Bobby D'Angelo
It’s 8:42 PM, and with everything going on in the world right now, you and your friends are sitting your white asses down and listening…to Kirk Herbstreit narrate Matt Ryan going through his progressions. You want to be really upset because you’re losing two units on this game, but moments ago, in the big family group chat, your Mom asked your Aunt from Florida about life after the storm and she sent back a picture of Ron Desantis dressed as Santa Clause riding a sleigh guided by flying Venezuluans with the caption “De-Santi Clause is coming to town” and your speechless. To collect your thoughts, you take out a tin of Zyn from your pocket, which is immediately met with upper decky zynnies six milly gum pillows which is, of course, met by the one guy who is way too straight to have a Tik Tok account saying what is that like a fucking Tik Tok thing? You guys are so dumb. As the game makes a quick Elliot Page to commercial break, you look to your left to see your friend who’s just sent his third text to his girlfriend spending a long weekend in Miami, and you realize that maybe there is somebody out there under more distress than Matt Ryan because there’s no pain like getting no reply when she’s in the 305.
As the second quarter begins to come to a close, the kid who definitely has a drinking problem that he justifies with his last name beginning with an “O” is trying to rally the troops to go out to the bar. The group is unmotivated, but much like Zelensky, he’ll take anyone to join his cause so he calls up the Azoff battalion of kids that will do uppers any given day of the week and invites them over without asking. Uncharacteristically, the guy who has now sent five blue bubbles to his girlfriend has also joined his cause. The atmosphere in the room has shifted from a bunch of guys losing money on an L-shaped couch that smells like farts to something a little more intense, but that’s just life in the big city. By the time the beginning of the second half rolls around, half the group is on their way to a bar, and one of the kids already there has just sent his Tinder conversation in your group chat with the caption I’m ’bout to start some mayhem with this they/them. Things have gotten off the rails, but one of your friends just announced his girlfriend is on her way to sleep over so that should settle things down because apart from getting too fucked up on Saturday mornings and drunkenly talking about how much she misses her Grandma from Belarus, she’s quite tame.
The girl visiting her boyfriend uniform is interesting because it dictates how far they are in the relationship. Any relationship longer than three months means sweats, one of his sweatshirts, hair that just had purple shampoo in it fifteen minutes ago, and glasses. This is good because it means your friend has found someone he likes, but it also means, at any moment, you will lose him trying to Hocus Pocus his way into some sweet loving, so by the time the fourth quarter starts, your group of eight has turned into a group of two. Your only connection with the remaining kid is your love of football and losing money on it. Your night ends down twenty dollars, eight beers, and your cognitive abilities because the methone from these chili farts has you dizzy. Just another Thursday.
