Fat Chicks. There is a common misconception that they are reviled by chauvinistic men everywhere. Their round, flabby, pock-marked bodies filling more than their allotted space in a crowded basement. Dumping beer and Jungle Juice down their gullets. Their too-tight clothing barely containing their guts and thighs. They somehow combined these traits, almost invariably, with bad hair, bad breath, and a distinct body odor reminiscent of canned meat. Most films and television programs portray these corpulent women, these so-called "Slam Hogs," being rejected at the door to any party. They are regularly passed up in favor of the up-and-coming starlets and left to sulk off into the background and at best become a source of cruel comic relief.
But at Alpha Tau Zeta, Fat Chicks were celebrated. They were bumped to the front of the line, at times. The best attended mixers were always with the least popular sorority, Delta Delta Pi, which was peopled by a more hearty breed of woman than the other sororities (though, to be fair, there were many more attractive girls than people remember all these years down the road. Our memories have simplified the group to their most prominent members, physically speaking). The overactive collective libido played a part in this. Fat Chicks were viewed as being "easy," as a teen in the 50's would say. To borrow a phrase from Chicago Cubs stalwart Mark Grace, Fat Chicks were often used as a "slump buster." That is, if you were feeling down in the dumps (be it romantically, mentally, or physically), a Fat Chick could be a good cure-all. They were like a tonic sold by a traveling pitchman during the Depression.
But it was more than that. Fat Chicks are fun. They drink hard. They're down for all the reindeer games. At Mardi Gras themed parties (and Cinco De Mayo parties and Anything For a Dollar parties and...) they are always the first ones to whip out their tits. Plus, it's much easier to have fun with a girl when you're not trying to sleep with her. They were also amused by our more extreme antics that tended to turn off the more attractive/rich/popular/in-shape girls. And of course, any encouragement of our hijinx was a major plus. Fat Chicks were just a solid group to have around.
And at this moment, Thumper was on the hunt for a Fat Chick.
Bob and Pat served as his faithful Blood Hounds, seeking out the most succulent prey.
"Her?"
"No. Not fat enough. She'd never fuck Thumper. I like the blimp in the pink."
"No good. She's going home with Todd tonight. He's been talking about fucking her all week."
"Todd's chubby chasing nowadays, huh?"
"He goes through phases. You know, maybe we should just let Thumper pick."
"Are you kidding? We can't trust him with a decision like this. We're talking about a man's v-card here."
Thumper approached them. "Hey guys," he said. "Any luck?"
"This is a very delicate process, Thumper," said Pat.
"I like the blonde over in the corner."
"Thumper..." Bob said, halfway in disbelief.
"What?"
"Thumper, that girl is making out with Dallas right now. Like, literally right at this moment."
"So?"
"I swear to God, Thumper," Pat said. "And I don't even believe in God. But for these five seconds, I do enough to swear to him that I will destroy you if you question us again."
"Okay."
"Here," Bob said. "Just sit down for a minute and let us figure this out."
Bob sat Thumper down in a booth with Port-o John, Goldy, Downtown Matt Brown (or DTMB, as he forthwith shall be known), a couple girls, and the narrator of this story. We were playing a game called Seven-Eleven Doubles (well, as a teetotaler I wasn't playing. The "we" was intended to save words, which, I suppose, it hasn't). The rules were somewhat complex but essentially you had to drink a beer before your opponent could roll a pair of dice and get either a seven, an eleven, or doubles. There were no teams, no way to emerge victorious, and was really only an excuse to drink quickly in socially semi-acceptable fashion. Port-o John was the house master at this particular game (and at many others including Asshole, Smash Pong, and the infamous Trail of Beers). As we rolled and drank (again, perhaps this is an inappropriate use of the word "we"), a lively discussion began.
"I've begun to have a growing interest in Soviet film," DTMB said.
"You take one Econ class with a commie professor and look what happens."
"I'm not a communist," DTMB said. "I just don't believe that we should automatically dismiss certain aspects of socialism just because they were demonized during the middle of the last century. But I'm not here to argue that. To me, the most interesting aspect of the Soviet era was the fact that they viewed themselves not just as a political super power, but as a cultural one. What other totalitarian regime actively promoted the arts so vigorously?"
"The Nazis," someone (me) suggested.
"That's true," said DTMB, in that sly way when he was about to show off his superior knowledge, "but with the Nazis art was used almost exclusively for propaganda purposes. The Soviets, however, always wanted their art to be viewed as being superior to that of the west, and thus they encouraged people to create through their own impulses and not through state controlled subjects."
"Hold on," Port-o John said, "what about the state censors?"
"True. But two factors come into play. First of all, even most Western countries have censorship. The MPAA and FCC here, namely. England, France, Italy, Germany; all have some form of state sponsored censorship. Secondly, the censorship was done after the fact. They could express themselves however they wanted, often with direct government sponsorship. And it seems that most of these films have remained intact and were even allowed to be shown outside of the country uncut. They just didn't want to rile up the citizenry. And let's be honest, it's never a good idea to rile up Russians, Ukrainians, Poles, and the like."
"Hey, I'm Polish you asshole," Port-o John said.
"Exactly. But as I was saying, I've been thinking about Soviet film and, feel free to jump in whenever you want girls, I ask you: what is the definitive Soviet film?"
"Potemkin! Boom!" Port-o John shouted and chugged down a beer.
"No, it's not Potemkin," DTMB said.
"Bullshit!"
"Potemkin isn't even Eisenstein's best movie," the narrator said, correctly I might add. "Ivan the Terrible is better."
"Have you guys ever done that thing with Wizard of Oz and Pink Floyd?"
"Goldy, what does that have to do with anything?" DTMB said.
"Well, you can do that with Tarkovsky. Pretty much any of his movies with any Pink Floyd album."
"Tarkovsky can't be viewed as the definitive Soviet filmmaker though," DTMB said, "because his films are far too spiritual for the official atheist stance of the Soviet Union."
"You want to talk spiritual? Watch the end of The Sacrifice and listen to Echoes at the same time with two tabs of acid pumping through your veins."
"The best movie of the Soviet era," the narrator said, "is Come and See."
"Come and what?" Port-o John asked. He was a bit testy after one of the girls had rolled the dice before his hand was even on the cup (one of the arcane rules of the game).
"Come and See."
"Idi i Smotri," DTMB said, helpfully. He knew his stuff. When DTMB said that he had become interested in something, it meant that he had done exhaustive research and become a temporary expert on the subject.
"Ohhhhhh, Idi i Smotri," Port-o John said with a thick coat of sarcasm. He was just angry that we weren't discussing Russian literature, which was more in his conversational wheelhouse.
"It's like the Russian Apocalypse Now. A surreal, intense World War Two movie about a little kid in Belarus who joins the resistance movement against the Nazis and descends into his own personal hell amidst the rape and slaughter and genocide of the war. It's awesome."
"Yes, but it's not the definitive Soviet film," DTMB said.
"Well then what is?"
"Earth."
"Gimme a break," Port-o John said.
"Did you say, 'Birth?'" Goldy asked.
"No. Earth. It's the Soviet ethos in 75 minutes. It takes longer to read the Communist Manifesto and that's a pamphlet. You've got collectivist farmers fighting against the capitalist land owners. You've got the triumph of the new era of technology to bring the peasant classes into the future. And you've got the same kind of editing style employed by Eisenstein mixed with the sweeping landscape shots of Tarkovsky. And the Soviets even censored parts of it!"
"I don't know..."
"You make a good argument..."
"You're such a homo..."
"Let's do a very un-Soviet thing and vote on it," DTMB suggested. "Who thinks I'm wrong?"
We three raised our hands.
"Looks like the nays have have it," Port-o John said.
"Hold on. The girls still have a vote. Oh, and Thumper too. What do you say?"
"I don't give a fuck about those stupid Commies," Thumper said. "They never made a movie as good as Wedding Crashers."
Cooper approached the table. "Hey Thumper," he said. "I think I found a girl for you."
Thumper jumped up from the booth and was gone with Cooper.
DTMB turned to the others. "You know, he never said that I was wrong about Earth."
No comments:
Post a Comment