A conversation that occurred exactly as I’m about to write it, yesterday during the first period of the Pens game while we dined on wings, hamburgers, hot dogs, Greek salad, vodka tonics and carrot cake (swear it.) and immediately after this commercial popped on:
PittGirl: I don’t get that commercial at all.
Brother in Law: What do you mean you don’t get it? What the heck’s wrong with you?
PittGirl: What’s the point of it? What’s it got to do with selling beer? It’s dumb.
Brother in Law: Dude! Let me translate what each dude means. [rewinds] ‘Hey, wait!’ ‘Gross!’ ‘Uh-oh!’ ‘Hot chick!’ ‘Darn it!’–
PittGirl: — no, no. I get what each ‘dude’ means, I just mean, how is this selling me this beer?
Sister of PittGirl: How does ‘WASABIIIIIIIII!’ sell beer?
PittGirl: True dat, sis. It’s a guy thing, I think.
Mother of PittGirl: I don’t get it either.
Brother in Law: It’s an awesome commercial! Dude!?
PG: What?
BIL: For the rest of the summer, I am only going to speak to you using the word ‘dude’ so that you can come to appreciate it.
PG: Oy.
[Flyers score]
BIL: DUDE!
[his son stands right in front of the TV, blocking our view]
BIL: DUDE!
[the dog jumps on BIL]
BIL: DUDE! [to Father of PittGirl] Dad, I took the dog to the vet yesterday, and as I was holding him down and they were giving him the shot, the needle was coming RIGHT FOR MY HAND, and PittGirl?
PG: [Looks up from carrot cake] What?
BIL: I was all, “DUDE!?”
Sister of PittGirl: Oh, God.
