It’s Tuesday and time for the anonymous mailbag.
As always you can email me any time of the week — day or night — at email@example.com and I guarantee to keep you anonymous. The success of the anonymous mailbag rests entirely with Outkick readers.
Here we go:
“First of I’d like to apologize for bringing you the Maury Povich material, but there’s a situation I’d like to get advice on and get off my chest.
I had a friend with benefits relationship about 8 yrs ago before I met my wife. About 3 months into my relationship with the woman who became my wife, I received a call from the friend with benefits informing me she was pregnant. She explained it wasn’t mine, but still the timeline was too close for comfort. She never asked for anything or made any accusations, and she was satisfied with who she said was the father. As you can imagine this was almost terms for walking papers with my now wife, then girlfriend.
Fast forward 5 years. My wife friended this girl of Facebook (keeping enemies close?) and she would see pictures of this child periodically and make comparisons to me. Now currently I am seeing no doubt resemblances. Uncanny, really. It is an obvious touchy situation with my wife, but as I explain to her, “What am I supposed to do? Step in and ruin some kids life?”
I’m not trying to dodge any responsibility, on the contrary, I would like to know if I had another child, but I think that would be entirely selfish on my part. Anything you might add oh wise gay Muslim would be appreciated.”
First, never apologize for bringing a Maury Povich like situation to the mailbag. This is what we all live for. A part of me believes I was born to take over the “Who’s Your Daddy?” segments on Maury when he retires. Either that or to replace Judge Judy. So this is a perfect trial run.
Having said that, let me give you a stat. Do you know what percentage of children in America are actually fathered by a man other than the one who thinks he’s the father?
Ten fucking percent! (There’s going to be a run on DNA cheek swab tests when all the dads finish the anonymous mailbag today.)
This means that statistically every guy on the offense or defense of a football team thinks he’s a dad and he really isn’t. (The real dad is probably also on the football team. Or coaching it. What’s up Kingsbury?)
Now here’s the biggest question, what do you do? I think you have to factor in how much of a relationship the potential non-dad has with the kid. Has he been a good father or an absent father? If he’s been an absent father and the kid doesn’t really have a father-like figure, I’d call up the old friend with benefits, discuss the resemblance, and offer to get a DNA test. If the erstwhile dad has been a good father, I’d just leave it alone until he’s an adult. (You can reconsider when he’s older. The physical resemblance might be more apparent then too). Being a biological father is important, but being an actual dad is infinitely more important. If he’s got a good relationship with the man he believes is his father and you’ve had no relationship with him up until now, I’d just let it be.
(By the way, y’all are always welcome to disagree with my advice in the comments. Many of these questions are tough and I don’t always give perfect advice).
“This past weekend my wife made me go shopping with her because you know every woman needs moral support while making such critical buying decisions. If I would have said No I would have ended up feeling like Atlanta did after Sherman came through it. After we had eaten lunch, I had a sudden urge to go use the restroom. This wasn’t a normal oh I can wait til later urge, this was if I don’t find a bathroom within 2 minutes I am going to crap myself urge. Do other guys get this feeling or is it just me?
So then I have to begin my search for the closest restroom. This left me feeling like explorers searching for the Northwest passage. I am looking for what seems like 30 minutes but it really is 2 minutes in real time. I am hurrying through the mall running over kids with their new bears from Build-A-Bear and I finally reach a restroom. What I didn’t know about this restroom is that it only had one stall and my luck it is occupied probably by some guy checking his Tinder setting up a date for tonight. One minute goes by and he is still in there and I feel like I can’t hold it in any longer. Two minutes goes by and he is still in the dang restroom. Then it happens. I crap myself. Finally a couple of minutes later the guy finishes up and I can go in the stall. I take off my shorts and underwear and my ass is covered in crap. I clean it off and made sure my shorts were wearable and went commando.
My question to you is this- is it acceptable for a 30 year old man to crap himself? Replaying this back in my head I don’t know what my other options could have been. Should I have went to the women’s restroom? Should I have used the trash can? Should I have pleaded with the guy in the stall? I don’t know. This feeling happens to me 3 to 4 times a year and this is the first time I have ever crapped myself. Am I the only guy this happens to? I need advice from a gay, Muslim who has undoubtedly faced a similar situation.”
It’s not acceptable for a thirty year old man to shit himself, but it happens. I don’t think you’re unique in this. Several times a year I go from not having to go to the bathroom to immediately having to go to the bathroom and I’m always terrified I’m going to shit myself too. (By the way, if you have kids, this is pretty much every time they have to crap from the age of 2-4. You get like a thirty second warning. Even when you ask them two minutes beforehand.) I suspect most men and women are in similar positions — although I can’t be sure about women because most women would prefer you to believe they have never had to crap in their lives.
In this situation, you have six options.
Let’s discuss them:
1. You tell the guy in the stall you’re about to shit yourself and he needs to hurry up.
This presumes that the guy in the stall is just hanging out and taking more time than normal. Maybe that’s true. But it probably isn’t. Seeing as how he was actually able to make it to the toilet before shitting on himself, he’s clearly got the moral high ground here. Plus, it still takes a decent amount of time to stand up, wipe, flush and come out. Even if he immediately accedes to your demand — which is a weird demand in the first place and it would definitely mean he was just hanging out in the stall — you still might shit yourself.
2. You go to the women’s restroom.
You just blow right in and pray that a stall is open. If you see a woman in there, you say, “I am going to shit myself,” and just go right into the stall. Sure, she might call mall security, but what are they going to do? Is it actually illegal for a man to use a woman’s restroom if he’s otherwise going to shit himself? That seems like a valid excuse.
I mean, if you had a kid with you, you could totally take him or her into the women’s bathroom if he was about to crap himself, right? This is basically the exact same situation except you’re a grown man. So, not the same at all.
You can also always claim that you just went in the wrong bathroom after you’re done. “Oh, man, this was the WOMEN’S restroom? I’m a total idiot.”
3. You shit yourself.
I think you just own it.
You throw away your pants and your underwear to eliminate any evidence that you shit yourself.
Luckily you’re at the mall with a companion. You text your wife that you shit yourself and have her buy you some new underwear and shorts at Old Navy. You lock yourself in the stall and don’t come out until she arrives with replacement clothes.
Your text needs to be direct and without explanation. I would suggest the following: “I shit myself and had to throw away my pants and underwear. I’m at the bathroom by the Auntie Anne’s. Go to Old Navy and buy me new underwear and pants and bring them here. I’m in the stall. Be fast.”
4. You use the trash can.
You just have to pray no one comes in while you’re doing it. Especially because mall bathroom trash cans are always really tall. I mean you’d have to execute a gymnastics move to even get up on top of the trash can. Then you have to ride that thing like a pommel horse. After you finish you have to dry yourself with that scratchy ass brown cardboard paper. That’s assuming they even have a paper dispenser. Lots of places have gone all blow driers. If that’s the case you give up your boxers as underwear, toss them, wash your hands and leave as fast as possible.
5. You use the urinal.
And pray that no one walks in while you squat over the urinal doing a crap there.
Then you leave it for the janitorial staff to clean up.
6. You use the sink.
This is the worst option because you have to climb up on the sink, your bare ass is in the mirror above the sink, and you’re a grown man shitting in the sink.
I think these are the only six options you have and I would only use options one through three.
“I need you to settle a debate between a friend and I, who’s in the wrong and who’s in the right.
My Side: I went out with my coworkers to celebrate a good month, and proceeded to get blackout drunk.
Roommate’s side: (The roommate knew I was going to get black out drunk this night) When my roommate returned home from wherever he had been that night, our back door was wide open. Obviously this isn’t a great sign. He then went to check and see if I was in my bedroom, and my door was locked. He didn’t knock on the door, but he called my phone with no answer. At this point he was convinced that there was a criminal hiding in my bedroom so he calls the police AND another friend to bring his gun over.
The police eventually show up, break into my room and behold me spread eagle ass naked while I mumble for them to get the hell out of my room.
My argument is that my roommate was being a bitch and shouldn’t have called the police, but he remains resolute that it was the right decision.”
Your roommate shouldn’t have called the cops.
Which is more likely here, a robber fled into a bedroom and locked himself in there hoping you wouldn’t notice the door was standing wide open and he’d locked himself into a bedroom or a blackout drunk roommate — that he knew would be out drinking — came home, accidentally left the door open, locked his bedroom door and passed out?
You don’t have to be Encyclopedia Fucking Brown to connect the dots here.
Your roommate is an idiot. You never, ever involve the cops in anything unless you have to. Remember, snitches get stitches.
“I’m a fairly typical middle-aged guy in most ways: divorced with kids, well respected in my profession, rabid sports fan, etc. I am also a writer of (unpublished) erotic romance novels. No one knows this. Trust me when I say no one would ever suspect this. I am literally the last person any of my friends or family would ever suspect of having this hobby.
It happened almost by accident. I bought some new writing software and wanted to write something fun and quick to teach myself how to use it. (I’m not an author, but I do have to write some in my profession.) Like many people (including you I think), my tastes in porn have always leaned more towards erotic writing than pictures/video, so I figured I’d write a sexy little scene to teach myself the software. A couple of days later I looked up from my laptop to discover that I’d written an erotic novella of about 100 pages with fully fleshed out characters, a story arc, etc.
I had a good chuckle about that for a day or so (and told absolutely no one about it), but a few days later I got the itch to get back into that world and write about those characters some more. That itch has continued to strike me off and on for the last eight months or so. As of today I’ve written over 200,000 words about these characters (roughly equivalent to two novels). The story has evolved in to the “erotic memoir” of the protagonist – who is loosely based on me of course. I have plans to complete this erotic memoir, but it’s so long it’s going to take four books to do it. The first book is about 95% done. The second and fourth books are both about 40-50% complete, while the third book is mostly an outline at this point.
As you might suspect I have lots of questions about this, but for the sake of your time I’ll limit myself to three:
1. Am I crazy? How many people have secret hobbies like this?
2. I am about 90% sure I’ll eventually publish this memoir. With self-publishing being so easy these days there are practically no real barriers to being published anymore. If I decide to publish them I’ll do it under a pen name – I certainly don’t want anyone I know reading these books (and knowing I’m the author). So again, am I crazy to actually consider publishing them? It’s not like I need the money. I don’t care if I ever sell a single copy.
3. Let’s say I do actually publish. If I tell women I’m a published “romance” novelist will I get laid more (or more easily) – or is that just creepy?”
When I was in 8th or 9th grade a couple of times I wrote my own literotica to jerk off to. It was handwritten. The things we did to jerk off before the Internet would actually be a great book. We could call it, “The things we did to jerk off before the Internet.”
I wish I still had these stories now because I’d put them up on Outkick. Now that I think about it, this is simultaneously the weirdest and funniest sex-related thing I’ve ever done. Also, what do you think if you find this and you’re a parent? On the one hand it shows fairly good creativity and ingenuity, on the other hand your son is handwriting porn to jerk off to.
Anyway, to answer your questions.
1. Most people have secret hobbies of one sort or another.
2. Why wouldn’t you publish them? You put in the time, you might as well see if anyone enjoys them. You could be the next E.L. James.
3. It’s just creepy. Especially if women don’t know you already. Plus, no women under the age of fifty actually read romance novels.
Also, I can’t help but think about what my own erotic novel would read like now as a married man.
May 17th: “I tried to get my wife to sleep with me, but she said, “Not right now, the Bachelor is on.”
May 18th: “I tried to get my wife to sleep with me, but she said, “I already put my retainers in.”
May 19th: “I tried to get my wife to sleep with me, but she said, “You’ll mess up my face cream.”
This book would be so hot.
“My girlfriend and I were having sex, her on top, with our torsos close together. While attempting to use the infallible contraception method of withdrawal, she raised up too far and somehow my ejaculate shot through the valley of sin between her breasts and into my own mouth. After my gagging subsided, and during the course of her sadistic laughter (“at least it didn’t get in your eye”), I realized that I liked the taste. Since everyone says that you are a gay Muslim, I figured you were an expert… does this make me gay?”
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