so obviously inspired by this pic.

It's Saturday night, that terrible time of the week where Boxcars digs through his stash of terrible romances and forces the rest of the Crew to watch along. Droog is prepared with popcorn in one hand, half-empty wine bottle in the other. He hopes that the alcohol will kick in before he is forced on the sofa.

If he had it his way he would ditch movie night altogether, but he knows that attempting an escape is useless. The last time he had tried to abscond resulted in an unfortunate turn of events that ended with the TV chucked through the wall, crushing some poor sap walking by. The thing about Hearts Boxcars is he always gets quality Crew time. Always.

So Droog gets the wineglasses, the booze, and the super-buttery popcorn. They take their usual places: Deuce on the floor, with the popcorn bowl in his lap; Slick slumping against the sofa, a scowl on his face, Droog beside him; Boxcars holding up a fistful of DVDs, grinning like an idiot. Droog pours his fourth glass and quickly downs it.

"I got a real treat fer all ya this time..." Boxcars begins, and right on cue the television explodes with bursts of color and a tearjerker of a song.

Droog finds it nauseating. But ten minutes into the usual fare of scrawny dames fluttering eyelashes at hairy-chested men, he is simply too drunk to care. He hears Slick angrily grumble beside him and sympathizes. He passes his bottle.

The bastard drinks all of it. Boxcars, steaming at the melodramatic foreplay on the screen, yells for someone to hand him the damn beer so that he could smash it in the lead female's cockteasin' face.

It isn't long before everyone, save for Deuce, is drunk, ten levels of wasted and counting. Boxcars, who had been screaming only moments before, is serenely pacified, his throaty bellows of "KISS THAT GUY" diminished to soft murmurs of approval. Slick is the one who rages now, hissing and waving his knife and glass at the television, threatening to cut out the girl's gut if she didn't knee that womanizing ******* in the nuts. Droog lazily inspects the shifting holes in the ceiling, words fading in and out of focus.

Movie nights aren't so bad, he groggily thinks, and passes out, just as the happy couple kiss to the ecstatic and furious roars of Boxcars and Slick.

He wakes up the next morning with wine spilled all over his suit, the rest of the Crew out cold around him.

The television inconveniently breaks for the eleventh time that month.