There are a few preliminaries we must cover to check your worthiness for the Conan drinking game.

1. Cry your loudest bestial roar. If various animals/neighbours react then you may proceed.
2. Your inner manliness is struggling to break free– rip out of that shirt and into man town.
3. Crush something. I don’t care what it is.

Ok. Now that everyone’s partially naked I’d say we’re ready to continue. Arm yourself with the butchest tipple available. Obvious option being Stella Artois what with all the wife beating connotations.

Since we’re all so hardcore let’s begin with two sips.

Take two sips when…

The film changes location. [Noisy option: the last one to pronounce the location name correctly consumes double]

Conan gives an emo glare accompanied by a rather fetching snarl.

Tamara runs off to justify her womanly independence.Then consequently begins screaming for her knight in shining body oil.

Can you taste the testosterone yet?

Take three sips when…

A sand monster dies a horribly crumbly death.

A horse gets shanked.

A horse gets tipped over.

A horse gets slow-motion chain whipped. In the face.

Basically any act of horse brutality. But you may not enjoy these sips. These are mournful sips.

Sprouting chest hairs yet?

Take four sips when…

Anyone roars. This includes your drinking companions and any nearby cats.

You notice signs of early childhood psychological trauma. Examples include beheading people you find in the woods and taping spiky pieces of metal to your fingers.

Your head starts doing cartwheels in an attempt to follow the ultra fast battle sequences.

Consume your entire beverage if…

You default your acquired manliness by cringing or averting your manly gaze at any point.

There’s only one last thing to do: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWR.