Saturday Night Cleaver Posted by Happy Blogger , 23.8.10 at Monday, August 23, 2010, in

It's nearing the end of summer, and everyone's preparing for the various things to come for the year. As it is, I am heading back to my last year of high school and a new year with dance. In my dance school, I have become really close with most the girls there, and it is sad to say that there a couple of them heading off to University. We decided that we would have to get together atleast one last time before everyone leaves. So, we thought, how 'bout a Murder Mystery game? That will be fun, right?

I didn't know much about Murder Mysteries, but I was told that we were supposed to dress up. In most cases, the people know their characters and what they are supposed to look like before they show up for the party, but we were a little disorganized and got the game only hours before buying it. I figured, let's dress up anyways, so I went through my Dress up box, pulled out all the old costumes and headed over. I decided to wear this White, blue, mint green, pink floral dress from the eighties that was decked out with massive shoulder pads, and I put a black scarf around my head. Apparently I was the only not to get the text that it is themed 70's. I was a decade too late, Oh well.

There were 8 characters and only 6 people, so two of us had to take on two characters. So, I soon became mysterious dealer 'Chaka Moon' and ballad singer 'Manny Baritone'. The game was layed out where you were given profile booklets describing your character(s), followed by rounds with stuff your character knows and can be used to interrogate others. It alsohad information we should keep to ourselves unless asked directly and clues that needed to be revealed. My friend brought along with her a plastic cleaver, not knowing the title of the game. Weapon in hand, we proceeded.

The scene: A disco club owner, Stan A. Live was found dead on the dance floor with a cleaver in his back. Smell of bubblegum lingered on the dead body. A mood ring was found in his hand. There was a hearing aid that had fallen on the floor, and broken glass. Outside, DJ Wolfman Bob was dead in a puddle of water with electrical wires hanging down.

Everytime we flipped a page and had to read about information about our characters, each of us nearly peed our pants laughing. There were so many references to songs and the 70's, it was ridiculous.

We had 'Chaka Moon' who was known in her younger days as the 'deaf, dumb and blind kid, who sure played a mean pinball'. Stan was envious and hired Brady Bunsch to break her wrists so he could be better than her. She dropped her hearing aid the day of stan's murder, and often wears bubblegum flavoured lipgloss. Oh yeah, and she has a baby who she tells is stan, but is actually Vinnies (that was the night that the lights went out in Georgia). She also secretly married stan a couple weeks earlier, and the time of stans murder, she was in the DJ booth gettin' jiggy with Brady Busnch. Woah, lol.

Manny hated stan as a kid, and was bullied because he was chubby. (Though one day, he fell into a chocolate river and was sucked up a tube and was thinned out). His father was business partners with Stan who worked in a mortuary. Manny was outside at the time of the murder, in the puddle with Wolfman Bob, but wasn't killed because he was wearing platform shoes! (?). Oh yeah, and he was in a heavy metal band called LIKK. (what!?)

Not to mention Angina Palpitori who was possessed by the Devil, and killed her boyfriends, hoping stan was her next victim. Brady Bunsch who was an exorcist who made a deal with the Devil to live part time in Angie. Brady wasn't actually Brady but some italian man. Then there was Vinny who loved Polly Ester Stuffincup, but was dating Angie and was planning to kill her. Then there was Stans wife Belle bedham who was working with Angie to kill stan because there marriage was not official, and she wanted his money. Knight Feever who was a bionic man who was being black mailed by stan who worked as a butcher, and had the meat cleaver that night. Polly and Manny were doing business together, and Polly is notorious for chewing bubble gum. Vinnie likes to be naked, Belle had broken her glass as she was an alcholic, Polly was with Stan when he was murdered, but who did it?

dun dun dun dundundundundundundUNDUNDUNDUN.

No other than the deaf, dumb and blind kid, Chaka moon.
Of course it would be my character.

You probably can't understand a single thing that I just explained, it was too complex. I couldn't have imagined if they told you from the start. I would not have been able to hide it.

It probably wasn't that funny, but as we were a bit hyped up, it was freakin hilarious.

As a side note:

Clue #9.

Dear Stan
(I really wish I remembered what the note said...
blah, blah, blah, stan getting a divorce and not
giving money to belle, blah blah blah)

May Divorce Be With You- George Mucous.

-appy Blogger

Just Kinda My Policy. Posted by Sad Blogger , 17.8.10 at Tuesday, August 17, 2010, in

You: Cute girl at the bar.
Me: The guy you chatted with while waiting for our drinks.
The Topic: Why I didn’t buy you a drink.
The Audience: Women everywhere, please read this. I know it’s long, but I feel the length is expedient to truly illustrating and arguing my point.

I was waiting to order right as things were getting crazy. It was obvious that it would be a long wait. What can I say? I can’t compete with all the douches yelling for jager bombs. It was then that you appeared. A cute, petite, slightly hipster-ish girl standing next to me, waiting to order as well. The conversation began in the typical manner, simply relating on how frustrating it is when you spend half a night out just waiting for a drink. It then evolved into a true conversation. I spent the next twenty minutes finding out you have great taste in music, movies and literature. You laughed at my jokes, and that’s a big deal to average-looking guys like me.
Unfortunately, after we’d both finished our respective drinks, but were still immersed in discussion, you dropped a bomb that sent shrapnel into my heart.

“So are you gonna buy me a drink or what?”

I had been dreading this moment. I’ve learned from hard experience that any prolonged conversation with a girl at a club or a bar inevitably requires a fee of rum and coke, vodka tonic, or God forbid, a cosmo. As cute as you were, I felt obligated to retain my self-respect.

“Sorry, I don’t buy girls drinks. Just kinda my policy.”

You looked at me like I told you I was going to rape your dog Charlie (yes, I remember his name). Your face morphed from a beautiful smile into a twisted caricature of shock, revulsion, and utter disbelief.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna buy me a drink? What’s your problem?”

Well sweetheart, let me explain to you in detail my logic regarding this decision that you found so unbelievable:

1. I’ve been going to bars for the past year and a bit. I enjoy meeting people when I do. I enjoy meeting attractive girls like yourself. I have, however, learned that buying girls drinks is a sucker’s game. 90% of the time, all it does is give me a higher bar tab. Now you might say I’m a prick for expecting a girl to indulge me just because I buy her a drink. I agree an $7 cocktail does not and should not equal any sort of obligation. However, I believe spending time and money on a girl when I could be having a good night out with my friends does entitle me at least one of the following things: You reciprocating by buying me a drink, you giving me your phone number and/or going out on a date with me, where once again I will be spending time and money on you. Notice that sex is not a requirement or expectation that is coupled with any of these options. Now, of course, if I had offered to buy you a drink, and you accepted, you are not obligated to any of these things. The big distinction here is that you asked me to buy you a drink, and were shocked that I wouldn’t do so. This brings me to my second point.

2. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re an attractive girl, and when you go out there is no shortage of guys offering to buy you drinks. You know that they are all doing so with the hope that it will lead to sex with you. You know that it’s not going to happen, but you will accept the free drinks anyway. I don’t hold this against you. If they’re dumb enough to think that buying you a drink is the key to your heart and that they are somehow different from the other Ed Hardy-wearing frat-bros then it’s their own damn fault. You’re using your god-given assets to get free alcohol, nothing wrong with that. But it is precisely because I know that you do this that I will not be another douche who thinks he can get into your pants with a mixed drink. It’s insulting to my dignity as a man and your honor as a woman. I noticed you when you first walked in. I saw you dancing with that hopeless collar-popper. I saw him go to the bar and bring a drink back to you on the dancefloor. I saw how the second the glass was in your hand, you gave him the “Thanks for the drink, it was really nice meeting you” treatment complete with the obligatory pat on the chest. I saw the pathetic, defeated look on his face as you walked away. He will enter the next round of bar hopping a little wiser I hope.

3. You took my unwillingness to fall into such a trap as an insult. You accused me of being stuck-up. You then said that I had a chance at fucking you, but that I’d ruined it by being an asshole. What exactly are you trying to tell me? That the asinine idea that getting a girl a drink will get you in her pants is actually true? That your decision of whether or not to sleep with a guy is based on him liquoring you up? We had a good conversation, and maybe you were actually interested in me. But the fact that any rapport we built was destroyed when I wouldn’t buy you a gin and tonic means that I am no longer interested in you. Not all guys are desperate sperm donors. Some of us actually value a good conversation, and we value girls who have enough respect for themselves that they don’t view sex as a transaction.

4. We established during our conversation that we are both broke-ass arts students. Why then would you expect that I, someone who shares your financial woes, would want to spend money on you, a girl I just met? I don’t believe that chivalry is dead. I’ll hold a door for you, I’ll pull out your chair or take your coat. I’ll help you change a flat tire, carry you over deep puddles, figure out the remote, reset your modem. I’ll even help you move when I know you a little better. Why? Because I’m a gentleman. I will not, however, buy you a drink under the pretense that it is what a gentleman does, because I simply cannot afford it. If you want a guy who can afford to buy you whatever you want, find a fifty year-old sugar daddy. There was no shortage of potentials at the bar the other night.

I hope this illustrated my thought-process clearly enough. I hope you realize that you seemed amazing at first, and that declining to buy you a drink was in no way an insult. Your reaction, however, revealed the self-entitled, game-playing she-devil that was lurking underneath. I thank god for the out that he provided at that moment though. Just after you finished your little rant on what I dick I was for not boozing you up, a group of girls emerged at the bar right behind you. Two of these girls were thin and pretty. They immediately got the attention of some bros and had free drinks within minutes. The third girl was overweight and out of place. She had clearly spent a great deal of time and effort on her appearance, but alas, she was once again forsaken by her prettier friends and left to stand by herself, looking miserable. Luckily, I know when the universe has given me a profound gift. There were two incredible moments that filled me with an elation that could not be rivaled by the orgasm I could have had while fucking you. The first was the sincere, excited smile that the chubby girl gave me when I moved past you and asked what she wanted to drink. The second was turning back and seeing the look of horror on your face. You pathetic “have fun with the fatty” remark as you walked away was priceless. I may be broke, but I was willing to go into the red to make this girl’s night and to piss you off. I’m sure as soon as you left you got plenty of free drinks and plenty of idiots drooling over you. I just hope that I got under your skin enough to prevent any enjoyment of those things.


The moral: Ladies, accept drinks if they are offered. Do not expect them. And if you’re feeling particularly wild on a given night, offer to buy the guy a drink. He will be instantly smitten.

Merely platonic,

Sad Blogger