10 Dumb Questions I Asked You Guys (And Your Dumb Answers)

On Aug. 29, 2015, I published a quiz filled with the 10 dumbest questions I could think of. Then I asked you, the readers, to answer the questions in the comments. In truth, I didn't expect many to respond. Thirty? Fifty? As I type this sentence the total is sitting pretty at 686 comments. Strip away the flotsam and jetsam of a comment section and we're left with 542 comments with actual answers. Some answered only the questions that inspired them, others answered one and fled the scene. An overwhelming majority actually answered the questions in full, and at great length.

I read every single word and tallied every one of your responses. All. Of. Them. At one point I began calculating the average word count of your answers. I stopped soon after because of math, but at that point the average count was hovering around 800. The median word count for books is 64,531 words, which happens to be the length of Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. Assuming my word count calculation remained steady for all your answers, in a week and a half I read the equivalent of 6.7 Brave New Worlds. The data-gathering process was 11 days of marking notches on a hand-drawn spreadsheet, because, for me, Excel might as well be the cockpit of a spaceship. (My girlfriend, who is an accountant, eventually transferred my pathetic scribbles into Excel for me.)

Sadly, the FBI took down my large cork board filled with newspaper clippings and maps connected
by strings before I could snap a pic.

Before we get into the results, I want to say thank you to the many hundreds who answered my very, very stupid questions. Without you, I still probably would have written this follow-up, but it would have been much angrier, stinking of gin, and loaded with misspelled racial slurs. You prevented a potentially ugly scene, except for one part between slurs where I would have given you a great guacamole recipe to fill space. My guac is yummy as fuck.

Anywho, on to the results ...

Question #1: The Results

Here was the original question:

How long has it been since you've seen your butthole? Explain why.

A. I see it every morning, as I ram my head up it

B. I look at it often. Quite often ;)

C. Months. Has it really been months? Man, you get older, you get a job and a serious relationship, and all of a sudden close friends start drifting apart. That's adulthood for ya. Makes you wonder why as kids we couldn't wait to grow up. Pfft! If we'd only known. *takes a swig of Scotch*

D. There's no way I could pick out mine in a police lineup. I'd need it to shout, "Gimme all your money, bitch!" to see if I recognized its voice

E. We are no longer on speaking terms

Here's how the responses broke down:

The origins of this question stem from that one time I touched my butthole and it got me to thinking, "I don't even know who you are anymore." That's a little backstory for anyone wondering what my process was for coming up with such an array of intellectually stimulating questions.

ksushsh/iStock/Getty Images

I wouldn't imagine there being too much recognition of one's own anus. Maybe you're like me and you can't imagine it looking different from any other. I saw it once a long time ago and didn't notice any distinguishing scars, or a gang tattoo, or an eye patch, and therefore had no reason to remember it. It's just a pucker.

That's why a majority of you, 33 percent, selected D. Buried in that answer is an admission: I've seen my butthole at least once, but it wasn't a memorable fellow. You were all echoing the feelings of commenter cptspith when he/she/sentient captcha said:

I really don't have the agility or flexibility to keep on intimate visual terms with the little pucker, but I certainly maintain a strong physical relationship with it, and would know an impostor if I felt one.

It was not surprising to find that only 9 percent of you look at your buttholes every day. But those who do were mystified by those who don't:


To be honest I find it weird when people don't want look at their own butt. It's basically the reason I bought a selfie stick.

The most interesting finding had nothing to do with the frequency of your anus-ogling. It was hemorrhoids. You people have got a lot of them, and they are ripping your assholes to shreds.


E - My hemorrhoids are bad enough to feel, there is no way I want to actually see what those things look like.

Hemorrhoids compel people to gaze into their stink knots, as if their butthole had lulled them into a trance to lure then in for an easy kill:


Something didn't feel right, like a little solid nugget was stuck on the edge. When I got home that afternoon I immediately went to my bathroom. I propped one leg up on the sink with my back to the mirror and spread my butt cheeks to get the best view. Staring back at me was a tiny little lump, the kind that a naive 20 year old has instant concern about.


D. I finger it sometimes looking for hemorrhoids though.

Hundreds responded, yet only one had pictures of their butthole mailed to them.

Meanwhile, looking at your own butthole is so rare for some that they began waxing philosophical about the nature of their anus' existence ...


E. Nietzsche said it best: And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.

And some of you talked about your butthole as if it were God:


#1- I have never really seen my man-hole. i have witnessed its works, and rejoiced in the glory of its semi-daily function. And that, for me, is enough. I do not need to see how the brown sausage is made. I'm just glad it is.


I know it's there, cause I can hear it, and see its effects on the world, but I never see it. My anus is like the wind.

Finally, there was one lengthy response to the question about butthole sightings, but I stopped after its opening line. It perplexed me, but at the same time I knew everything the person was about to say. Deep in my bones, with every atom, I just knew:


I once brought a nickelback album ...

Don't need to say another word. I get you. And I'm sorry.

Question #2: The Results

How small and thin do you let a bar of soap get before you replace it?

A. I throw them away after a single use

B. About halfway, after discovering they don't have a jelly center

C. When it's thin and bendy, like an orange peel that's socially acceptable to rub on my nipples

D. I use it until it looks like a milk-flavored breath strip

E. Until it no longer exists and I'm rubbing the memory of soap on my body

So those are the numbers. I don't want to talk about them. Nothing against them; they're fine, upstanding numbers. It's just that there are a couple other stats I'd prefer to discuss. As I read your answers, three patterns began to reveal themselves. They forced me to go back to the beginning and add in whole new fields to study.

The first new category of response caught me completely off guard. I had never heard of such a thing and was surprised to see it pop up in your written responses again and again and again. I'll let L_Spearcraft explain:

Whenever a bar of soap gets small enough i blend it to a new piece and keep on using it. I call it the Soap Bar of Theseus

OK. Interesting tactic. Sounds useful. Very original, L_Spearcr-


Once soap gets small enough I just smash it onto a new bar, I've been using the same lineage of soap for over a decade. I like to believe there is a small molecular pocket of the original soap deep inside that I want to stay with me for as long as I can

Oh, a second person does it. That's ... interesting. Surely, there can't be a thir-


C, and then it gets stuck to the next bar, because neverending soap is awesome.


C. & E. Soap starts out in the shower. When it is reduced to an inconvenient sliver, it is moved to the sink and mashed together with the remains of previous bars.


I use soap until it's gone. Or I save the scraps and melt them into new op. No sense wasting soap ...


Here's the key: you take the new bar of soap and use it once. Then, you take the old bar and press it onto the bottom of the new bar and let it sit until the next time you shower/bathe. The old bar will fuse to the new bar, that way you don't just throw away $0.10 worth of soap. I just realized how cheap this makes me sound.


Its a trick question. You never replace soap, you just add to it. When they become slivers reminiscent of communion wafers, you squeeze it into the new bar of soap until it becomes one with the new. I have essentially been using the same bar of soap for years. Although, one time I tried to push the limits of soap thickness and continued using it well past the smoosh-it-into-a-new-bar stage and lost it while washing my crack. It's an odd sensation to look at your washcloth and realize something is missing hence, I needed to stand over a mirror and look for soap and inadvertently caught a glimpse.

You people are playing god. Let the soap die with some dignity instead of Human Centipede-ing it for eternity.

That stupid little soap tactic is why I wanted to do all this in the first place. Not even in my dullest dreams could I imagine such a genuinely useful way to breath eternal life into a soap bar. Six percent of all respondents to question #2 fused old soap to new soap. Low, but still unexpected. I went from not knowing it was a thing to knowing 6 percent of people perform Super Saiyan fusion dances on their soaps.

The next oddity bridges the gap between the first and the upcoming third one:


I prefer to use shower gel and hand wash but back in my soap using days I would let it get thin and bendy and then fuse it with the new bar.


I haven't used bar soap since I was a kid. I use body wash. However I was taught to glue the thin strip of the old bar to the new bar thereby eliminating any wasted soap.

Tons of readers mentioned that they use shower gel instead of bars, and 2 percent of them specifically mentioned that back in their bar days they would meld the slivers to newer bars to create immortal soap abominations. With your days of conducting unethical surgical procedures on soap bars behind you, you moved on to a soap that can't be sewed onto to the ass of another just like it.

And thus we made it to our final group:


F. None of the above, I use body wash.

Simple. Direct. WhitneyW provided all the information I needed to understand that my question did not apply to her. Good job, WhitneyW.

I praise because WhitneyW was a rarity. WhitneyW had class. More than half -- 56 percent -- of people who mentioned they use shower gel were real assholes about it.


I use body wash like a civilized adult because this is 2015, not 1932


I don't use bar soap, what am I, a peasant?


Why are you neanderthals still using bar soap? Civilized people use body wash.


I don't use bar soap! At all! Ever! Ha ha, you fuckers!


I'm a little offended that you would even ask this question. I use shower gel.


F I don't use soap i use body wash since I'm a big kid. That being said though before i grew up id use it till it was gone, and then when i didn't realize that it needed to be replaced, id just wash myself with the shampoo, its all the same. Probably.

See? I didn't ask if you drive a Model T, or if you've visited the phrenologist lately. I asked about bars of soap. They're still pretty common, as evidenced by the literally hundreds of others who answered the question. Relax. Don't be one of those goofballs on a "Kids Are Given A Thing From 10 Years Ago And They Gawk At It Like It's A Fucking Alien Artifact" videos. "WHO FROZE THIS SHOWER GEL?! WHAT?! PEOPLE USED IT LIKE THIS?! BUT ... BUT WHY?!?!?!"

Is it the cleanliness of the soap bar you're worried about? Well, a bar of soap is perfectly hygienic. But you'd better watch out for what might be living on your loofah.

Question #3: The Results

If you could blame one of the world's problems (Column #1) on one person/group (Column #2), who would get blamed for what? Most importantly, explain why.

Column #1

A. Climate change

B. Gun violence

C. Sexism

D. Racism

E. Neo-Nazism

Column #2

1. Everybody at Home Depot on a Saturday afternoon

2. The unattainable mental image of your ideal soulmate

3. Butter sculptors

4. Some guy named Rick

5. The 1972 Miami Dolphins

Hey, here's a snazzy chart!

Chill, chart! Too snazzy!

Coming in at 35 percent, the second-highest percentage on the chart, are the 1972 Miami Dolphins, whom a lot of you blamed for climate change. The '72 Dolphins had a perfect season -- won every regular season game, every playoff game, and won the Super Bowl. And now they are slowly raising global temperatures to near-apocalyptic levels.


A and 5 - Climate Change and 1972 Dolphins

Climate change is probably the biggest item listed. All the rest affect either a section of society or even all societal interactions, but only Climate Change means that my beach house will lose all its value when the seas rise and I'll have to move to some place like Nova Scotia or something. And it's all the 1972 Dolphins' fault because Mother Nature is angry. She is angry with the folly of a group of men holding so desperately to such a long past, albeit impressive, sporting feat. When your arrogance and smugness makes one actually root for the 2007 Patriots, you know you have crossed a line. A line that Mother Nature will not have crossed.


NFL commentators blow so much hot air each year about "Will there be a perfect team this year?" that average temperatures have risen steadily since the 70's

Fuck it. Let's blame them for gun violence too:


Gun violence on the 1972 Miami Dolphins, of course. Every time a modern team flirts with perfection only to stumble, they pop that damn champaign, the ensuing sound causing a veritable riot of Floridians to pull their guns at the noise and start shooting up the joint

As a Miamian, I can say that is 100 percent true.

Your other favorite thing to do (well, for 32 percent of you) was blame sexism on the unattainable mental image of your ideal soulmate:


Not every man will have insane abs and not every woman will be blonde with big boobs. I mean, I am, but not everyone else is. And that's okay.


C2. I kinda feel like one of the causes of sexism is that we subconsciously compare all potential mates to our mental image of the ideal soulmate and, because the mental image is by nature an unobtainable ideal, the human never measures up, and we resent that, but can only relieve our consistent disappointment by taking it out on the potential mates because human psychology is messed up sometimes. And that a lot of us are assholes, can't forget that.

Great responses all around, but what I really want to talk about is that 38 percent up there at the cross-section of A and 4. At that corner you stood and screamed like a homeless person to make one thing abundantly clear: Rick sucks.

Everyone blamed Rick for everything. Some of you blamed Rick for everything in Column #1. It happened so often I eventually started marking notches in every category, because you told me to. Oddly, a handful of you asked me to do the same for the 1972 Miami Dolphins. Zero people felt like any other people/phenomena should bear the blame for everything, except Rick and the Dolphins. But man, did you hate Rick more than anything:


C. Sexism/4. Some guy named Rick I did Rick a fucking favor by letting him do an over the sweater pity feel for less than 73 seconds. He lost his goddamm mind and told the whole school I took off my bra and let him wear it like Mickey mouse ears. It's not my fault I developed early. fucking delusional assholee. On the flip side, I suddenly became VERY popular with the fellas and even a couple of gals.


My soulmate's name is Rick. He works at my second favorite Waffle House. He also doesn't know I exist.


Imagine, just imagine, all the gun violence being committed by a single unstoppable hate-engine of a man. A world where the name "Rick' is spoken with a hushed fear unknown to our lives.

I think the other options were too nebulous. Rick reduced the world's problems to one man. One man? Pfft! Launch his ass into the sun and be done with it. Rick is an easy solution to a complicated world. Oh, Rick made sexism? Feed him to sharks. The fuck are we waiting for? According to everyone, Rick is the rock that got caught in the gears of human evolution. Pull that fucker out and in 10 years we're eating our meals in pill form as we fly our jetpacks though a Utopian megacity on Mars. People hated Rick so much their hate would spill over into answers to other questions:


10. I dunno, answering these questions? No, wait, it would be having sex with Rick. Fuckin' Rick, man.

Honestly, I just needed to pad the list, so I tossed in one of the dullest names I could think of. I had no idea people's eyeballs would fill with fire when they saw the name Rick. It's good to know there's one name we can turn to if we ever want to heap all of the world's problems onto one person.

Make that two.

Question #4

You can choose only one body part to grow on your body-part farm for the upcoming harvest season. Which body part do you grow? Explain what people would do with these body parts after picking them up from the grocery store.

A. Thumbs

B. Knee caps

C. Uvulas

D. Elongated earlobes

E. Testicles so large they always win the blue ribbon at the state fair's testicle-growing competition

F. Other (name the body part and its use)

Piiiiiieee chaaaaaaart!

Forty-six percent of commenters looked at my options and then used their middle fingers to type every body part that I didn't list. I'm going to take this as a personal attack.

So what body parts were you all so eager to write in? Boobs, dicks, vaginas, and butts. I really over-thought this. Boobs, dicks, vaginas, and butts are like The Beatles to you guys. I thought about counting up all the times you chose them, but I don't have a spare month.

When you weren't choosing one of the Fab Four, you were, rather surprisingly, choosing to do nice things with your body-part farm. Odd things, but nice.


F. Scalps, so that people could grow their own hair in different colors and styles, chia-pet style.

And charitable.


F - Straight up lower backs. Because chicks are going to need replacements when they're too old for their tramp stamps and that butterfly morphs into a bat with mange.

What a humanitarian!


F. Spines The sadness of any day is when you look around and see so many people slumpt over, unable to stand up for themselves. It doesn't have to be this way. By donating just a few dollars a day, you too can give these millennials a spine. For the first time in their lives they'll be able to stand tall and look you in the eye. You'll be giving pride to a whole generation. Operators are standing by.

When you did choose one of my answers, you chose to elaborate with beauty and grace.


E. I know not what World War Three will be fought with, but World War Four will be fought with huge-ass testicles.


Knee caps, always a steady supply of people needing new knee caps that has nothing to do with roaming gangs of knee capers who I am not in any way affiliated with.


A. Thumbs - It's none of my business what they are doing with them. All I know is that they sell like hot cakes.

Pretty sure executives of handheld back-massager companies have said that exact thing in board meetings.

And it was this question that prompted the most unsettling answer of them all:


I'd run a uvula farm. Nothing too commercialized. I'd want to keep it classy. But I'm not selling my product to grocery stores. I'm fastening freshly grown uvulas to the inner surface of one of those big thick cardboard cylinders that they use to wrap rolls of carpeting around. Then coat the inside with a low friction lubricating solvent so the millions of little uvulas become slippery. Then I sneak up behind people and jam the uvula tube onto them. I think they'd be freaked out at first but they'd eventually appreciate the uniquely stimulating tactile experience. It'd feel like being digested through the duodenum of a giant. That's a difficult thing to replicate.

The only Fleshlight with the David Lynch seal of approval.

Question #5: The Results

What is the percent chance of you eating food recently dropped on the ground when no one's around? I'm not talking about wet, slimy stuff like ham that you'd have to be a deranged pervert to eat off the floor. Something dry, like a cracker or cookie.

A. 100% -- ain't no shame in my game

B. 80% -- but as I'm doing it I'll act like it's 0% to make myself feel better about how I am trash

C. 60% -- and I'll even pretend the 5 Second Rule is a legitimate excuse for being 100% disgusting

D. 40% -- largely dependent on remembering if I've recently walked on that specific spot

E. 20% -- because I almost find that disgusting. Almost. I'm this close

F. 0% -- because I'm a liar

G. Other -- because Luis sucks and only let me choose increments of 20. (Luis' Note: Fine. Write your highly specific answer. Just, please, don't write 73%. I do not like that number)

Perchance, a chart for thine sweet ass:


A. I am disgusting and will surely die alone because this may very well be my least disturbing habit.


73.001%. I concur with Lewis. 73 isn't a good number.

Who the fuck is Lewis?

Readers were of two schools of thought on this one. Thirty-six percent chose A, admitting that you will eat dropped food 100 percent of the time. When people weren't scrounging Cheeto dust off the kitchen floor like it was $1,800 of spilled cocaine, they answered G ("Other/73%").

I figured most people would have no dignity and would select A without hesitation. But I can't judge. I used to be like you. I use to eat anything off the floor, rationalizing my shame away by telling myself I was eating my own dirt, so I'd be fine. That all ended when a friend ate a slice of ham off the floor and was spraying from both ends for the next few days. I was mortified. I've assumed my feet spoil everything they touch ever since. Now I immediately throw away any food, wet or dry, that has made contact with the floor. For some of you, your logic for selecting A wasn't as sound as my flimsy-ass excuse:


Considering I don't live somewhere gross and disgusting like LA or NY I totally eat food I dropped on the ground

Oh, didn't you hear? Dirty surfaces had an initial limited release in New York and L.A. but have since expanded to many other cities.

A lot of you are going to have that moist-floor-ham moment, and you will be forever changed.

This question had the second-highest voter turnout, with just over three-quarters of all commenters having answered. Eighteen percent of them chose G. Built into G was the option to choose it for the sole purpose of pissing me off. It was a significantly dumber version of the famously depressing Milgram experiment. I gave you a button that you were told would hurt me. Depending on your written answers, you could choose G with no effect, like so ...


0%. I have a cat. Any upwards facing surface in my house, no matter how often I clean it, has most likely had prolonged contact with his butthole. Regardless of how much he cleans it, indirect contact with food items? No thanks

... or choose G to do harm. An impressive and spirit-lifting 89 percent chose to do no harm. You're too kind. The other 11 percent are sociopaths, like a person named QualitySocks. Here is the only thing QualitySocks wrote in response to the entire quiz:


People got off on the idea of me thrashing in pain like a demon mid-exorcism after reading each 73 percent.


73%, because fuck you Luis.

One person, completely living up to the low standards of the Milgram experiment, didn't even know the person he was hurting ...


73%. because fuck Luis, whomever he is.

Some of you were smartasses about it ...


Like Joey from Friends I eat 100% of food off the floor be it dry or wet. For example if I dropped 73 toaster strudels on the ground in a parking lot, 73 of those are going in my mouth. #paleo


somewhere between 72 and 74%

A lot of you were smartasses about it. Like Tiffany21NYC, who peppered her answers with the number 73 ...

Question 1

D. We interact approximately twice a day, but haven't seen each other in years. My husband, however saw it 73 minutes ago.

Question 3

C. Sexism/4. Some guy named Rick

I did Rick a fucking favor by letting him do an over the sweater pity feel for less than 73 seconds

... but then pussied out when it came time to pull the trigger.

Question 5

A. 100% unless the dog gets to it first. Then we thumb wrestle for it.

It's OK, Tiffany21NYC. It means you're human. Meanwhile, the rest of you aren't even reading this because you're out looking for a neighborhood cat to beat with a stick.

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