Well, I'm the type of person that likes to sit around and talk about how many cool things I did in college and how fucking bad ass I was, and because I was so bad ass you should automatically assume that I am still bad ass after I told you a story of this one time in college when I was a bad ass who instigated and initiated all sorts of bad assery.
I have friends of the same variety. We are extremely cool.
You would hate us.
In fact, we are so very cool that we throw giant parties for ourselves and basically act like we're still in college, except now we like, have to clean up after those parties. Then we go home and walk our dogs and relieve the babysitter, because living in a paper house of cigarette butts, baff, and broken bottles isn't as appealing as it was at the turn of the century.
And now when we shotgun beers, we don't always finish the can. Sometimes we pretend it was empty and throw the can onto the lawn in a fit of fictional post-chugging ecstasy, because shotgunning beers isn't as fulfilling as it was at the turn of the century.
And now when we have flippy cup tournaments, people look at us like we're those people. And when we sharpee-in the team names on the double-elimination bracket chart and Muffy yells, "We're playing first to five," everyone groans, because they know that means "best of nine" and in the foreseeable future they're gonna be passed out in their own bile n' urine, and they're not looking forward to bragging about it at the office on Monday. Because alcoholism isn't as acceptable as it was at the turn of the century.
And now when we throw a theme party, half the attendees are too cool to dress like actual superheroes/villains. Because it's lame. They have no respect for the hardcore partiers who painted themselves blue, or bought gold heeled thigh-high boots, or sprayed their hair pink and carved bones out of styrofoam with their bare hands. What they don't know is that lame is the new cool. Seriously, people, do I have to tell you everything? So dressing up in a costume isn't as hilarious as it was at the turn of the century.
Is this because eight years ago we were all broke as fuck and refused to waste a single drop of High Life? Is it because finally, we understand what people mean when they sigh and grab their forehead and confess, shakily, "Man, I just can't drink like I used to"? Is it because when we see people and brag about this sweet flippy cup party to our old friends they give us the crazy eye and say, "You guys still do that?"
So we don't throw as many parties as we did at the turn of the century.
But on Saturday, yes. There was party. And when I didn't win the flippy cup tournament, it was uneventful, but extremely fun. Muffy had to point it out to me all snidely, and until there was mass mockery. "Dude, how fucking pissed are you, Ross?"
But with my costume came a plethora of bones that I chiseled and painted all fucking day on Saturday with astounding accuracy, and it wasn't until everyone else saw me covered with femurs that I learned that I just looked like I pocketed a bunch of dildos.
It didn't help that I think I'm hilarious and snatched every opportunity to make a joke about bones. It was funny for about never.
"I am dominating this game. I can feel it in my bones."
"Bone is the new blurg."
"I am the Bone Collector."
Like I said, unfunny. Next time I get hammered and make bone jokes, they'll be funny.