QoTW

Haven’t had a quote of the week in a hot minute, so I’ve decided to include a bonus quote which would certainly have garnered QoTW had I decided to leave my obnoxious switch in the ‘off’ position this weekend.

Also, in a first for the QoTW, the quote is credited to yours truly.

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Like almost all previous quotes, this one requires a setup to establish context.

A few months back, my best-est pal text messaged me with a hell of a proposal.  Us two, ten nubile city living women, and two hours to romp around a spooky art museum trying to solve a murder mystery.  My head swam with visions of Scooby-Doo, except this time Daphne was gonna be trying to solve the mystery of the pants zipper.

The setting, the ratio, the plan to go out and get wasted after, all of it, was absolutely perfect.  Fish in a barrel.

It didn’t take very long for the ‘girls gone wild at the met’ video playing in my mind to come to a screeching, blue-ball inducing halt.  The ones that didn’t have boyfriendshusbands, acted like they did.  It wasn’t as if any of them stepped off the pages of maxim.  Not unattractive, but nothing to beat off to in the bathroom by greco-roman sculpture either.

So we ran back and forth across this museum like the Griswolds, trying to find answers to mostly silly clues.  I participated more or less enthusiastically, all the while wishing I were piss drunk.

Finally, after two very LONG hours, we converged at the Hall of Deneb to compile our answers and identify the ‘killer’ and the motive.  The winning team was decided by a point system based on how many clue answers were correct, the correct identity of the killer, and the correct motive.  Out of the 8 or so teams of six that participated, ours came in a tie for second.

The winners were the six others in the twelve of our original group.  Six happy, smug, and utterly boring women clapped their hands and smiled dull smiles at each other, likely already beginning to think about the exciting fall television line-up in the work week ahead.

Bonus points were awarded for the team with the most clever name.  Our wallpaper-like guide cheerfully announced,

“I also awarded the bonus points to our winners, the, Detective Divas!”

More polite laughing and dainty golf claps echoed softly through the hall.

Then something in my brain did a little back flip.  Except it landed like afro-ninja in that now legendary youtube video.

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“Hey,… hey, ha-ha, wait, wait, you guys were the only team that had all girls on it, right?”

My friend looked sharply in my direction.  I pretended to not notice this.  Meanwhile, I was ignored.

Me again, louder this time:  “Hey guys, that was awesome, aren’t you the only all-female squad too?”

Finally, one girl who I did know prior to the event answered, “uh, yeah”.

My friends eyes widened and he silently shook his head, I believe he may have mouthed a silent “NO” as well.

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And the coup de grace,

“You know, a great name for you guys would have been, ‘The Scavenger Cunts!’….”

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“Cunts” echoed through the Hall of Deneb loud enough for Osiris himself to utter, ‘dammmmn homie’, from the banks of the river Styx.

The response was marked and universal.  I was treated as an amazonian tribal facing judgment from the elders.  Six comfortably clothed female backs turned in my direction as one, like some sort of dull and offended vertical blind.

Meanwhile, my friend gaped, and I struggled mightily to contain my laughter.  Outside of Great Britain, the word ‘cunt’ used in any place where english is primarily spoken is the equivalent of a verbal shotgun blast.  In other words, it’s amazing.

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On to quote numero dos.

At a wine tasting partybirthday I was at yesterday, I overhead this,

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“Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the time I lit my dick on fire?”

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‘Nuff said.

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