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So I finally saw that movie, “The Host.” It all started with a text from my homey, Brandon:

Hey man, if you’re up for a low key evening of drinking beer and watching movies, let me know!

Hell yeah I am! Follow-up texts assured me that I didn’t even need to bring beer, as he had plenty on hand, and Homey Brandon has good taste in beer. This night is shaping up.

I landed on his doorstep later that night. B’s lady was out of town and, lucky bastard, his baby boy was with the grandparents for the evening. We were free to make as much noise as we wanted. Free to blare explicit lyric-laden devil music as loud as our eardrums could stand. Free to fire our weapons without silencers. We were men unencumbered! Not to be stopped! Not to be trifled with!

So we sat and drank beer and spoke to one another at a reasonable volume. Both being men, husbands, and fathers, we spoke of our families, of the latest doings of our children, of our wive’s latest schemes. We spoke of beer and of the perils of ordering a pitcher of IPA for a table of folks whose tastes in beer you are not entirely familiar with (Hint: not everybody likes it. Poor souls). At some point, the conversation turned to entertainment and film, specifically towards this little Korean monster flick. I confessed, it had been in my queue for ages, but I just hadn’t gotten to it yet.

He reached for the blu-ray. “Wanna watch it?”

Caution! Spoilers! But only those of the most minor variety, nothing you couldn’t figure out on your own. Because you’re smart. And attractive.