Washed Weekly: Tailgate Fights & Explore Feeds
Long weekend's almost here.
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.
My Instagram Looks At 40
by Dave
You can tell a lot about someone by their Instagram Explore Feed. You can tell a lot about me by the fact that I had to look up what that particular feature was called. I’m 39. This is what I do now. I have some friends who can’t even open the app in public anymore. Too much to lose. A combination of horny, washed, and pathetic. Based on a brief survey of my group chats, and definitely no anecdotal evidence, this is a standard late thirties guy’s Instagram.
Horny. Otherwise known as hornt or horni, the rush of fear, adrenaline and shame that you get when a choreographed KKG rush dance video pops up is like nothing else. As someone who respects the fine arts, how could you not stop down and admire the skillful synchronicity that these young women display? Way to throw that ass in a circle, Kyleigh. It’s great to feel alive again, but at what cost?
Washed. Not as overtly embarrassing, but it’s still not something you want to explain to the lads. I’m talking about fitness accounts specifically tailored for dads or dudes who don’t want their backs blown out trying to deadlift. Seems reasonable, but if you follow too many of these accounts, you should probably drop by a men’s clinic and have your numbers tested. I’m also putting chiropractor Instagrams in this category. It’s a problematic blend of horni and washed. Hey, here’s a guy showing you how to massage your partner’s glutes after a long day at the office. Thanks @billjohnsonnwellness, but I’m just trying to learn how to foam roll my back without jacking it up even more. You do you, though.
Golf. No shame in having hobbies, but it’s a wormhole that you cannot escape. Yes, I would like one simple trick to help me stop my early extension. Oh, I can pay this dude in the UK 200 dollars to look at a video of my swing? That should make up for the glaring lack of range-work I’ve put in this summer. You know what I need? More swing thoughts. Just give me some dude running his buddy over with a golf cart after he blades a gap wedge. Love a nice compound fracture on the timeline.
Random Street Fights. I wasn’t sad enough about that Cowboy game last night, so please, show me a poorly filmed video of two guys in Dez jerseys throwing haymakers at each other. When will people learn that the row above you has a significant tactical advantage? I can’t do these anymore, man. I need to know that both pugilists made it out alive and have gone on with their lives. The comments aren’t even helpful.
ChatGPT-Generated Out of Office Message: Jeff Spicoli
Per our experience via email this week, a lot of people tossing up “Out of Office” messages early to soak up the end of summer. In honor of this wave of emails, we thought we’d ask ChatGPT to write an “out of office” message in the voice of Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Yes, the Sean Penn surfer guy. Here’s what it spit out:
Yo, dude! 🤙
So like, this is Jeff Spicoli here, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm totally not in my brainwaves right now, man. I mean, I'm like off somewhere riding the gnarly waves of life, you know? 🏄♂️
I heard you're trying to reach me, but guess what? I'm not here, bro! I've ditched the desk, caught a wave, and I'm probably chilling at the beach, soaking up those totally tubular rays and living that laid-back surfer life. 🏖️
But hey, don't freak out! I'll be back, eventually. Until then, you might wanna talk to someone who's all about responsibility and stuff. So, like, leave me a message or something, and maybe I'll get around to checking it... whenever, man. No pressure, no hassle, just good vibes. ✌️
Catch you on the flip side, dudes and dudettes! Stay cool, stay groovy, and keep riding those waves of awesomeness. Peace out! 🤙🤟
Totally spaced out, Jeff Spicoli
Sh*tty, 50 Beers, and SBIFGDI
by Dillon
Today on the Circling Back podcast we discussed the video making social media rounds of Ted Cruz making fun of exactly one (1) person’s opinion, presumably someone left-leaning although that part is unclear from the video, that we should all limit our beer intake to only two (2) per week. A light number for a seasoned, beer-drinking, red meat-eating alpha male like Ted.
In the video, Cruz recalls the aforementioned opinion, wearing a fishing shirt that has absolutely never been worn while fishing, followed by, “I gotta tell ya - if they want us to drink two beers a week, frankly they can kiss my ass.” I know you hear it in his voice. He then twists off the cap to a Texas-brewed Shiner Bock, tosses it aside NARP-like, takes a sip, then proudly stares at the camera like he really did something.
Behind Ted stood a gaggle of good ole boys who quietly drank from their beers in unison with the United States Senator. The video was as awkward as it was hilarious, with a heaping side of cringe. A great moment.
Anyway, the two-beer limit thing reminded me of SBIFGDI 2004. If you’re new to Circling Back, SBIFGDI is an acronym that means “Spring Break is for GDIs,” or “god damned independent.” We pronounce it like “Sbif-guh-die.” I told the story on the pod, and it wasn’t my first time doing so.
SBIFGDI was a movement my friends and I started my sophomore year of college leading up to spring break. The premise was simple and beautiful: We didn’t go to the beach or mountains for spring break like so many college students did, because obviously only GDIs leave town for spring break.
Our plan, instead of going to the beach like all of our friends were doing, was to spend a few days at my parents’ house on the lake and just drink beers. A quick 45-minute drive from campus, a boat, a pool, the lake, beers, buds. It’s all we needed.
Celebrating SBIFGDI with me were Toad, Cheeser, Ryno, and Shitty. These are nicknames. We weren’t unlike any other run-of-the-mill frat guys from a low-to-mid tier state school in Texas. Except for Shitty. He was different.
Shitty got his moniker for being a shitty person. There’s not a kinder way to say it; I’m sorry. He was just a shitty guy.
One example of Shitty’s shittiness was the time he asked Ryno if he could borrow his truck to run an errand. Ryno said no because Shitty was not to be trusted on account of his widespread reputation for being so shitty. Not only did Shitty take Ryno’s truck anyway, he took it mudding and returned it without washing it first. It was totally caked in mud.
So, here we are, at my folks’ house, poolside with a cooler full of Natties and no class until the following Monday. We drank beer. We drank a lot of beer. No one drank as many beers as Shitty, though. He was a portly fellow and certainly no stranger to an elevated BAC, so he could really take them back, and he did.
I don’t know if he was trying to set the unofficial world record for number of 12 ounce domestics consumed in a single day, but this asshole legitimately drank 50 Natural Lights before the sun went down. I witnessed it firsthand.
Overweight, drunk, and sunburned, Shitty capped the night off by teabagging poor Cheeser in his slumber. I unfortunately witnessed that, too.
In hindsight, I feel like we should have gone to the beach.
Still Available: The Washed FC Training Top
Are these already an office favorite? Despite our AC unit being out all week, yes. Pre-sale ends on Tuesday, but just buy one now since you’ll probably feel shattered mentally and physically come Tuesday after the long weekend.
The Worst Of: Tailgate Fights & Brothers for Life
by Will
It brings me great pleasure to revisit an old tradition of my blogging past: Worst Weekend Stories. Or, well, I guess I’ll call it “The Worst Of” because I don’t feel like getting an email from a former employer. And our Worst Of episodes on Patreon should be in the Library of Congress.
If you’re unfamiliar with this format, it’s fairly straightforward. Readers and listeners send me stories of their most brutal down-bad weekends, and I break them down. Sound straightforward enough? Good.
This week, I bring to you a story of pledges, a tailgate, and two absolute wild men who honestly sound like a pretty fun hang if I’m in a douchie-enough mood. Let’s begin.
Story has not been edited for brevity and original text will be displayed in block quotes.
I’m currently procrastinating giving my boss my resignation from my first finance job post-grad (frat).
Okay, already like this guy.
Anyways, I’m going to try my best to keep this story brief. I was pledging a fraternity which meant that Saturday's started off with a 4am lineup, then setting up the tailgate and making sure breakfast and mimosas were ready to go before actives woke up. This particular game day was our university’s family day, so I expected to be free that evening. With that being said, there was no shot I was going to invite my family to this, just to be safe. Instead I invited the girl I dated in high school that was going to school in a state where they roll their joints all wrong.
Whenever someone says they’re going to “keep it brief,” it’s truly never brief.
We’ve got some heavy hitters here — an early wake-up with shampoo effect implications, families having to witness fraternity members acting like dumbasses, and an ex-girlfriend. A cocktail of possibilities.
Surprisingly, all of the actives were very respectful and welcoming. The day was going great until our two notorious old heads, who we will call Ben and Alex, showed up. Pretty sure they took a 6th year just to haze. One active confronted some random guys that had apparently been trying to steal beer out of one of our coolers behind the tailgate setup. I have my doubts about this, because a pledge brother was watching the coolers the entire time. Anyways, it was over once the old heads caught wind of this. They immediately brought the confrontation to another level, which led to an all out brawl in about 45 seconds. Again, this is family day. Cops broke it up and shockingly, nothing came of it. I helped my pledge brothers pack up the tailgate and then went to spend some time with my date.
You love to see dudes just trading blows in front of mothers, fathers, and siblings alike. Just two dudes in Sperrys pretending they’re Butterbean hoping to not spill their SoCo and Cokes. Pretty chill move by the cops to only toss out some warnings though. You never want to be the guy getting cuffed at 18 years old in front of your mom right before kickoff. Tough scene all around.
It’s about 10pm when I start getting calls from the two old heads and knew I’d be fucked if I didn’t answer. They asked for a ride from a party a brother was hosting at his place. I agreed, and my date and I ended up giving them rides from bars to parties all night long. These two are very aggressive, and the energy from the brawl earlier in the day had not worn off. Saw them attempt to start several fight along our stops. Finally, I dropped off Alex, and then Ben asked to be taken to our fraternity house. About 20 minutes after dropping Alex off, Ben gets a call that says Alex needs help right away, and without a word, Ben sprints out of the house.
Ohhhhh no.
While these two obviously sound like the worst, I’m still somehow cheering for them? Like I don’t want them to beat anyone up, but I do want them to have an awesome night? Does this make me the worst by osmosis? Am I frat by association?
Myself and a couple pledge brothers heard part of the call so we followed. On the other side of campus, we find Alex on the ground with a completely fucked up face. Blood everywhere. I also notice some bullet casings near him. Before I can even wrap my mind around this, we’re surrounded by cops. The cops, again, are very casual about this and send us on our way.
I’ve gone through a lot of bad stories in my day. It’s the cross I bear. But never in time have I gasped like I gasped when I read “bullet casings” in this story.
The aggressive nature of that sentence followed by the next two sentences creates a wild juxtaposition. The cops are hella casual in this college town which is not something I can say about the cops who arrested me at 18 for telling them my name was “Wayne Rooney” on Halloween while dressed as Wayne Rooney.
Ben enlists me to go out with him for the rest of the night (about 4am) and look for whoever did this. No luck (thank god). Alex showed up the next day and said he had no recollection of what happened, but he wasn’t shot. The university had video of him getting jumped, and actually punished him for public intoxication lmao.
“We gotta find whoever did this!” said the absolutely hammered dude in the South Carolina COCKS bar hat and Vineyard Vines Shep Shirt with cigarette holes burned into it.
I have stories of these two just randomly beating the shit out of each other too. Getting frustrated studying for a test? They’d just go out back and take turns punching each other in the face. One time they made me punch Alex in the face or they were both going to kick my ass. One of my first days of pledging I was at the house wearing a rowdy gentleman Back-to-Back World War Champs shirt and Ben literally ripped it off of me and just walked away. Psychopaths.
I know that because of my employment history I’m essentially the target audience for the “Back-to-Back World War Champs” story, but I just spit out my Miller High Life at the audacity of this move.
Anyways, they both loved me after that night and nobody ever fucked with me around them. They still hazed the fuck out of me though. Dave would’ve never made it.
The girl never spoke to me again.
Brothers for life.
Frat. Be safe out there this long holiday weekend, everyone.
Will, if it makes you feel any better, the Oxford cops were just as unimpressed with me on a certain night on a certain sidewalk north of Uptown. Great story, good content boys.