Washed Weekly: Male Friendship
“Do you want to go in on this margarita machine with me?”
Welcome to Washed Weekly — a weekly newsletter that will feature original columns, quick reads, exclusive product drops, and an offering of some of the best content we’ve created throughout the week that was. Read it, enjoy it, and pass it on to anyone you think will enjoy it, too. You can also check out the Washed network of podcasts.
The Case of the Broken Margarita Machine
by
There are trademark moments in any friendship. The first time you grab solo beers. The first time you get absolutely annihilated together. The first golf trip you plan as a unit. Anytime one of you gets the other out of trouble — probably while leaving a bar with the neckline of your shirt stretched out.
These moments can’t be manufactured. They just happen — fleeting little happenings that quietly bond you to your fellow man, whether you realize it or not. They’re pure, they’re well-intentioned, and they’re sacred.
But what happens when something goes wrong? When all the cards are on the table and you’ve got everything to lose?
Let me take you back.
Months ago — maybe even years at this point — I got a text from Micah, former Touching Base producer and noted fist exhibitionist. The text was simple, direct, and the kind of thing we were both irrationally excited about.
“Do you want to go in on this margarita machine with me?”
Remember when you were 19 with a BlackBerry? And you’d been texting a girl all day, then she leaves you on read — but when she finally replies, your heart jumps at that little red blinking light? That’s exactly how I felt. It’s a feeling that can’t be bottled — only served to you on a platter by one of your absolute boys.
Without hesitation, I was in.
Micah and I go back about as far as any friendship I’ve made since moving to Austin ten years ago. We started at the same company, lived in the same apartment complex, browned out during COVID lockdown, and hit pretty much every trademark Austin event side-by-side. That’s friendship.
Unfortunately, this latest adventure unraveled fast.
First red flag: it was a Facebook Marketplace listing. I don’t use it much, but I’ve heard enough horror stories to approach it with skepticism (fair or not). Second: the machine was only $200. For context, a brand new Jimmy Buffett Margaritaville Bahamas Frozen Concoction Dual Mode Beverage Maker runs about that — but this machine? This was industrial. Like, El Rancho industrial.
Still, I Venmo’d him my $100. I mean, how much does a c-note matter when you're leaned back sipping frozen delights with the boys? One day, I’ll happily pay ten times that to go back in time and get blotto with Micah again. It was time to ride.
But then came the gut punch. I couldn’t make it to the first party where the machine was debuting. No matter how I shuffled my schedule, I was out. The hype was building, and I was going to miss it? Devastating.
Early reports were promising. “We’ve got it all set up,” I was told. “This is going to be great.” I can hear Micah saying it in his news-anchor cadence, courtesy of the Mizzou School of Journalism.
But as the party went on, the reports started to shift.
“It’s not cooling correctly.”
“It’s just spinning the liquid.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work.”
My hands were tied. I was holed up at home, helpless, watching our joyride turn into a slow-motion crash. No frozens for the lads on a Saturday afternoon? What was I supposed to do? Did they know I was involved? Was I being blamed? Should I be blamed? My brain was (fittingly) in a blender.
Today, I come to you as a man who still owns 50% of an industrial margarita machine. And to this day, I’ve yet to enjoy the fruits of my Venmo. Zero frozen margaritas made. Zero effort from me to fix the situation.
My solution? Micah and I need to set this thing up in his garage and not leave until it’s working. What’s the alternative? Let it collect dust and become a monument to getting older? Pretend it never happened? Deny ourselves ice-cold margaritas en masse?
Some may think we’ll never get it right. But I’m here to say we’re just getting started. Our friendship doesn’t depend on this machine, but I’m going to act like it does until we come out ahead.
Song of the Summer, Boys
by Dave
It was the summer of ’97. 1997. Nintendo 64 still reigned supreme in my bedroom, but the Playstation was looming. It was the summer I decided to start hitting The Sweet Spot, our local driving range, with the intent of trying to become a golfer. Did that happen? Up for debate. More importantly, it was the summer when my friend Clay put his credibility on the line and boldly declared the song of the summer.
This summer would be our last before high school. The way our schools were structured, the rival junior highs would be joined at a standalone “Ninth Grade School,” for reasons I don’t understand. It was a separate campus technically located in Dallas city limits. We had a couple more years of relying on our parents to drop us off at the mall, Six Flags, or the movie theatre we’d loiter at for the next few years. They hated us.
On this occasion, Clay was riding shotgun while his mother drove their maroon Chevy Tahoe. We were driving Interstate 20, the sun firmly in our eyes late in the day, so we were definitely headed westbound. The destination was very likely the Chili’s that still sits right off the Carrier Pkwy exit in Grand Prairie (home of Selena Gomez). They also hated us. When you’re a casual dining restaurant located a stones throw from a movie theatre, you’re going to be the hotspot for ne’er-do-wells like us. We were more annoying than harmful. We were a dangerous conglomeration of 13 and 14-year-olds who thought we were both cool and funny. You know a waitstaff hated to see us coming.
In the pre-cell phone era, a car full of boys had to find different ways to entertain themselves during a drive. This mostly consisted of making fun of each other. A shirt, a hat, attempting to talk to a girl, or on this occasion, expressing a genuine thought could all be grounds for an immediate dogpile. Clay pulled a CD from a large black binder situated under his seat. He spoke no words, and the car was silent in anticipation. He ejected whatever disc occupied the CD player. More than likely, it was The Eagles or Jimmy Buffett. As he inserted his compact disc of choice, you could feel a wave of skepticism washing over the passengers. A wry smile fell over his face as he skipped forward to his intended song. He was about to cook.
The first few notes of “Graduate” by Third Eye Blind played through the speakers. He slowly turned around.
“Song of the summer, boys…”
It’s the “boys” for me. This wasn’t said in like a hockey guy at the bar after a game way. It was more of a drawn out “boys” as if he was issuing an iconic line in a movie.
The car, filled with dickheads, immediately burst out into laughter as Stephan Jenkins passionately asked, “Can I graduate?” The song wasn’t the issue. It’s a fine song. One that I probably enjoy more now than I did nearly three decades ago. It was the fact that one of us decided to go out on a limb and make a bold declaration that opened up the floodgates for ridicule.
Was it even the song of the summer? “Return of the Mack” dropped in ’97. As did “Mo Money Mo Problems.” “No Diggity” was a major player. And Chumbawamba hit the scene in 1997 too. In fact, there are a ton of bangers from that year. Go look if you don’t believe me. What I’m saying here is “Graduate” was certainly not the song of the summer.
All these years later, I will still laugh when someone brings up potential songs of the summer. Do you think he’s lived it down? I mean, there’s not really anything to live down. He didn’t do anything wrong. He just put himself out there to his boys. Unfortunately, his boys were the worst. Total assholes. This weekend, do me a favor: declare a song of the summer. Don’t let the boys get you down.
And as promised, here is v.1 of my proprietary summer 2k25 golf playlist. It is meant for shuffle. Enjoy!
Get You Some Patreon, Hoss
by Dillon Cheverere
Some quick math tells me that a big chunk of the subscribers to this newsletter are not also subscribed to our Patreon. And that’s okay. I forgive you. All that means to me is that you just don’t know what it is that you’re missing.
Unless you’ve taken advantage of our one-week free trial, you don’t know what’s going on in there for the inexpensive price of 5 or 10 bucks per month. Allow me to tell you a little bit about the few shows we offer beyond the paywall.
Listener Voicemails
The official name of the show is Friday Listener Voicemails That We Record on Wednesdays and Release on Thursdays, but you can call it Listener Voicemails for short. This is a weekly show and a staple of our Patreon offering.
Each week, listeners will leave us voicemails to kick off a segment. Sometimes they ask us for advice, sometimes it’s to give us a hard time, or maybe tell a joke, and other times it’s simply to present a topic of conversation. All are welcome. All are fun.
Last week's topics include:
How to take advantage of night life in your late twenties
Dillon threatening a listener into subscribing
“The Fajita Effect”
The worst thing we’ve done while hungover
Stuff we thought we’d own at this point in our lives but currently do not
Stan, Mute, Cancel: dive bar, honky tonk bar, nightclub
Cold Call
During Cold Call, we literally cold call our listeners who fill out this form, leaving their name, phone number, and what it is that they’d like to talk about. It’s a good time and I’m always surprised at how funny some of you are.
This week’s topics on Cold Call: Tossing Hammers include:
A listener from Penn State who’s going through a mid-life crisis at 25 years old and met a Chicago Mobster
A 7-ft listener who’s had run-ins with a sasquatch
A listener who competes in the Highland Games
New grifts from Jake in St. Louis
BSing with a Texas high school coach
Exactly 5 Minutes
On Exactly 5 Minutes, Dillon spins a Bingo doohickey and pulls out a numbered ball. The number he draws determines which topic we discuss for exactly 5 minutes. Not one second over.
On last week’s Exactly 5 Minutes: Smoothin we discussed:
Creating a new slang word
Top 5 bachelor party activities
Having an unlimited budget for a family vacation
Moving holidays to different dates
Worst ways we’ve been rejected by a lady
Who we’d host a show with outside of Washed Media
Why Dave started a Discord
A subscription will also grant you access to a back log of every show we’ve ever recorded on Patreon, including ‘Do You Know It?’ a game show hosted by Wacky Randall Trembacki, Touching Based, and everyone’s favorite, Spooky SZN. A brand new, interactive live show also launches later this month, and we’re really excited for it.
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3EB fucks