The Mailbag: Tiger Woods, Rihanna, The Rapture, the square root of Kirstie Alley - Macleans.ca

The Mailbag: Tiger Woods, Rihanna, The Rapture, the square root of Kirstie Alley

Scott Feschuk answers your questions

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Welcome to the Tuesday Mailbag on Wednesday, where approximately everyone is sick and tired of the media’s obsession with the Tiger Woods story, except for those who keep reading and asking about Tiger Woods, which is approximately everyone.

Remember – there are no stupid questions, except for asking Kelly Clarkson if she’s going to finish that hoagie.

Dear Scott:

First, I crash my car while being chased by my enraged, golf-club-wielding wife (possibly). Then I endure two solid weeks of revelations about the misadventures of my penis (definitely). And now, vague insinuations about HGH use. My question has two parts: What did I do to piss off God, and what’s coming next? – T. Woods, Florida (via Dan222)

T. Woods –

It’s an established fact that God does not interfere in the lives of professional athletes – not because He doesn’t want to, but because these days He’s focused on making sure Lindsay Lohan doesn’t procreate. Even for the omnipotent, that’s a 24/7 kind of deal.

As for what’s coming next, the good news is that modern science can take thousands of celebrity “revelation” precedents and run them through the TMZ-o-meter to formulate the odds of all potential eventualities. Here’s how your future looks:

Testing positive for HGH: 15-1

Testing positive for multiple STDs: 8-1

Testing positive for multiple Hooters’ waitresses: 2-1

Something just awful involving midgets: 5-1

Checked into hotels under hilarious fake names like Miles Long or Rod Aplenty: even

Revelation of love child: 4-1

Revelation of love children: 9-1

Revelation of Osmond-sized love family: 13-1

Drunk-driving arrest followed by disheveled mugshot in which you sport an unappealing beard: 7-2

Tabloid story that includes the phrase, “…caught leaving Kim Kardashian’s residence”: 5-2

Punching out a paparazzo: 2-1

Sex tape: pretty much for sure.

Yikes, that’s pretty rough. Your life makes The Road look like a romantic comedy.

Here buddy – let me help you out. Why don’t you take your mind off your troubles by filling in for me and answering the next question while I go grab a soda. Sound good? Okay.

Dear Scott:

I was wondering if you would “snog, shag, marry or avoid” the following women.  – Jolyon

Jolyon –

Britney Spears: shag

Megan Fox: shag

Cameron Diaz: shag

Angelina Jolie: shag

Bar Refaeli: shag

Heather Graham: shag

Rihanna: shag

Pam Anderson: shag

Whoa! Hang on, there! Sorry folks, I was just grabbing a soda and had a young, down-on-his-luck fellow from Florida filling in for me and – oh, wait, he’s adding some names of his own to the list –

Delta Burke: shag

Madeleine Albright: shag

Lucy and Linus’s unseen mother from Peanuts: shag

That pile of coats on the bed when company comes over: shag

The back of the knee on the folded leg of Opr–

– Okay, okay. Heh, heh. We get the general idea of where your inclinations lie and – hang on a minute: Tiger, are you trying to shag the “O” that I just typed in “Okay?”

Dear Scott:

A philosophical/physics question for you: How do you believe the universe will end? Big Crunch? Heat Death? Vacuum metastability event? The Rapture? Please enlighten us. – Anon Liberal

Anon Liberal –

Well, they all have their upsides so far as Michael Ignatieff is concerned right now.

Speaking personally, I’ve always thought The Rapture seemed like a no-lose scenario, in that the just and faithful are summoned to the kingdom of heaven for an eternity of peace and bliss and the rest of us get their clothes.

Given the choice, I’d certainly prefer it not be heat death. Heat death occurs when the absence of thermodynamic free energy results in the inability of the universe to sustain motion or life. I’ve seen that dynamic in microcosm on the morning after university benders and believe me: it’s not a pretty way to go. The universe doesn’t want to die out in sweat pants while watching Pee-wee’s Playhouse.

Dear Scott:

According to your Wikipedia page, you were a speechwriter for Paul Martin. Is this true? If so, what the deuce? – Laura

Laura –

Wait – you think I’m the same Scott Feschuk who was the speechwriter for the Prime Minister of Canada? Me? The guy who makes his living writing  about Tiger Woods putting the moves on the letter “O”?

Wouldn’t that be sad if it were true?

Dear Scott:

Why doesn’t Tiger simply prorogue himself and avoid any additional fallout? Wouldn’t that increase his popularity? – YYZ

YYZ –

“Peter, exciting developments here tonight at Rideau Hall, where Tiger Woods is visiting the Governor-General to request a prorogation of his personal life, a bold move that – if successful – would shield him from further Internet jokes, sponsorship withdrawals and incoming 9-irons.

“Here’s what we know, Peter: Tiger Woods arrived on his own a couple hours ago, went inside without answering questions and now we wait. It’s not clear how long Woods will meet with Michaelle Jean. From our vantage here on the driveway, we could see that the lights in the main parlour were on and various staff members were milling about. But then about 15 minutes ago those lights went off and we saw the lights flipped on in the residence area, the private living quarters of the Governor-General and her fam– Peter! Peter, I can now report – yes, it’s been confirmed – Peter, emanating from the master bedroom at Rideau Hall are the unmistakable sounds of Barry White’s Greatest Hits. Side A, I believe, Peter. Constitutional scholars gathered here tonight are now conferring over whether the flickering light in the bedroom window is indeed that of a lava lamp.

“It could be a long night, Peter.”

Dear Scott:

If Kirstie Alley can consume two burritos every six minutes, how many burritos could two dozen Kirstie Alleys theoretically consume in half an hour? – Crit_Reasoning

Crit_Reasoning –

This is uncanny – you’ve described the exact scenario I’ve requested from Santa. The only difference is that I also asked for hundreds of square metres of tarpaulin and a defibrillator.

Your question seems simple enough on its surface, C_R. A lesser mind would plug in the values and come up with a pedestrian equation along the lines of:

KA x 2b x (30/6) x (2×12) = 240b (240 burritos)

But here’s the thing: You can’t approach this question from a linear mindset. We’re talking about multiple Kirstie Alleys eating multiple burritos here. And eating them in a limited span of time. That changes the inherent dynamic.

We need to factor in the latest advances in BCT (Brandoian Calculation Theory). We need to make allowances for the fact that each Kirstie Alley will act on the other Kirstie Alleys, resulting in an increase in competitive instinct and, by extension, an increase in consumption rate where the burrito supply is believed to be finite. All of a sudden we see how the B/C/M (burrito per cakehole per minute) ratio will, under the set of circumstances you describe, accelerate at an exponential rate. The resulting equation looks more like this:

KA x 2b x (30/6) x (2×12) x (4x, where x increases by 1 every minute) x (arms accidentally bitten off of some Kirstie Alleys by other Kirstie Alleys /the time of day at which society runs out of refried beans) = y, where y represents all the burritos ever).

True story: This was the math question in the original draft of Good Will Hunting.

Dear Scott:

Is my wife sleeping with Tiger Woods? – s_c_f

s_c_f –

Do I detect a hopeful note in your query, s_c_f? Does it turn you on to think of your wife sleeping with Tiger Woods? Did you awkwardly raise the topic with her one time – and then hastily pretend you were joking all along when it became clear she wasn’t interested? But you couldn’t leave it at that, could you, s_c_f? You kept pestering her, cajoling her, until she relented and said, fine, she’d do it – anything to make you stop bringing it up. And what would you be doing while your wife was sleeping with Tiger Woods? Would you be watching, s_c_f? Because I’ve got a red Nike shirt, a jar of blackface and nothing to do Saturday night. Shall we say 8ish?

Dear Scott:

Be honest with me: Is my wife having sex with Tiger Woods? – Donald F.

Donald F. –

I’m busy changing into my red Nike shirt, Donald, so let me direct you to this message from the Government of Canada:

“I’m Canada’s chief public health officer. Getting vaccinated against T1W1 is the best way to protect the people you love from contracting ‘having sex with Tiger Woods.’

“The vaccine is safe and it’s effective. Well, it’s as effective as we could make it. This T1W1 thing is pretty much unstoppable. I mean, you’re around it for, like, 20 seconds and it’s pretty much already inside you. We thought the Swedes had a handle on it with the EL1N protocol but – boom! – suddenly it was all over south Florida. Cocktail waitresses and the cleavaged are considered especially vulnerable.

“But hey, go ahead and get the shot and the vaccine might keep it from getting past second base. Probably not, though. This thing’s got the grabbiest little microscopic hands.

“Side effects include: nausea, dry mouth and having sex with Phil Mickelson.”