Kids, go ahead and try this at home...
Hey all. As you can probably tell by my severely delayed blog entry this week, I'm starting to run a little low on blog ideas. You guys. Creativity is super hard. How do you think Faulkner did it, Book after book? Maybe his creative process didn't involve eating pizza rolls and watching episodes of Australia's Next Top Model on YouTube for hours on end.
Anyway, because nothing funny or interesting has happened to me in the last few weeks, I'm going to regale you all with a classic tale from days gone by. It's another one of those stories that I know you've probably all heard before, but I really feel it merits the dignity of being committed to writing here, in this most noble and prestigious of archives.
So now, ladies and gentleman, I present to you the "would you rather" story.
The scene was a long, late car ride back from one of my brother's away hockey games. My mom was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and my sister Abby was in the back with Miranda, her best friend since elementary school. Whenever they get together, they have a habit of reminiscing loudly about their colorful schoolyard days: A simpler time filled with wall-ball and bowl haircuts. (If you ever have the pleasure of sharing an elevator with the two of them, ask to hear about the time Abby got a 'fix-it plan' for putting Benjamin Shoecard's backpack outside. You won't be sorry.) Tonight though, everyone was tired, and we'd left anecdotal bliss several miles behind us.
Abby decided to fend off boredom by engaging us in a few rounds of "would you rather," that favorite parlor game of indecisive middle-schoolers and fratty philosophy/"co-ed studies" -- heh heh. Dude. Get it? -- majors everywhere. Abby kicked things off with a number of fairly traditional juxtapositions including but not limited to, "would you rather lose both your legs or your right arm," and "would you rather eat your own toenail clippings every day for the rest of your life, or have a giant toenail growing out of your forehead like the visor of a baseball cap?" When our tired brains started grinding and smoking, Abby explained to us that it's best to shout out your gut reaction before your head has a chance to tie itself in knots. After a few minutes, Miranda thought she had gotten the hang of it and decided to try one of her own.
"OK," Miranda said, "Would you rather have a giant unibrow..."
"Wait." Abby interrupted, "can you shave the unibrow?"
Miranda thought for a minute. "Yes," she said, "but it grows back really fast in the same day."
"Got it. Go ahead."
Miranda started over, "OK. Would you rather have a giant unibrow, or..."
we all leaned forward in anticipation.
"...or be a wolf boy?"
I'm gonna let that sink in for a minute: Or be a wolf boy. Here are some pictures to help you visualize the choice presented to you:
Unibrow...
...Aaaand wolf boy:
"Unibrow!" My sister shouted. Then, "Wait. What? Who would pick wolf boy?"
We laughed about it then, but listen: I think Miranda has really stumbled on to something here. Kids, if regular would-you-rather questions are making your flimsy brains feel like spaghetti milkshakes -- if they cause you to have warped nightmares about middle school multiple choice tests and your housemates all wake up, night after night, to the sound of you mumbling, "A: Cheese...No, B: toilet bowl! No! I meant cheese! Aw man, this SO wasn't in the study guide..."-- Maybe you'd like to try the lighter, gentler Mirandafied version of the game. I've got a few prompts to get you started. I'll wait here while you get a pen so you can write these down.
Ready? Here goes:
Would you rather have a hangnail OR...chop all your toes off?
Would you rather eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich OR... eat leaded paint chips?
Would you rather watch "Finding Nemo" OR... watch a bunny get eaten by a boa constrictor?
Would you rather ride a bicycle OR... set fire to your eyelashes?
Would you rather share a pudding cup with the cast member of "Saved By the Bell" of your choice OR... lick the under-side of a cow?
Really, the sky is the limit. Feel free to kick back and be as uncreative and lazy as you want. This new low-cal version of would-you-rather is like the car-game equivalent of taking a nap in a hammock. Which, by the way, I would rather do than eat my own bedsheets.
Anyway, because nothing funny or interesting has happened to me in the last few weeks, I'm going to regale you all with a classic tale from days gone by. It's another one of those stories that I know you've probably all heard before, but I really feel it merits the dignity of being committed to writing here, in this most noble and prestigious of archives.
So now, ladies and gentleman, I present to you the "would you rather" story.
The scene was a long, late car ride back from one of my brother's away hockey games. My mom was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and my sister Abby was in the back with Miranda, her best friend since elementary school. Whenever they get together, they have a habit of reminiscing loudly about their colorful schoolyard days: A simpler time filled with wall-ball and bowl haircuts. (If you ever have the pleasure of sharing an elevator with the two of them, ask to hear about the time Abby got a 'fix-it plan' for putting Benjamin Shoecard's backpack outside. You won't be sorry.) Tonight though, everyone was tired, and we'd left anecdotal bliss several miles behind us.
Abby decided to fend off boredom by engaging us in a few rounds of "would you rather," that favorite parlor game of indecisive middle-schoolers and fratty philosophy/"co-ed studies" -- heh heh. Dude. Get it? -- majors everywhere. Abby kicked things off with a number of fairly traditional juxtapositions including but not limited to, "would you rather lose both your legs or your right arm," and "would you rather eat your own toenail clippings every day for the rest of your life, or have a giant toenail growing out of your forehead like the visor of a baseball cap?" When our tired brains started grinding and smoking, Abby explained to us that it's best to shout out your gut reaction before your head has a chance to tie itself in knots. After a few minutes, Miranda thought she had gotten the hang of it and decided to try one of her own.
"OK," Miranda said, "Would you rather have a giant unibrow..."
"Wait." Abby interrupted, "can you shave the unibrow?"
Miranda thought for a minute. "Yes," she said, "but it grows back really fast in the same day."
"Got it. Go ahead."
Miranda started over, "OK. Would you rather have a giant unibrow, or..."
we all leaned forward in anticipation.
"...or be a wolf boy?"
I'm gonna let that sink in for a minute: Or be a wolf boy. Here are some pictures to help you visualize the choice presented to you:
Unibrow...
...Aaaand wolf boy:
"Unibrow!" My sister shouted. Then, "Wait. What? Who would pick wolf boy?"
We laughed about it then, but listen: I think Miranda has really stumbled on to something here. Kids, if regular would-you-rather questions are making your flimsy brains feel like spaghetti milkshakes -- if they cause you to have warped nightmares about middle school multiple choice tests and your housemates all wake up, night after night, to the sound of you mumbling, "A: Cheese...No, B: toilet bowl! No! I meant cheese! Aw man, this SO wasn't in the study guide..."-- Maybe you'd like to try the lighter, gentler Mirandafied version of the game. I've got a few prompts to get you started. I'll wait here while you get a pen so you can write these down.
Ready? Here goes:
Would you rather have a hangnail OR...chop all your toes off?
Would you rather eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich OR... eat leaded paint chips?
Would you rather watch "Finding Nemo" OR... watch a bunny get eaten by a boa constrictor?
Would you rather ride a bicycle OR... set fire to your eyelashes?
Would you rather share a pudding cup with the cast member of "Saved By the Bell" of your choice OR... lick the under-side of a cow?
Really, the sky is the limit. Feel free to kick back and be as uncreative and lazy as you want. This new low-cal version of would-you-rather is like the car-game equivalent of taking a nap in a hammock. Which, by the way, I would rather do than eat my own bedsheets.
posted by Caitlin at 6:07 PM
3 comments
