I’m a bloke. And we’re simple beings.
For whatever reason, there are few things in the world that excite us more than an evening with mates at the pub.
No girls allowed, of course.
If anyone tries to bring their female partner, they’re SHUNNED.
“WHIPPED. WHIIIIIPPPPED. GARY’S WHIPPED.”
Except when we say it, we make a stupid low voice. Like a groaning seal. You can’t hear any of the words. Then we high-five.
‘Whipped’ is the word we men use when a mate’s girlfriend wears the pants in the relationship, because most of our humour relies on inherent sexism.
Now. When your partner arrives home from a night at the pub, you probably ask him, “how was it?”
“That’s good. How was Tim?”
“Has his wife had the baby yet?”
“I’m not sure.”
What the fu*k. How can you spend three-and-a-half hours with a group of people and have no information whatsoever about them, their families or their children?
I’m glad you asked.
I understand your primary concern. If we're not talking about each other, we must be talking about our partners; we must be talking about you.
Or, worse: we must be talking about our dream partners; about the bitches and hoes and pornstars we want to have wild dirty sex with.
Let me lay your concerns to rest by disclosing exactly what happens on a night out at the pub.
We all arrive twenty minutes after we were meant to which is okay because we still all arrive at the same time.
As we arrive, we all greet each other. "HULLO MAAAATE" followed by a hug is the traditional greeting for close friends, while "How's it going buddy" paired with a firm handshake is the go-to for acquaintances.
NB - Bloke hugs contain several pats on the back to distinguish them from cross-gender hugs. Firmer the better. A red back after a night out at the pub is not uncommon.
We stand around greeting each other until someone asks the group if we "should get a beer" to which everyone mumbles something along the lines of "let's do it" or "let's grab one".
Standing at the bar, all the blokes pair up into twos while waiting to order. Among each pair, the following conversation takes place.
"So how's work mate?"
"Yeah it's been going good mate, how 'bout you?"
"Yeah it's alright. Family all well?"
"Kids got sick last week but they're all good now."
"That's the way."
Each pair orders a couple of pints of beer and have a brief argument over who's going to pay. One bloke wins the argument while the other grabs the two beers and mumbles "I'll get the next one" under his breath.
At the table now. One bloke tells a story about how his boss got really drunk at the work Christmas party and everyone chuckles. Another checks his phone. No one speaks for a while until someone chips in with "it's been ages since we got a beer".
The footy starts on TV and someone makes a comment about how nice the chairs and table are.
We don't have any podcasts about blokes at the pub, so here's one about adult baby fetish instead. Have a listen. Post continues after.
Second round of beers. The blokes who didn't pay for the first round go over to the bar and shout the second round for whoever shouted them the first. Buy "the cheapest beer" regardless of what they were bought earlier.
The blokes who bought the second round return to the table and everyone is on their phones apart from Gary who is watching the footy. They bang the beers down on the table with enough force to break the silence and simultaneously ask Gary "how work is".
"Yeah mate I've had to pull back a bit actually, the missus hasn't been well and I've had to stay home and look after the kids a few days this week."
One person pipes in with "Jeez mate who wears the pants in your relationship" and the whole table erupts in fits of laughter.
Everyone finishes their second round of beers. Someone burps.
A few people get up to buy a third round of beers.
"Nah I think I'm gonna move onto waters, thanks mate."
More silence. Simon brings up a high school memory that no one remembers.
Last few blokes still drinking return to the table. Roger puts money on the footy through a betting app. Gary's wife calls to ask if he can grab some ice cream on the way home.
Someone gives a shout about how "GARY'S WHIPPPPPED" and everyone laughs again because sexism is the one thing that's always funny (see previous).
Bill moves onto his third glass of water "because he needs to be up early in the morning" and Roger loses his bet. Proclaims he "would have won if his team scored a last minute try", which is absolutely not how gambling works.
Gary heads to the bathroom and never returns. Roger puts money on a game of Tanzanian Swing Ball he has no way of watching. Someone makes a joke about Roger having a gambling problem and everyone laughs but not as hard as they laughed at Gary, because this joke is reasonably void of sexism.
So. Maybe now you can understand why, when we come home from the pub with a bunch of mates, we don't have a whole lot to report on.
Everyone's kids are fine. Roger's fine. Gary's whipped. Nothing new.
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