Story #3
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Jumping The Grenade
By Captain Garbarrassing | March 10, 2008
Hello world. How was your weekend? When I ask that question I really only want to know if you did anything entertaining on Fri or Sat night.
Well my Friday was excellent, thank you for asking, but Saturday...not so much. Here are some of my qualms. I spent the entire drive to work this morning thinking about the wingman's responsibility to Jump the Grenade when the necessity arises. The typical grenade-jumping situation comes about when you are wingmanning for your friend and he has decided to approach a couple smoking hot girls at the bar. It turns out that one of these girls is engaged (B minus, you forgot to look for the ring!) and to top it off, their not-so-hot friend with not-so-classic-good-looks is really into you. As a wingman, and more importantly as a friend, you must stick it out until your friend prevails with a number, a date, or some sex.
The reason MY saturday night was unfortunate was bc I made the mistake of somehow getting sucked in to wingmanning TWO f-minuses while my friend worked their ONE extremely cute friend. You're probably thinking, the wingman duty should never be this great! But we live by the code, so I refer you to Rule #73: No excuses, play like a champion. But these girls were kinda really large. This was no ordinary Large Friend Syndrome (LFS). This was the kind where you take a girl who would be really hot, and you tack on about 30-50 lbs...one of God's little ways of saying Fuck You. I suggest you name this syndrome amongst your group of friends so it becomes easier to refer to in the future. Here is what you do: Take the first and last name of the hottest girl you know who falls under this category - but make sure you stay in the 30-50 lb range (over 50 lbs and its no longer a tease, its just not happening). Take her name, and add either the word "syndrome" or "disease" - your choice. Moving on.
So I find myself in a most unfortunate position: sitting at some booth, trapped on the inside with one of these beasts next to me and one sitting across. My friend had already decided the cute girl was too crazy for him, but he hadn't mentioned this to me and he was still dancing and talking to her, so I continued in my oblivious state - sitting there pounding whiskey in the attempts of making this entire night disappear. The girl across from me keeps touching feet and winking...this has me reminiscing of seventh grade for a minute before I snap back to sad reality. The girl next to me has taken this hell I'm in and stepped it up a notch - she is now rubbing my cock under the table and attempting to talk to me over the blasting speaker above us. I have not drank straight whiskey like this for as long as I can remember.
Fast forward: I'm totally hammered, and I come back from my happy place to realize this fucking girl is making out with me. Think quick, was I kissing back? Did I get into it? I panic - oh shit...I come to this bar a lot!! I pull back and it takes a struggle to get her hand off my balls. During this fight I throw up just a little bit in my mouth. It was either her fault or Mr. Crown Royale. Regardless, I am disgusted and this is the last straw. I decide that I will reneg on my friendship in order to get the fuck out of there, so I make my move. One of the girls makes a last-ditch, wayyy too blatant attempt to keep me there - some garbage about really wanting to fuck. I keep a straight face and go. But this has me thinking again: why do guys love when a girl is really straightforward - sadly, rarely the hot ones - and why do girls love when a guy is really straightforward - sadly, usually a douchebag? Do girls equate this desperate straightforwardness with confidence? That is kinda garbage. I'm pissed off now because the whiskey is kicking in too much and I'm way too drunk to talk to anyone. What an unsatisfactory night. I demand an apology from my friend in the form of a Spicy Chicken Crunchwrap Supreme.
I suggest that Garbarrassing post a list of wingman rules, so that this doesn't happen again...