slapwrist

After being barraged by 'fuck you's' in my first blog i was reminded of a silly game we played as college kids...well, ok, and even after. Slapwrist was basically an incessantly annoying game whereas anything that was picked up or held in the hands of your unexpecting pal was subsequently smashed out of ones hands, regardless of how much skin was caught in the slap or if the object in hand was shattered in a million pieces. We loved it. And it brought us to tears with laughter.
Then there was the throwing of live darts at one another after many bong hits, lounging in the acid chair and listen to Taco's beastie boys album for the twelth time that day. It was certainly much more of a psychological game to watch dear friends squirm and twist throughout Cafe Elvis, but nonetheless, we did it relentlessly.
The forehead slap game usually came after waaayyyy too many beers and bong rips, but usually it was the beers that inspired a whopping (and, of course, unexpected) wallop to the forehead. If the forehead for some reason was not reachable, we opted for the back of the neck and a nice raw set of fingerprints implanted on our beloved.
When Sidney dared to step on to the stage the real fun began. The heckling and hazing would become so intense that heavy flying objects were projected on stage towards the wild turkey drunks on stage. Sidney, as always, responded with more insults and homosexual insinuations, whilst the crowd got riled up enough that Chuck, the hairy PR, ran for cover behind the Mexican bean pole.
Each time the same subliminal messages reached our deepest senses. First and foremost, hey dude -- i love ya and the second, and maybe more obvious, -- but FUCK YOU!