A night previous to this, my friends and I were sitting around my Ikea table with ‘borrowed’ celebrity chef cards. We play Masters and Slaves because it’s the only game that doesn’t involves a lot of strong language. We were celebrating having actually attended the gym this week. We celebrated with alcohol and carb-filled burgers.
Little did I know, on this not so very special evening, life, as I knew it, would change forever. We were going to undertake the impossible: learning a new group card game. This casual, drunken Tuesday night I almost saw my world crumble around me. I’m sorry dear neighbours for the ungodly language you probably heard. Particularly from Evil Monica. Evil Monica is just a code name. Monica’s don’t exist anymore. Earlier, and soberer, in the evening I mentioned that we were one ‘Joey’ short of the perfect F.R.I.E.N.D.S clique. Evil Monica shrugged,
“We really don’t need a dumb slut.”
“Agreed, this game is hard enough”, said Evil Ross.
“It’s especially hard after half a bottle of vodka,” said Evil Chandler.
It’s only Evil Phoebe and I who seemed to be understanding the new game. The more our Evil F.R.I.E.N.D.S struggled to comprehend how to play, the more Evil Phoebe struggled to not violently dispatch them on the street – via the balcony on the fourth floor. Evil Phoebe was having some issues with our F.R.I.E.N.D.S being stuck in a Masters and Slaves rut. Evil Phoebe is all for change.
So we were the dark version of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Like if the coffee shop remained a bar and we all worked there. If Ross was a cocktail bartender, who corrected customers on their pronunciation of Curaçao. If Monica poured beer with the perfect head and Phoebe cried in your drink if you were mean to her. If Chandler could talk long into the night on ‘glassy’ politics and Rachel threw ice at the couples making out at the bar (then blogged about it all later).
I would tell you the name of the card game that almost ruined our friendship group. But we couldn’t come to a collective agreement. Evil Monica swore that it was ‘Hearts’.
“NO!” Said Evil Chandler. “This is not hearts. This is not fucking hearts.”
“It’s ‘Oh Hell,’” said Evil Phoebe. “Actually it’s ‘Oh Fuck’, but it’s the PG version.”
“It’s Shit,” muttered Evil Ross from the head of the table. “Maybe we should call it that.” Evil Ross had been winning Masters and Slaves earlier so he wasn’t keen for a change.
“I think our family called it Niggly,” said Evil Rachel (Me).
“Racist!” shouted Evil Monica, who, in the real world, belongs to my family.
It was around 2am when we decided to rename it: ‘Oh-shit-shake-that-ass-ma-move-it-like-a-gypsy-stop-woah-back-it-up-now-let-me-see-your-hips-swing.’ The fact that ‘Swing by Savage’ was playing in the background had nothing to do with that decision.
We called it ‘Hips Swing’ for short.
After Evil Rachel won the game, Chandler decided to get his calligraphy on over the score sheet. This may have been an attempt to eradicate all evidence that Evil Rachel is actually an evil genius at Hips Swing. He swirled out ‘Hips Swing’ on the paper, in a font soon to appear on Microsoft word as: Sore Loser.
“That looks like a swastika,” Evil Phoebe pointed out.
“Its gangsta,” Evil Rachel defended. “You wouldn’t understand”. Being the palest of the group, Evil Rachel had an educated – almost masterful – grasp of the Gansta culture.
“Did you know,” Evil Ross interrupted, “that Buddhists also have this symbol, but it’s in the opposite direction.”
“Could be a tad confusing for your modern citizen,” said Evil Monica.
“Or for the average Nazi,” put in Evil Chandler.
We collectively stared at it.
“It’s a shame that Nazi culture ruined this”, one of us spoke into the silence. “It used to be so pure.”
Evil Phoebe stopped looking evil.
“We should do this more often,” she said.
“Hips Swing isn’t so bad,” said Evil Monica.
Then we all went to bed.
“Fun evening,” Evil Ross said to me once we were tucked in.
“I dunno,” I replied. “I think we were missing a dumb slut.”
Images sourced: Tumblr – F.R.I.E.N.D.S gifs