Saturday’s Might Be for the Boys, but #GirlsSaturdaysMatter (Hear Me Out, Fellas)

If there’s one thing that this world needs more than a white history month, it’s dedicating an entire weekend day to the most under appreciated sub-culture of American society:...

If there’s one thing that this world needs more than a white history month, it’s dedicating an entire weekend day to the most under appreciated sub-culture of American society: white, upper-middle class, 18 to 30 year old males who enjoy binge drinking and Third Eye Blind. Recently, the bro bible (if you will), Barstool Sports, coined a hashtag to capture this sentiment: #SaturdaysAreForTheBoys

It’s a god damn shame it’s taken this long. This oft-oppressed sect fought tooth and nail for the gentrification they were born into. They deserve nothing more than to sit around a friends in ground pool, because above ground pools are for peasants, debating the finer points in life, like how to memorialize Harambe: #dicksout or pouring one out for the homie. Easily identified in the wild by their signature alma mater bucket hat, cutoff tee, Chubbies and a well starched Hawaiian shirt if the squad is getting their cheddar bay biscuit on at Red Lobster or putting the full court press on half priced apps and PTA moms at Chili’s.

But for those of us who packed the Target futon into storage, traded dollar beer nights that lead to meaningless sex for $35 bottles of wine on Olive Garden Tinder dates that end with you masturbating alone using your tears as lubricant, escaping responsibility to act like Chris Farley for 24 hours is a logistical nightmare. You’ve got Lumbergh asking you to work the weekend, buddies asking to use your economical crossover with 3rd row retractable seats to move and a signicant other who’s more needy than Helen Keller in a corn maze. Call me a realist but getting a Saturday free of obligatory domestic duties can be harder than getting an erection after 72 fluid ounces of Jack Daniels.

So it’s time to give our slightly smaller brained counterparts a nudge in the right direction. You know, help them, help us. So let’s give them their Saturday’s back so we can spend ours balls deep in cold brews and hot stove talk.

Below is Entry Revel’s misogynistic, over-simplified, stereotypical list of ways to get bae out of your hair for #Saturdays:

The obvious …

The gym membership. That Zumba instructor is Charles Manson and your Lululemoned girlfriend is about to murder Sharon Tate. Gym classes are crack to white girls and assuming she doesn’t end up getting a “private session” from her hard bodied Billie Blanks looking trainer, it’s a win-win.

Shopping. Can this be expensive? Sure. But can you really put a price on laughing at fart jokes and quoting 90’s movies while drinking liquor typically reserved for homeless Vietnam vets? Helpful hint: separate bank accounts.

Crafts. While you’re crushing thirties and tweaking hammies playing spikeball, suggest she hit the painting studio to get her Van Goh on while having at a bottle of rose. She’ll forget all about how shitty of a boyfriend you are while she’s putting that art degree to use and extinguishing the shelf life of her liver.

Bottle of wine. If there’s one thing that years of watching Bravo has taught me, it’s that women are distracted by a bottle of wine like a hippie with a hacky sack. Set it and forget it.

Brunch. The female equivalent of guys shotgunning beers at 10 AM to pregame an SEC football game they have no vested interest in, is eating $27 eggs Benedict and drinking orange juice mixed with Andre. Make reservations for the whole squad. She’ll be so busy picking filters on her food porn she’ll forget how bad you are in bed.

Thinking outside the box …

Beyoncé. The old bait and hook is the oldest play in coach Coach Eric Taylor’s book. The equivalent of neck-tattooed hillbillies running to the nearest cow town to get their grimy hands on a McRib is your girlfriend seeking Beyoncé. Setting your girlfriend on wild goose chase isn’t illegal, it’s just kinda fucked up.

Puppies. You introduce me to a girl who doesn’t like puppies and I’ll show you a guy who drives a windowless van and doesn’t like little kids. It’s science, folks. Dropping the old ball and chain off at a dog park with a box of dog treats is like introducing a 13 year old kid to Internet pornography.

Ask her boss to have her work weekends. So this doesn’t exactly fall into the #MakeGirlsSaturdaysGreatAgian, but this isn’t about her. It’s about you and the god damn boys getting turnt up on some synthetic marijuana alternative you bought at the local 7/11. This might be a logistical nightmare, but this isn’t the first time you convinced someone (read: your boss & sexual partners) to do something stupid.

Desperate times …

Break up with her. You’ve broken up with a girl to avoid Christmas, Valentine’s Day and a birthday, so how is this any different? She drowns her sorrows in ice cream all day, you hang with the fellas and then you get to have makeup sex. It’s a win-win-win.

When she says “I’ll just come with you” …

Stefan Urkel machine. If that thing could make Steve Urkel go from well, Steve Urkel, to Denzel Washington, it could most certainly clone you. It’s as easy as going to ABC’s back lot, dusting that bad boy off and making yourself a slightly better looking doppelgänger who can fulfill all those needs you can’t meet. That or hit up the Beyond section of Bed Bath and Beyond for one of those remote controls from “Click.”

See you Saturday, boys.

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