As is becoming a Drinking Game Friday tradition around here, I'd like to start out today's post by apologizing to our Twitter followers for the obnoxious spam messages you may have received from me last night. My account was hacked. Again. I, as a human being, have a cold and my Twitter account has a virus. EVERYTHING IS FALLING APART! What kills me the most is that "I" sent a spam-tastic DM to our most important contact at Jäger and now she has the spam virus. So, great. I'm sure we'll totally get that Jäger deal now that I gave their PR director Twitter scabies. Super. I don't even know how this keeps happening. I don't click on any shady links and my password isn't "password123" (...anymore.) Shouldn't they be targeting more lucrative people like Kim Kardashian or something? UGH, I'm so pissed. If Suzy Soro is behind this—im'ma fly to Hollywood and cut a bitch personally. In conclusion: I apologize to our Twitter followers and if you don't follow us on Twitter, you should because I'll give you all sorts of fancy online diseases!
Speaking of downers: Co-Blogger Chris and I will be taking the rest of the week off to go back home and stuff our faces with turkey, play with our respective parent's cats and do some general lolling about in the spirit of our Native American brothers. I'll be making a casserole for Thanksgiving dinner this year and given what an obvious shit show that will be, I've decided to live Tweet the entire process. (@2birds1blog! Sure I'll give you Twitter AIDS, but I'll also give you a few LOLZ in the process!)
I am so unbelievably excited about this week's drinking game! It's taken Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie and I years to perfect it. You see, back in the day when Eddie and I we were both awkward (well, more awkward than usual) freshman at AU, what bonded us as insta-biffles was our mutual love of crappy pop-culture. One of the biggest "OHMYGAWD, ME TOOO!!!!1" moments in our friendship came when we discovered that we both have the same favorite Thanksgiving movie—Son-in-Law. Son-in-Law is the ideal major motion picture: it has action, comedy, romance, Pauly Shore, Tiffany-Amber Thiessan (post Saved by the Bell; pre dropping of the Amber) and ROLLERBLADES, ROLLERBLADES, ROLLERBLADES! This past Saturday night, Eddie and I sat down with our laptops, signed onto g-chat, poured ourselves a mighty drink and from 140 miles apart, tested this week's drinking game. (God bless technology.) (And yes I did say Saturday night. She was going out after and I was nursing my cold. DON'T JUDGE US!) It is a privilege and an honor to present you with (the very potent) Meg & Ex-Co-Blogger Eddie's Ultimate Son-in-Law Drinking Game!
You can drink whatever you want for the majority of the movie (we both went with Bacardi and Coke Zero) but there's a specific part of the movie where you're really going to need to utilize a delicious and refreshing Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler. So, have that on deck.
Rules Drink When: - The "EEEE-EEEEEEE, EEEEE-eeeee!" music plays - Walter says, "DAMNIT ZACK!" - Walter says, "Oh shit." - Walter calls Crawl by the wrong name (i.e. Crotch or Crap) - Crawl says "Beck-kuhhhh" - Anyone says "buuuuuu-dddddddy" - Anyone says "charisma" - Anyone says "mingling" - Anyone besides Pauly Shore talks in that bro-kennnn syll-a-bleeee style of talk-iiiiiing that became so synonymous with the nine-tiessssss - STEVEN TYLER PJ'S! STEVEN TYLER PJ'S! - There's a totally meta reference to another Pauly Shore movie - Rebecca's butterfly tattoo is shown or referenced - ANYONE ROLLERBLADES (drink twice if Rollerblading solves an everyday problem like filling troughs with animal feed) - Animals are widdled or a widdled animal is shown (this rule gets you surprisingly fucked up) - Boobs are referred to as "cones" - God knows what is referred to as "nugs" - You can easily see one of Rebecca's outfits being in any given Urban Outfitters right now - You see naked butt - There is an uncomfortably open dialogue between Crawl/Rebecca/Walter/Connie about Walter & Connie's sex life (i.e.: "I'm not going to lie to you Mrs. Warner; you're giving me a total semi right now" or "Becca, check out the wood I created for your dad!" or when Becca tells her mom that she could hear them have sex last night and everyone is like HAHAHA, yeah.) - "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" plays - The following exchange goes down: Walter: DAMNIT! What's that kid's name?! Theo: SOMETIMES HE ANSWERS TO ASSHOLE!
And just for me and Eddie, chug your Bartles & Jaymes when: Crawl: [sees Walter Sr. widdling on the porch] Oh, my God, it's Bartles or Jaymes. Dude, which one are you?! [I don't know why we thought this scene was so hilarious at the time, but it's became this huge inside joke in our friendship. One of my favorite HAHA—college! pictures is of Eddie in a giant purple sweater deep-throating an empty Bartles & Jaymes bottle at her Wet Hot American Summer themed 21st birthday party. It encapsulates the entire college experience into one concise photograph. Ah, Memories!]
And now I leave you with today'sEverything You Ever Wanted to Know... question and answer. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday! Unless you're not in the States...in which case, have a great rest of the week at work! Ha ha...awkward. We love you guys and don't forget about Jäger Ball NEXT SATURDAY NIGHT! AH, HOLY SHIT! We'll see you Monday! Buh-bye!
Dr. Reuben's Question and Answer of the Day:
If a girl is pregnant, wouldn't she be better off without one of these abortionists? Sometimes it doesn't make any difference. A self-induced abortion can be just as dangerous. The traditional do-it-yourself method hasn't changed in the past ten thousand years. The primitive tribes in Africa use the same technique as the most up-to-date swinger in Greenwich Village. Only the instrument is different. The disconsolate African housewife uses her abortion stick. It may be an intricately carved family heirloom or just a sharpened branch she pulled from a tree. It doesn't matter because she only needs it for a moment. She squats in front of her hut, pushes aside her bark-cloth skirt, and slides the stick into her vagina. She then guides it more or less carefully through the cervix and into the uterine cavity. Then she pushes it around vigorously, pulls it out and hopes for the best. Eight thousand miles away her light-skinned sister is sprawled on her queen-sized bed. She brushes aside her expensive nylon underwear, spreads her carefully shaved and powdered legs and with the aid of her cherished magnifying mirror guides her abortion stick toward its final goal. Only she uses a coat hanger.
You how there are tons of things everyday that you just take for granted and don’t think about. But then when you do think about it, you realize just how weird it is. Like the word fork. Fork. No, I’m not high, I just think fork is a weird word. Anyway, sex is another one of those things. Recently, my sex life had been going through a serious serious drought. It was like I was trekking across the Sahara desert barefoot and my canteen was empty and I kept seeing mirages of people I would want to have sex with. And the one oasis I did come to was tainted. That’s a clumsy metaphor for saying the one time I had sex last year (yea I know! ONE TIME in a full fiscal year!) was horrible. I can’t even explain it to you as there aren’t words for how bad it was.
Anyway, the drought is over now, and I’m happily getting my swerve on so I’m going to take a page from Salt, Pepa, and Spinderella and talk about sex.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mg1PEoQ_cq8
I apologize for not embedding the video, but Universal Music Group apparently disabled that function for this video. Which is a shame, because there’s absolutely nothing I don’t love about this video. Seriously, watch it and love it. The 90s fashion, the kickin’ dance moves, the amazing ghetto hairdos complete with intense spit curls in the middle of their foreheads. (Are those spit curls? I’m just assuming, but if anyone knows for certain, please fill me in as I’m genuinely curious.)
But I digress. Take a minute and think about sex. Just in general. It’s so bizarre, right? You are putting yourself inside of someone else’s self. Like physically inside of someone. Or conversely, someone else is inserting themselves into your person. Repeatedly. Sure, that’s what those parts are made for. But if you were to stop mid-coitus, you would just be lying around with someone else in you. Like Siamese twins connected at the genitals. Except sexier.
More than that, unlike the ~1,500 people on this website (not necessarily NSFW, but maybe don’t click and then call your boss over): I don’t want just anyone to see the weird faces I make during sex. I don’t even want to see them. Sex in a room with a mirrored ceiling? No thanks. Why do you think I’m not already an internet sensation of the X-rated variety? Because I’m not interested in a lasting memory of my oh-face.
And the faces wouldn’t even be the worst part of video. That would be the sounds. Like I’m talking straight up sounds people make during sex, not words, I’ll get to that later. Taken out of the context of getting freaky, all the grunts, gasps, screams, moans, and other noises are almost entirely inappropriate. My neighbor, during her various and extremely loud sex romps, is fond of the noise “Aw,” sort of an abbreviated “Aw yeahhh.” (To be fair, she throws that in later.) Not quite “Oh” and not quite “Ah.” Nowhere else would “Aw, aw, aw!” be appropriate, unless I suppose you see three adorable things in a row. Isn’t moaning is what ghosts are often said to be doing? Ghosts must then be perpetually horny from being all dead and whatnot, because that shit doesn’t happen anywhere else in life. In regular, non-sex world, grunting just makes you sound illiterate. Who decided that grunting during sex was sexy and encouraging?
Oh, I know. Porn decided. Which brings me to my next point: the stuff people say during sex. Talking dirty is pretty friggin’ hot. I’m horrible at it, as I feel ridiculous telling people to do what they are already doing. I’ve only ever told someone to “Suck it” whilst doing the appropriate hand gesture.
And even then, I was like 15. My inability to talk dirty aside, the only reason people say all this bizarre stuff like “You like when I fuck you like this?” “I want to cum in you!” “You’re so tight!” is from watching too much porno. They say that stuff in porn so the fat, old creepster who is watching it by himself in a dark room can imagine what it’d be like if he were the one doing the fucking. No one is watching while you have sex, so you don’t have to describe it to anyone. And common sense says that whatever you’re feeling, you’re partner can probably feel it too to some degree, as previously mentioned, you are inside of them (or they are inside of you).
Conversely, it would be weirder if no noises were made at all. The aforementioned horrible sex I had involved no noise. Which was all kinds of awkward. You could have heard a pin drop in that room. I can only fill the void for so long, but being a one-man moan show is exhausting and not sexy.
All that being said, I had forgotten how much I enjoy getting laid. I mean, that’s a pretty asinine statement, but previously when “U & Ur Hand” would come on in a bar, I’d cry a little, because it was true. It got the job done, but you know how it is. But I have to completely remove all of these thoughts from my head during sex, because if I think once about what is happening, my penis will definitely go all turtle on me faster than you can say “Bonerkiller.”
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