Boys night out

In my quest to understand the opposite sex I have discovered yet another gap in the DNA chain of the Y-chromosome. Something happens to it around age 30, and proteins gradually start to build around the communication lobes of the brain. Slowly men begin to settle down and look for constant companionship, giving the appearance of growing into a mature adult. This is not actually the case, for no matter how many responsibilities they shoulder during the daytime, a night out with the boys still leaves them behaving like the drunken frat boys they will always be.

It's almost as if the idea of 4 hours of acting like a drunken asshole with a bunch of equally intoxicated pals is enough to outweigh the torturous hangover that will waste the entire next day. And once upon a time, they could do it, they could show up to work with 3 hours of sleep, pound a few cups of black coffee, swallow half a dozen Advil and be ready to it again by 5pm. The problems is that now, 10 years after their keg-stand championship, they need more than caffeine to recover and refuse to acknowledge this fact. What neurons aren't jumping the gap up there boys? It is not fun to spend an entire Saturday praying for death on your bathroom floor. There is a statute of limitations on public vomiting, and it runs out with your college graduation.

This may not be scientifically founded, but I am fairly certain that intelligence is inversely proportionate to the number of Y-chromosomes in a room. At home, with a female, they can see the folly of consuming multiple tequila shots on an empty stomach. They can even admit to the fact that they are too OLD to behave in such a collegiate manner and vow never to repeat such actions. But the next night, surrounded other Y's, they belly up to the bar as if their stomachs were lined with Teflon. And there's the tiniest little bell ringing in the back of their mind, "remember how bad this makes you feel, remember how much trouble you'll be in tomorrow, remember..." but of course that's drowned out by the sound of their own voice ordering more shots.

Alas, they land again beside the toilet, if they're lucky enough to even find their way home, and begin again the ritual prayer said by all who fail to take their age into account when ordering drinks: Dear God, I promise I will never drink again if you will just make the room stop spinning. I swear.



And so rarely does God answer the cry of the intoxicated. You could say it's not really fair because you know He created this defunct DNA, but then he tried to rectify the situation by creating women to help them bridge their neurological gaps. Sadly, the Y's are just too dumb to know better, and X's are too smart to care.