Stupid Guy Tricks

Anybody who doubts that there is something radically and genetically different about boys should be required to sit with my two sons while their favorite shows, "Mythbusters" and "Dirty Jobs," are on. The other night we watched the climax of an episode of "Mythbursters" involving the pumping-up of a water heater to see if it would blow the roof off a house. It did, blasting off spectacularly into the sky. All three of us hooted and hollered upon liftoff. I take it that Mother and Daughter stayed in the back of the house rolling their eyes.

Derb today posted a classic guy anecdote from the weekend. Excerpt:

After my son's football game yesterday I was sitting round with a bunch of Dads. This was at one of their houses, outside on the deck, which he has fitted up very nicely, with a TV and all. It was cold, so we got a log fire going in the firepit and sat around the fire drinking, watching the football game on TV, and b-s-ing. The wives were inside doing whatever wives do when away from their men—exchanging recipes, who knows?

Well, eventually we got into one of those dumb arguments you get into in these situations. The point at issue was: Will an empty beer bottle melt in a log fire?

You gotta read the rest to find out what happened. The whole thing made me think about Stupid Guy Tricks I've been a party to in the past. Probably the stupidest was the Nutmeg Doper fiasco. I was a junior at a boarding school, and as such was stuck in a male dorm with a bunch of equally bored male-chromosomal types. Somebody remembered from their copy of "The Anarchists Cookbook" that nutmeg was some sort of hallucinogen. Really? Cool! So a couple of guys and I got on our bikes and pedaled through the rain to a supermarket, and bought a box of McCormick's nutmeg. We rode back to the dorm, returned to my room, and in the presence of a bunch of fellow dolts, two of us proceeded to eat the stuff.

It was horrible. Horrible! Like eating spicy dirt. I cut mine with Equal, but it didn't do much good. I think this guy H., like Your Working Boy, choked down a couple of teaspoons, but that's it. We sat around waiting to get high. Nothing happened. All the guys said goodnight, and we all went to bed.

Next morning, H.'s roommate's standing over my bed, shaking me awake. Come see, he said, H. is really sick. I padded down the hall, and there was H., curled up in a fetal position on the top bunk, moaning.

Then I passed out.

I tried to stand up, and fainted again.

School policy required that we be examined by the school nurse before getting excused absences. H. and I dragged ourselves to the bathroom to wash our faces. Our eyes were glassy. We looked grotesque. As I recall, we held tight to the railing of the staircase, descending four flights of stairs as if we were on a rolling cruise ship. The nurse looked us over, said we "must have a virus," and sent us back up to bed.

Next thing I know, it was early evening, and a room full of fellow juniors were standing over me gawking. I fell back asleep, and woke up again after midnight. And that was the end of that, though I basically peed Old Spice for the rest of the week. We found out later that H. and I had eaten far more nutmeg than the Anarchists Cookbook had recommended. Basically, we poisoned ourselves. Still, I've been able to enjoy curry as well as eggnog for years, without having flashbacks.

Please list your Stupid Guy Tricks below.