Fuck Football!
How to tear his eyes away from the TV
Published November 26, 1999 in Crave

Thanksgiving is a time of food, family, and fun; not to mention furious fucking while your man attempts to watch football. Sure, you could always hit one of those after-Thanksgiving sales, but if you're like me, nothing is more crotch drying than fighting with a bunch of rabid Christmas shoppers over whatever happens to be the Furby of the season.

See also...
... by Eve Rings
... in the Crave section
... from November 26, 1999

Now some chicks dig football. But if you're like me and watching a bunch of men in tight pants wearing smeared eyeliner who aren't The Rolling Stones does nothing for you, then I'm sure the last thing on your mind is carrying out trays of Cheetos and beer while your man cheers on the Chicago Bears. No, getting your man away from the television and into your skirt is going to take a little bit of planning on your part, and this will only be more difficult if he has a whole herd of his testosterone-ridden, beer swillin' buddies around.

Tell him you ran out of beer. OK, so this seems a little cruel and unusual, but when your man hears you've run out of PBR, offer to hit the liquor store with him. On the way there, put your head in his lap and suggest you pull over at the wayside rest for a little diversion. Once there, fuck him until the last thing on his mind is football. Do not tell him liquor stores are closed on the holiday.

Ask for his help in the kitchen. OK, so this seems even more far-fetched than the liquor store plan, but once you lure him into the kitchen, hike your apron and tell him you've always wondered how cranberries would work as anal beads.

Walk in front of the TV, and strip in front of all his friends. OK, this will play out in one of two ways: He gets pissed, kicks everyone out, and you get him all to yourself. Or he digs the idea and you end up in a Thanksgiving pileup with all his buddies, which is a much better contact sport than football, anyway. Either way, you win!

Eve Rings is a 29-year-old writer who hates football, but loves boxing.