Drinking Game Friday (sort of) has got CHARISMA!

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's Everything 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.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!