so that leave 38 states that the average American should try to set foot in at least once. That seems like a fair number, maybe even a bit too ambitious. Turns out that I have personally been to 38 states (fancy how the math worked out exactly parallel to my personal history), and I can tell you that I’m deeply proud to have gotten drunk and masturbated in all of them. No regrets. SEE THE WORLD, EVERYONE!
Email of the week!
About a month ago the company I work for hired a new receptionist. First time I met her, I did the standard chitchat and quickly realized that this girl looked very familiar. I then went back to my office and looked her name up on Facebook to realize that yes she looked familiar because we went to high school together. I’ve been out of high school for 13 years and because of this don’t have much of a memory of her, but something tells me I should remember something or at least mention, “Hey I think we went to high school together”. Since I first said hi to her, we have exchanged hellos and goodbyes dozens of times. It is getting to the point now where I don’t know if I should never say anything to her, or admit that yes I realized we did go to high school together but was too awkward to say something for a month. How do I play this?
The latter. Tell her you thought she went to high school with you but you were too shy to say anything, and then she’ll say OMG ME TOO! And then you’ll end up married two years later. It’s so obvious. DUH.