They have survived midterms, and after the second celebratory beer Foggy announces, “We’ll play a game. A drinking game, because we’re already drinking, and we deserve games, and we deserve more drinking.”
Matt raises his bottle. “Let’s hear it.”
“Bullshit Bingo. I ask you a really stupid question, and if you’ve been asked it before, you get to ask me, and if you haven’t - you drink, and then get to ask me.”
“Seriously?” Matt shrugs and laughs. “Okay, fine, go.”
“Right.” Foggy grins. “‘Hey, do you know Bob? He’s blind, too.’”
Matt pauses, takes his glasses off, and takes a long, deep drink. “My turn. ‘Did you grow that yourself or is it, like, glued on?’” He rubs at his chin, and points in the general direction of Foggy’s goatee.
“Actually, that’s a first.” Foggy noisily puts his bottle down. “And if you actually want to know, I totally grew that sweet perfect beard myself.”
Matt chuckles. “Come on, your turn.”
“‘Are you really b---’ Mmmpf!”
Foggy doesn’t finish the question - Matt has thrown pillow at his face, with astounding precision. After that, he empties his bottle and opens a new one. “How do you pee?’”
“There we go.” Foggy picks up his bottle and drinks.
The game goes on like this for while, and a few bottles in, they stop caring whose turn it is, or why exactly they are drinking, and what the objective of the game was. The stupid questions turn into complaints about stupid questions. Eventually the complaints turn into stories. Some are funny, some infuriating, some sad - most are a mix of all three. The questions return, but they are a lot less stupid, for the most part, and the few times they are, there is no malice in them on either side.
Come morning, they understand each other a little better. Come noon, they still remember enough.
Fill: Skydiving - 2d/?
Matt raises his bottle. “Let’s hear it.”
“Bullshit Bingo. I ask you a really stupid question, and if you’ve been asked it before, you get to ask me, and if you haven’t - you drink, and then get to ask me.”
“Seriously?” Matt shrugs and laughs. “Okay, fine, go.”
“Right.” Foggy grins. “‘Hey, do you know Bob? He’s blind, too.’”
Matt pauses, takes his glasses off, and takes a long, deep drink. “My turn. ‘Did you grow that yourself or is it, like, glued on?’” He rubs at his chin, and points in the general direction of Foggy’s goatee.
“Actually, that’s a first.” Foggy noisily puts his bottle down. “And if you actually want to know, I totally grew that sweet perfect beard myself.”
Matt chuckles. “Come on, your turn.”
“‘Are you really b---’ Mmmpf!”
Foggy doesn’t finish the question - Matt has thrown pillow at his face, with astounding precision. After that, he empties his bottle and opens a new one. “How do you pee?’”
“There we go.” Foggy picks up his bottle and drinks.
The game goes on like this for while, and a few bottles in, they stop caring whose turn it is, or why exactly they are drinking, and what the objective of the game was. The stupid questions turn into complaints about stupid questions. Eventually the complaints turn into stories. Some are funny, some infuriating, some sad - most are a mix of all three. The questions return, but they are a lot less stupid, for the most part, and the few times they are, there is no malice in them on either side.
Come morning, they understand each other a little better. Come noon, they still remember enough.