5 Fantasy Alternatives For When Football Season Is Over
1. Fantasy Guys’ Night Out
Before you hit the town with your boys, pick one of ‘em as your fantasy player for the evening. Come up with a point system for his actions: Points given for drunken hugs, drunken fights and 20-minute conspiracy theory tirades. Automatic win if your player hooks up at the end of the night.
2. Fantasy Your Job
Select the most annoying guy at the office and rack up points when he sends you a “funny” e-mail forward, makes lame “Case Of The Mondays” jokes and gets yelled at by the boss for incompetence. Also: 10 points for every hour he spends on Facebook.
3. Fantasy Gym
Points given for catching your player flexing in the mirror and/or checking out the hot girl on the elliptical. Bonus points for “aggressive shiftlessness.”
4. Fantasy Family Gathering
We recommend you choose the weird uncle as your player, and give points for inappropriate/racist jokes around children, audible body functions (we’re talking about the burp/fart family) and getting way too drunk before sundown.
5. Fantasy First Date
You’re out with a girl and it’s not going so well, so why not entertain yourself with some basic arithmetic? Points awarded for each time she tells a boring five-minute story, mentions her ex-boyfriend or checks her phone mid-conversation. On the positive side, even if you “lose” the game by realizing she’s awesome, you’re still winning at life.
I simply must go (But baby, it’s cold outside) The answer is no (But baby, it’s cold outside)
When you really think about it, this song is about a mild-mannered woman who’s trying desperately to escape from some sicko’s house. Each time she gives a legitimate excuse as to why she should go, he shoots her down with something predatory.
The neighbors might think (Baby, it’s bad out there) Say, what’s in this drink? (No cabs to be had out there)
Yeah, WHAT’S IN THIS DRINK?! What did this scumbag give the lady? A warm mug of roofienog? Whoever this song was written about, here’s to hoping she eventually got home, regardless of the temperature outside.
When I started going through the puberty, I was an unwieldy ball of energy, and every last bit of that testosterone-fueled energy was spent trying to obtain pornography. The pursuit of smut left me powerless. This was happening, by any means necessary.
For those who have grown up with the Internet, it must be impossible for you to imagine how difficult it was for underage boys to see photos of naked women. You needed to have an understanding older brother or a shady uncle who would buy a Hustler magazine for you. Or, maybe a friend with dad who had a Playboy subscription and didn’t hide the copies very well. Or be one of the few very lucky souls who would just find issues of Penthouse in the woods or behind a dumpster for seemingly no reason.
I’d previously seen a few pages of ’70s smut via my friend Barry. His dad left a few relics in the crawl space in Barry’s bedroom. This was a helluva find. But at the end of the day, these pubic-hair-heavy mags remained in Barry’s house. It was like seeing your buddy win a ton of cash in Vegas, but you go home with empty pockets. Screw that! I needed a Playboy to call my very own.