Sports, Satire and Bad Jokes
Thursday January 12th 2012

The Fake Babysitter

I’m not one to write about drunken hookup stories. It’s clichéd, cheap, exploitative, clichéd, bad form, douchey, lazy, the worst form of “humble brag,” and also clichéd. HOWEVER, writing about drunken hookup stories involving people that aren’t you? That’s just people-watching. And now matter how many times you think you’ve seen it all, people can surprise you. So why don’t you sit right back, and I, I may tell you a tale. A tale of drunken douchebaggery and thespianism set in the backdrop of fair Washington, DC. Across the street from the MCI Verizon Center after a Penguins-Capitals game that I wasn’t at.

So I’m at a bar watching one of my favorite bands, the Lloyd Dobler Effect taking the stage after the game. Haven’t heard of them? Well, then why the hell didn’t you check out my New Year’s post? Anyway, they aren’t famous. But we go back to 2002 and you probably won’t meet a nicer group of musicians. Decent gig for them since playing across the street after a huge game around the holidays probably means a good door for them. A couple members are wearing Caps jerseys. Given the broader audience, they’re mixing in a few more covers than usual – some awesome and some not my favorite. For instance, their guitarist is a huge devotee of Canadian indie pop like myself and sings on a phenomenal folk-rock cover of Stars’ “Elevator Love Letter,” which is

I'd consider revising my "No Penguins Fans" policy for her

pretty much my favorite song in the world to begin with. They also threw down a very popular cover of “Little Lion Man,” which is a song I don’t even like because I can’t stand the dude’s voice, but with a different person singing it was surprisingly good. Not to mention their requested (by me) cover of “Doin’ the Butt” and their hip-hop number for the evening, “Gin and Juice.” On the downside, Weezer’s “Beverly Hills” and “Island in the Sun.” Why? Even they didn’t look like they were enjoying it, especially the latter. Come on, you should know that Weezer died after their first 2 albums. Anyway, there’s a handful of people who know their songs, like 3 people (including me), and a modest crowd of people enjoying the show.

And then in come the douchebags. Yes, let’s give a toast to the douchebags. And to be fair, every team has douchebags as fans, so I’m not calling out either squad, despite being an enormous Caps fan and hating the Penguins. I don’t like many Penguins fans, but it’s possible to co-exist and talk semi-rationally – myself and K-Gun for instance – and each concede and decry the douchebag faction of the fan bases.

Now that we’ve established that, in stride and crow two female Penguins fans, one drunk off her ass. Early 20′s. The drunker of the two is all chesty (and by that I mean boastful, though she did have a good body) about the game and is all up in everyone’s face, even though everyone’s mostly watching the band. OK, so this chick along with black spandex pants is wearing a light blue Crosby jersey, which is a johnson-killer for this guy anyway. And she’s … well, she is conventionally attractive, but not in a way that seems particularly authentic. One might describe her as “trashy hot.” Let me put it this way: She’s the kind of girl that Gally would rabidly encourage you to follow on Twitter. Her friend is also wearing black spandex pants and a black Penguins t-shirt and she’s … well, the very definition of average. She looks like the girl next door, but not in the Hollywood-ized wicked-alluring-impossibly-cute way. I mean, a literal girl next door. Like on a scale of 1-10, she’s a 5. And there’s nothing fucking wrong with that. I’m probably a 4. Maybe 3 ½.

OK, so Trashy Crosby immediately starts making an ass out of herself. She pushes through the crowd yelling about how the Penguins won (which they really didn’t because shootouts aren’t real) and starts screaming about it at the band. For a retort, Chris Bruno, the guitarist, responds, “You two are about as hot as Sidney Crosby with that moustache,” which just encourages her more. Throughout the next batch of songs, she proceeds to make a serious of lewd and suggestive gestures at the band’s drummer (who, by the way, is married with children) and is met with a combination of the finger and being ignored. (Her

Do not want.

apparently less drunken and lascivious friend is halfheartedly repping the Penguins, but mostly standing around). After realizing she probably isn’t going to get railed by a band member between sets, she sets her sights on the rest of the crowd. None of whom seem particularly interested in a drunken booty dance with someone that’s off their ass. I actively turned my back. Most others just ignored her. Until her real target demo showed up. A group of stereotypical “bros” in Caps jerseys. Straight Dane Cook, homey.

To most of their initial credit, most of them were initially nonplussed. Until she managed to snare one of them. Now this dude, he was tall, lanky, Asian-ish (which isn’t at all relevant to the story), and looked about 18, but did have a beer, so I’ll give him credit for legal drinking age since they can be tough about IDs in the arena district. He gave a look like Santa Claus had come 2 days early that a trashy hot girl was all the fuck over him on the dance floor, even if she was wearing a Crosby jersey. Now admittedly, he already displayed his spectacularly bad taste in that he sported an Alexander Semin jersey. I hate selfish, talented enigmas and hope the Caps don’t re-sign his bitch ass. Anyway, Douchey Semin’s friends laughed at him. A lot. He looked like the cat who ate the canary and was about to eat some more cat. I did a lot of standing around shaking my head like Lee Trevino in “Happy Gilmore.”

OK, time for an aside. Even if she wasn’t wearing a Crosby jersey, I’m glad that most people weren’t giving her the time of day, because there really is a code here that Douchey Semin was breaking. If there’s a substantial drunkenness discrepancy, you gotta leave it alone. Because then it’s like date rape. This unwritten law has been a great cause of my not getting laid, but also being able to live with myself. I guess I will say that Douchey Semin found a solution, which was trying to catch up in alcohol consumption.

The original Douchey Semin

So I decide to insert myself. No, not that way. Because they’re annoying me. So I pull out my phone and type, “You can do better,” on it and show it to Douchey Semin. He brushes his shoulder off, essentially telling me to fuck off and that he can’t or doesn’t want to. So, you’re thinking. Kind of a dick move on my part? Maybe. It’s entirely possible that I may be known in some circles as what some may call a “hater.” I don’t really like to see other people getting some when I’m not. Especially if it’s under some kinda sketchy circumstances. But maybe I’m just using my “codes” to mask sexual frustration. I’m far from a perfect person and this is one of my flaws. Remember, like they taught you in smart person English class, a non-omniscient narrator is only as reliable as his/her perspective.

So these 2 are making a trashy spectacle with their dirty dancing. Meanwhile, the Average Friend is trying to separate the two. I can’t see what she’s saying to Douchey Semin, but it seems to equate to, “This girl’s off her ass and we need to get her the fuck home.” She does not seem to be having any effect and looks dismayed and frustrated. She has that look in her eyes like, “This fucking happens every time we go out and it sucks.” I actually kinda felt bad for her. Being the perpetual babysitter to a more attractive friend sucks balls. I’ve been there. I almost considering striking up a platonic conversation over this and trying to help call Trashy Crosby a cab. (For whatever reason, I have this thing with trying to get drunk girls cabs so they don’t get date raped; I spent at least an hour on New Year’s Eve helping strangers. I have issues. We know this). But then Trashy Crosby went to the restroom and our story took a turn.

Trashy Crosby was in the restroom for a long time. Who knows what she was doing in there. Blow? Hurling? A vibrator? Sleeping? Got me. What I do know

Don't fuck with the babysitter! Or in this case, do!

is that the second she left, the Average Friend, who had spent the last 30 minutes trying to pry Trashy Crosby’s vagina off Douchey Semin’s penis was on Douchey Semin like Nick Denton on a rail of coke. She’s got his Caps hat on her head and they’re dance-fucking worse than he was with Trashy Crosby. Soon, as the ways would have it, they’re having a disgusting drunken make-out in the middle of the floor, despite the fact that the Average Friend didn’t really appear that drunk until just now. Eventually, those two went home – and by “home” I mean somewhere that wasn’t in the bar – together. And Trashy Crosby snared some other bro Caps fan. Maybe one of Douchey Semin’s friends, but I couldn’t tell because those frattish white guys all look alike. And they left together. I guess everyone went home happy. But I was still amazed by the epic steal of Douchey Semin by the Average Friend. Not that he was much, or any of a prize. But that she used a move that could only be best described as “The Fake Babysitter.” Pretend to spend substantial time and energy trying to keep your friend out of trouble and then pounce on the guy you’ve finally gotten her off of. Leaving your friend to fend for herself. Machiavellian genius.

So what was I doing during all this drunken debauchery and going places to get fucked in the ass? Glad you asked. I met a woman who was a rabid fan of the band (one of the other 2 there besides me) and whose birthday it was. Bought her a drink for her birthday, danced a bit, exchanged contact information, silently realized the logistical circumstances of our transportation precluded any possibilities, and went home. Having made yet another new friend. Classy as always. Heart of gold and bollocks of blue. Such is the life of Old King Clancy.

But that’s not what you should take away from this. If you’re a member of a douchebag collective, and I know at least a few of you are, and you really don’t like your friends that much, and you don’t have much of a conscience, try “The Fake Babysitter.” Apparently highly effective. Like I said, learn something new every day. Now, get the fuck out of here!

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  1. Some Heartfelt New Year’s Wishes From Old King Clancy

3 Comments for “The Fake Babysitter”

  • Bearcat says:

    I’m guessing you were hating the Pens before it became cool…

    /Pens Fan

    • Old King Clancy says:

      You are correct, my friend. I was watching the Penguins eliminate the Caps from the playoffs in harrowing fashions while the current Crosby and Ovechkin jersey-wearers were just a roofie in their dads’ pockets. I said of the Caps-Pens alumni game, “I saw this in the ’90s and it sucked. Why would I want to see it again?” And while I hate Crosby with the white hot intensity of 1,000 suns, he’s still 1/10 the wanker than Mario was and still is.

  • semper_ubi_sub_ubi says:

    Hey, at least you got a post out of that night.


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