The Butt Luge

Way back in the day (the 80s) when I vacationed in Mexico there were outrageous party games played at resort and clubs. I mean, imagine Sancho coming up to you with his large hat, whistle, and a bottle of tequila. (I know –crazy!) Then, he sits you in a chair. (Getting good, huh?) Then, he has you tilt your head back and he pours a shot into your mouth. (Jesus, man. Nozzle to mouth. Outrageous.) Then, he grabs your head and shakes it while he tweets — the whistle, not Twitter. (I’m so wet right now.)

All right, all right. Sarcasm aside. That’s what it was. We all cheered and laughed.

Well, times have certainly changed. I spoke to a woman (my age when I was doing such crazy things) who told me about her recent trip to party town, Mexico. I asked if they did the whistle, shot, shake my head thing. She said, “Yeah, but.”

“But what?”

“Um, it gets a little crazier than that now.”

“Yeah? How? Was there donkey fucking? Please tell me there was donkey fucking.”

“No, silly. And, gross. I was a little drunk already so they picked me up and placed me on a table face-down.”

“Yes?”

“Then, they called this cute guy up.”

“Yes, yes?”

“Then they pulled my shorts and undies down.”

“Yes, yes, yes? Hey. Wait a fucking minute. Seriously? They pulled your pants down … in public. Christ, where is this heading?”

“Oh it was harmless.”

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“They just poured a shot down my ass crack and made the guy take it … you know … take a shot from my butt crack.”

“I’m going out on a limb here and suggesting he didn’t need to be forced.”

“Ha, ha. It was all fun. A little embarrassing after, I guess. I mean, I told the guy I have a boyfriend.”

“Said boyfriend was there?”

“No. It was a girls’ trip.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, I completely told my boyfriend what happened. He’s cool. I just didn’t need it on my conscience.”

“Were there no cell phones at Crack Shots Nightclub?” (He said while tapping wildly in YouTube search.)

“Sure, there were.”

“Fuck.”

“Ha, ha. Oh jeez. Let me know if you find anything, perv.”

“What? Oh, no, silly. I’m checking the weather.”

“Riiiiiight.”

So, this is where we’ve gone in 30 years. From playing quarters to butt-chugging tequila. I need to get out more.

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