Several of my nephews recently became teenagers. Eww. I can't even write that without contracting cauliflower ear. Teenage boys can't help but be
buttsmellers. It's not their fault. It's their hormones that insist on rocking out 24-7 to
Smells Like Teen Spirit.
As if the words "TEENAGE" and "NEPHEWS" don't make me sound one step away from Depends, the fact that Nirvana is the most kick-arse band I know just sealed the deal.
Enough about me. Back to my nephews.
In July, I spent several hours lounging on the porch at my parent's house. Tough job but somebody had to do it. People floated in and out as they are want to do during
a reunion. At one point, I found myself in the company of the two aforementioned nephews.
After we covered the obligatory school, friends, sports, and chicks report, the conversation deteriorated rapidly into the most foul game of
Would You Rather? that I've ever had the unfortunate pleasure of being a part of.
In case you've been too busy, I don't know, USING that brain God gave you, I'll enlighten you to the ways of
Would You Rather?
Any number of parties can indulge in this game, which commences with one party inquiring of the other party in the following manor: "Would you rather [blank] or [blank]?"
Now, the goal is to give two opposite, but equally horrifying scenarios in the hopes that the party being questioned will deem both options equivalently disagreeable and forfeit, thus making the presenter of the unpleasant sketches the victor.
Stimulating, right?
You see, back in the day, when Nirvana was the most kick-arse band I knew, I was the conqueror of
Would You Rather? I'm sounding a little like Uncle Rico here, but truthfully, NO ONE served up more sick and twisted options than I.
So when the game was instigated and my nephews turned expectant eyes on me, like little starving babies asking for leches, I thought I'd start out easy. "Well, boys," I said. "Would you rather have a hair lip or no lip?"
They both starred at me for a full 15 seconds before busting into the kind of laughter reserved for the back of the school bus. I was in junior high long enough to know the stench of mockery when I smell it.
"Oh, Aunt Emily. That's sweet. So cute. Dainty even."
And quicker than you can say "I feel stupid, and contagious" those boys smacked down the most despicable options ever presented in the history of
Would You Rather? So rancid were these choices that I cannot even bring myself to soil my blog and your eyes with such filth. For those curious minds, several types of bodily fluid were involved.
From there, the game swirled impossibly further down the slop pipe as I watched on with wondering eyes. When my stomach (and my pride) could you longer take it, I excused myself and took refuge among people my own size: the toddlers and their sidewalk chalk.
Lesson learned: Do not play with teenage boys. Wait. That came out wrong. I meant...oh, never mind. So. The question is, would I rather converse with teenage boys or have my stomach pumped? Isn't that the same thing?
Alternately:
Alternately:
