Anonymous Mailbag

It’s Tuesday, time for the anonymous mailbag. 

As always you can email clay.travis@gmail.com and I guarantee your anonymity. 

Here we go:

“Say you’re a girl and you work at a nice office in a relatively nice area and you have a really bad day. Specifically you had to take a dump but before you could to the bathroom poop just starts dropping on the floor (the assumption is a skirt was involved). By the time you get to the bathroom you’ve left a trail of shit in the middle of the hallway. How do you respond? Isn’t your only choice at that point to quit your job? Do you have to move cities? Do you have to say goodbye to your family and just develop an entirely new identity? Or do you just wipe your ass and go back to work like nothing ever happened? But it did happen. (Video of the poo hallway explosion leading to the women’s bathroom was attached. I can verify that there was abundant feces in the hallway leading to the women’s restroom).”

This is every woman’s worst nightmare isn’t it?

Women are all afraid of public poos. Hell, lots of women won’t even go the bathroom when they first start dating a guy. So I can’t even imagine the feeling when you shit yourself at work and leave a trail of shit all the way from your office to the bathroom.

But let’s put ourself in the pooers situation.

First, the totally rockstar play here for the girl would have been just saying, “Ah, fuck it,” and going to the men’s bathroom. Sure, someone might see you coming in, but if they don’t then you rush to the stall, finish your business, dispose of your underwear, wait until the coast is clear and then leave the men’s bathroom. Voila, you’ve made everyone think it was a dude who was responsible by ending the poo trail at the men’s bathroom. 

But that’s a risky play. Because you could get caught pooing all over yourself and trying to use the opposite sex bathroom, in which case you’re not just a pooer, you’re potentially crazy too. (I’m also assuming this poo attack happened so quickly that you couldn’t make a run for a different floor to throw everybody off the scent. Literally. That would have also been a great move.) 

So let’s assume our pooer isn’t a risk taker and goes to the women’s restroom on her own floor. First, you hope that no one opens the door just before you enter and sees you with a trail of poo — which reminds me, if this is a nice office there has to be video of this, right?! Can you imagine that video? If someone sees you entering, you’re done for. Everyone in the entire building will know this story within two hours.  

Assuming no one sees you, you have to finish the poo. While you’re sitting there finishing the poo you are thinking over and over again, “I can’t believe I just shit myself through the entire hallway at work. I can’t believe I just shit myself…”

Your underwear is clearly done for — if you even had any on to begin with. (This is the least sexy girl not wearing underwear with her skirt story ever). What you’re looking for now is plausible deniability, that is giving you enough cover that someone else might be blamed or suspected for your transgression.

At this point I think you have four options:

1. Pretend you know nothing about the shit in the hallway.

Return to your office and resume your ordinary work day. (You can’t leave early or everyone will assume you did the shitting).

2. Return to your office and tell everyone, “I can’t believe this, but somebody just shit all the way down the hallway. And it was some girl from another floor. It’s disgusting out there. I can’t believe her!”

This is really a test of your acting ability, but it’s an aggressive play that’s likely to work.

Unless, and this would be hysterical, your complaint leads them to review the security cam footage and then everyone sees it’s you.  

3. Leave and never return.

Get in your car and drive home while belting Taylor Swift. This is the perfect time to move to that new city you think is much cooler than the one you live in now.  

4. Return to your office and announce to the entire office, “Hey, everybody, I just shit all over myself in the hallway.”

This is what I would do. 

But I’m a guy and most of you reading this right now would totally anticipate this is what I’d do. See, when you set expectations that you’re going to talk or write about all sorts of ridiculous things as honestly as you can, no one is surprised when you talk or write about ridiculous things as honestly as you can. It’s incredibly freeing.  

Example: a couple of years ago I had an in grown hair at the base of my penis. Worst. In Grown Hair. Ever. And I went to the doctor to get it looked at because I was afraid my penis might die and my wife said — “DO NOT TALK ABOUT THE IN GROWN HAIR AT THE BASE OF YOUR PENIS ON THE RADIO!”

And I was like, “Who do you think I am? Of course I’m not going to talk about the in grown hair at the base of my penis on the radio.” (Instead I’m going to write about it on a website with millions of readers. BIG DIFFERENCE).

So I’m at the doctor and the doctor comes in and when you have a ridiculous ailment what’s the one thing you’re hoping? That no one knows you’re there or why you’re there to see the doctor, right? I’m praying for anonymity and antibiotics. (Also, slightly afraid that I’m the first person in recorded history to get penis cancer). 

So the doctor sits on his stool and takes my dick in his hand, he’s literally cupping my balls, while he scrutinizes the base of my shaft, and he looks over at my medical chart and he’s like, “Wait, Clay Travis? I love your show.” And I’m thinking, “Of course the doctor with my dick in his hand listens to the show.” And he wants to talk all about the show and the callers and I cut him off and I’m like, “Doc, can you just confirm that you don’t have to amputate my penis for this?”

“No, your penis will be fine. Just a hair follicle infection.”

Then we talk about the radio show for the next ten minutes while he’s standing there holding my dick, examining my in grown hair at the base of my penis shaft. And I’m thinking, “This doctor is going to tell all of his friends about my in grown hair at the base of my shaft.”

My penis is fine now. 

So, anyway, I’d probably just announce that I shit myself to the entire office and then I’d get the video of me shitting myself and I’d put it up on Outkick with this tagline on Twitter, “Here is video of me shitting myself in an office hallway,” and all of you would immediately click on the video and I’d have a Immodium AD endorsement deal by the end of the day. 

These are her four options as I see them.    

I would love to have this girl write her story for the mailbag because that kind of public acknowledgment it’s probably the only way she’s ever recovering from this incident. 

“Clay-

I’ve been following your work for some time. My husband of almost 13 years and I have always had a pretty adventurous sex life, BDSM, swinging, threesomes, etc.

For some reason I decided to search his email address to see if it was part of the Ashley Madison info dump. It came up as part of the release. I also know that the Adult Friend Finder website was also compromised. About 10 years ago, he joked about joining the site to find us a girl to fool around with.

My question is, do I confront him with the fact his email came up in the search, or just assume it was from him creating an adult friend finder profile many years ago?”

I would bring it up with him. Because otherwise you’re going to sit around wondering what the real story is. It sounds like he has a convincing alibi, but you can judge whether or not you believe him based on how he reacts to your questioning. 

Honestly, he should have preemptively told you his email address was there and cited that conversation years ago. The fact that he didn’t makes me wonder why he’s kept silent. Maybe he didn’t know AFF was also included in the data breach? Or maybe it was so long ago that he forget about ever signing up.

Can you tell how long the membership has been active? Did he ever pay? Those are the questions I’d have.  

“I’ve recently learned that one of my best friends keeps a ‘conquest log’ as he calls it. He writes down the name(s), date, any phone numbers gotten, and any notable things that happened (e.g. let me film her, handcuffs, toys in the butt, etc.) for every girl he’s hooked up with.

Is this weird and creepy as shit or completely normal?

He does remarkably well for himself, so this journal has more than just a few entries. I can completely see some future girlfriend/fiance/wife stumbling upon this and starting WWIII.”

I would understand if a rock star or a pro athlete did this — because they have so much sex I’m sure it’s otherwise hard to remember their partners — how many pageviews would Derek Jeter’s sex log get? — but is your buddy really having so much sex that he can’t remember the girls without writing them down? 

Unless you’ve slept with 50 or more girls, that seems a bit excessive. 

And even if he’s slept with 50 or more girls, this still seems weird to me. 

“A good friend of mine confided in me that he was on Ashley Madison and is freaking out b/c he’s so paranoid. I keep telling him to keep calm and carry on as normal since he never met up with anyone. The data seems to be impossible for the average person to dig through unless he was dumb enough to use his normal email address (he didn’t). Also, unless his wife specifically checks on her own he can deny deny deny b/c anyone could use any email, street address and/or name. Plus, blackmailers aren’t going to come after a guy making $50k a year in small town USA.

What are your thoughts?

signed,
guy who’s glad porn hub is free”

Here’s the deal, why would someone pretend to be a random dude on Ashley Madison? I don’t buy that he has a good cover story if he gets busted. What’s his defense: “It wasn’t me, honey, someone else used my email, home address and name.”  

I understand why a stranger might do that if they were pretending to be someone famous, but your buddy isn’t famous.

I’d probably still keep quiet if I was him because I can’t imagine how difficult of a conversation that is — which millions of men are facing — and his wife might not find out. But if she does find out, you’re wrong, he’s screwed.    

The mailbag has been inundated with Ashley Madison questions, by the way. I wrote about my thoughts on the site’s hacking last week, which I’d encourage you to read here.  

“I didn’t go to Baylor, I went to another Texas university and don’t care one bit about the implications this case has for the football season, but I can’t believe we’re still seeing rape cases handled in such a manner. These collegiate cases are simply the highlights too, the ones that get the real attention, there are many normal girls that are ignored every day. How can we put an end to this? What penalty could we assign to a rape conviction that would sufficiently deter the majority of men from committing a rape?

I’m going to assume for the sake of this scenario that they’ve been given a fair trial with a decent investigation. Now there will always be outliers and people for which a preventative measure will simply not work, but if you required a mandatory penalty of having your dick cut off if you were convicted of rape I would wager we’d see a good 90% drop in rapes. Even the most hammered frat guy is going to remember “hey, I’d really not enjoy it if my dick was cut off.”

Could this work? If it could work, what would it take to get legislation passed? Could we go one step further and require that any accomplices to the rape also forfeit their dicks?

I’d love to hear your legal/gay/muslim/etc. thoughts on the subject.”

I’m against the death penalty because sometimes we convict the wrong people and put them to death for crimes they didn’t commit. Plus, deterrence doesn’t actually work. So I think I’d have to be opposed to penis amputation along the same lines. You can’t put a penis back on if it turns out someone is innocent later on. 

Also, prison isn’t exactly fun, punishment isn’t the problem, legitimate investigations are. So I’d legalize drugs, prostitution, and gambling, tax all three, and instead of putting our cops to work pretending to be hookers — seriously, how dumb is this? — I’d allocate more resources to investigating actual crimes, like rape.  

“Are you f’ing kidding me? Just read the anonymous mailbag. This guy is actually getting sex and he farts so he can go read a book about Nick Saban?!?! This guy gave up the greatest thing on Earth that I can think of for an unauthorized book about Saban! But my biggest problem is….you just let it go!

Clay, I can only assume that you are slipping here. The old Clay would never let that go without taking his ass to the woodshed. I think this guy is more than likely gay and wanted to jerk off to Saban. He put up what is the equivalent of a beach ball on a tee and you missed?!?! This offends me. And your* offended that I’m offended. But damn, step youre* game back up.”

No excuses. 

I blew it. 

“Here’s my I gotta poop story.

A couple of summers ago I was training to run a team relay race. I was about 3.5 miles into a 7 mile run when it hit me. Running 2 hours after dinner and my insides being forced downward with every foot hitting the asphalt wasn’t a good combination. I searched for a place to leave my deposit.

The closest grocery store’s bathroom was being cleaned and I didn’t want to try the women’s. I made my way down the street to the gas station (clenched tight while trying to run, so to alleviate people from wondering why I was sweating so much just walking down the sidewalk).

I hit my destination, drop my drawers, and let it go. Then I noticed the toilet paper dispenser is opened wide, with a cell phone inside. There wasn’t a lock screen so I did the best thing a BYU graduate could do… not a wiener pic I took a picture of the deposit and texted it to 10 random people with the following “Check out my steamer…LOL!” I put the phone back and washed my hands.

When I open the door, there is a teenager waiting in front of the door. I say excuse me and take off finishing my run. As I run, I realize there is a car following me, for a couple miles. I keep running, trying to act casual; I could always deny I sent the poop text and blame it on a previous potty patron. I stop at the corner of the street my house is on to “rest” and wait for the car to pass. The last thing I want is them knowing where I live.

I think this is all over and nothing occurs for a few days. I tell my wife and relay team, because it’s funny. About a week later, I’m walking out to my car in the morning and notice what looks like a dead bird by my car door. Turns out it’s an uncanny sized turd of human origin, located right where I would be stepping to get in the car. I scooped it up with a shovel and put it in my neighbor’s trash can.

Moral of the story: A poop for a poop.”

I can’t think of a better line to end today’s mailbag.

…

If you’re interested in reading past anonymous mailbag editions you should be able to click on anonymous mailbag and it will take you to old ones. As always, email your anonymous mailbag questions to clay.travis@gmail.com