There aren’t movie theaters or restaurants in McMurdo. Because of the International Dateline, Sunday NFL play-off games are played here on Monday afternoons when we are at work. Removed from society, we have to reinvent our “norms” and entertainment.
On Saturday nights, men dress up as women, for fashion women shave their heads and men have mustache or beard growing competitions. People win or lose their weekly paychecks in high stake poker games that revolve around a few different dorm rooms and the 100-square Superbowl pool quickly filled up at $100 per square. This puts 10 thousand dollars up for grabs simply by the kick of a field goal or a missed touchdown.
But, the real buzz in town is around the 12 people who have taken a vow not to masturbate. Twenty-two days into the Rub and Tug tournament there are just two people left who have mastered their domain hoping to win the $828 ($69 x 12 people) prize.
The rules are simple, but honesty has to be trusted. Wet dreams don’t count, but if you have sex—you’re out. Of the 12 people who entered the contest, 12 of them would have paid more than $828 to have sex, so this rule was moot. Men outnumber women 2 to 1 in McMurdo, so if you haven’t “earned your wings (that’s a euphemism for ‘having sex’)” in Antarctica by now, odds are good that you’re goods are odd and your last few weeks in Antarctica will be spent celibate.
For some, getting to Antarctica is a dream come true. For others, earning their wings on this continent is the cherry on top of their cock. This is why the crude guard of Antarctica experience will tell every newbee, like myself, to G.U.E.
“If you G.U.E.,” one of the guys from the Heavy Shop said to me over my first beer at the Southern Exposure bar, “you’re guaranteed to earn your wings.”
Since I was/am a newbee, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask what that statement meant and with a hard slap on the back (that did end up hurting), he said, “If you go ugly early, then you’re sure to get fucked.”
The reality and ugly truth was I lost my $69 six days into the tournament. I didn’t G.U.E. I talked to the hand.Tal
The final two contestants are now down to a janitor who claims he only needs to plunge toilets and a carpenter who plays with wood all day long, this competition could last until the final flight, but, not if I have my say.
My money is on the carpenter. He seems semi-androgynous (sometimes dressing as a woman not just on Saturdays) and his hands are callused. I’ve doubled down my $69 on a side bet with a friend who has faith that his janitor friend will clean up.
Trying to sway the competition, or at least make the left hand not know that the right hand is stepping out, this week I’ve started slipping porn beneath the door of the janitor’s dorm room. Gay porn, straight porn, hairy bushes and shaved kittens, whatever it takes to make it hard on the janitor.
