It's a holiday, bitches, that means just like on the tee-vers it's re-run time.
Back before the internet, which is an actual period of history that existed, although I suppose I can't really prove it, so never mind, it wasn't that easy to figure out all of the ways the people you knew in high school and never wanted to hear from again were failing. Maybe you'd bump into someone at the mall back home while you were doing some last minute Christmas shopping, which is another thing people used to do. They'd usually look like Vincent D'Onofrio's alien character from Men In Black, like they climbed inside a fatter, grosser skin-suit of themselves, which was good for the self esteem of those of us who didn't spend our time since high school grazing in a field of chicken wings. So you'd do an awkward stop and chat filling each other in on the past five or ten years of shared mediocrity, then you'd be like “Nice to see you, I gotta run” and you'd speed out of there on your roller blades, because everyone rollerbladed everywhere back then if I'm remembering it correctly.
Back before the internet, which is an actual period of history that existed, although I suppose I can't really prove it, so never mind, it wasn't that easy to figure out all of the ways the people you knew in high school and never wanted to hear from again were failing. Maybe you'd bump into someone at the mall back home while you were doing some last minute Christmas shopping, which is another thing people used to do. They'd usually look like Vincent D'Onofrio's alien character from Men In Black, like they climbed inside a fatter, grosser skin-suit of themselves, which was good for the self esteem of those of us who didn't spend our time since high school grazing in a field of chicken wings. So you'd do an awkward stop and chat filling each other in on the past five or ten years of shared mediocrity, then you'd be like “Nice to see you, I gotta run” and you'd speed out of there on your roller blades, because everyone rollerbladed everywhere back then if I'm remembering it correctly.
Other than that, the only other chance you'd ever get to bump into people you used to tolerate because you had no other choice, and nothing in common with besides an accident of youthful proximity, was on the night before Thanksgiving. In smallish towns like the one I'm from, everyone would fire up the old drinking holes and word-makers and ambulate their walking pegs down to Hispanic O'Sullivan's Taco and Beer Meat Factory to stand around sort of near each other and try not to get too bummed out about the idea of slowly dying over the next few decades with nothing to show for it. You'd distract yourself from this grim realization in the only three ways human beings have yet to devise for this purpose: fucking, fighting, and drinking. Old crushes were renewed for one night only, as were old grudges. Adult humans actually engaged in fisticuffs in parking lots based on long remembered slights from algebra class. Adult people watched. Everyone shamed themselves.
Of course once they invented Facebook, this all sort of became obsolete. Now we have constant reminders every single day about what people are doing with their bad jobs and boring kids and orange skin (which is a characteristic oddly common amongst the women I grew up with.) Everyone who wanted to reignite an old high school flame has had a thousand opportunities to make a half-hearted stab at it by now online, and if it's schadenfreude you're after, it's a lot easier just to look at someone's internet face, silently judge them based on the hat they're wearing in the picture or how many rolls of fat they've picked up along the way, then go back about your business. You don't even need to worry about driving home drunk that way.
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| kind of like this, except there's no Asian people in Kingston, MA |
So why are millions of people still going to go out tonight across America doing the same ritual of debasement? Because the only people we have less in common with than our high school class is our families. Talking to mom for ten minutes about how she's worried the terrorists are going to bomb the local strip mall 7-11 is enough to send anyone out the fucking house for a solid stretch. So, since I know you're going to do it anyway, here are a few handy tips I just picked up from an unfortunate website called BroBible.com, which is probably the best site in the world but I will never, ever find out, in a piece called Top 10 Reasons Why Thanksgiving Eve Is the Best Bar Night of the Year.
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| Girl in the purple has the appropriate reaction |
Oh. Oh yiiikes, I finally just read this whole thing. I was going to just pick and choose a few quotes out of each entry, but you can't really fuck with stuff this good.
A few of the dankest nuggets of wisdom from those bro-hammers:
There are no excuses to not go out.
Chances are that you have absolutely nothing to do the next day. You don't even have to worry about feeding yourself, that's hopefully already taken care of. In fact, Thanksgiving Day is as close to being brain dead as most men could ever get. While the old maid that you call your mother is in the kitchen whipping together a regal feast, you and the other men in the house get to sit on the couch, pass gas, mouth breath, and watch football.
Younger girls will be out and they will still want you.
Younger women love older men. They always will. These chicks will forever see you as the same upperclassmen they swooned over in the hallway. You were Johnny fuckin' Touchdown back then; the upperclassman who had it all going for him — big-dick rumors and all. So if you haven't lost a step or drastically changed, the odds are in your favor that you can still stuff one of these birds.
You'll fuck your ex-girlfriend from high school.
Even if both of you moved on and are in other relationships, you will fuck for at least the next two years when you see each other. You will also have finally convinced her that sodomy is a good idea. When you do it — in your best friend's parents' laundry room — she will have second thoughts because you can't seem to get it in without spitting on her. Then, when she becomes fed up with trying, she will trip over an entire box of kitty litter as she runs to the bathroom to wipe the gobs of spit off her ass.
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| How ya been khed? |
Um. Wellllllp, if you needed any further convincing to stay home, or to do what I'm going to do because I'm better than everyone else, which is get together with a few close friends that I actually still enjoy seeing, keep in mind that the same type of guy who is reading this shit, and actually high-fiving the dude who wrote it in his brain are exactly the type of people you're going to bump into.
Also appeared at Street Carnage.
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8 comments:
Its for nights like these that they invented Four Loco.
nice new banner you fackin queeeah. put this on the BOAT!
Zoof. I thought specifically of how much you were gonns hste it. Just an experiment don't worry.
I'd like to experiment with her etc etc....
Usually think of old friends as external hard drives with legs remote-hosting backup copies of a good chunk of my life data.
Luke O'Neil: the Speaker of Truth
probably sit in traffic for 3 hours to get to pembroke in a bit. go to annual old timey poker game, act-out and talk too much around my high school and college buddies as usual to cover up the distance between us now. "haha, classic luke, they'll say."
Read it last year, read it this year, always good. How does BroBible know so much about the spitting practices of American college aged men?
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