Friday Drinking Game #51 – Indiana Jones

Indiana Jones is one of those franchises that has just about aged enough that people’s faces glow like a replica Crystal Skull every time it’s brought up, and it’s one of the franchises that with anyone else in the lead, would actually have been a bit shit. Case in point: how’s that Archaeology degree going? Oh, what’s that? You’d rather stick an artefact brush in your eye? Quite. The drink of choice for this particular Friday, in homage to Father Ford, is probably a good dark single malt whisky. If that is out of your budget however, a probably more accurate alternative would be a nice snifter of chilled Nazi blood shaken with 70% proof JUSTICE.



Every time the word ‘Nazi’ is uttered:

Raiders of the Lost Ark is full of delightfully racist anti-Nazi sentiment. If a Nazi is killed, you must stand up, raise your glass and shout ‘Heil Indy!’ There’s a moment for the Nazi body count in Last Crusade which will absolutely RUIN you, if you’re after total body obliteration. We don’t recommend it.

Every time you hear the Indiana Jones theme tune:

Now, for such a clearly epic piece of music, with one of the best key changes in any 80s movie soundtrack, we’re going to apply a variation on the one sip rule which has the capacity to sink most of you into the Well of Souls, so proceed with caution into a Waterfall. Every participant should stand in a circle or some other spatial formation where everyone can see everyone. One person starts drinking in the opening chords, followed by everyone else. The first person chooses when they stop drinking, and every subsequent player cannot stop drinking until the person before them stops too. If the Waterfall goes on until the key change, you must down your drink. We kid you not.

Every time you hear a Wilhelm scream:

Indy is not a badass for no reason; everyone knows that claiming to be some sort of hero without leaving a healthy trail of bodies in your wake is like claiming you have a monstrously long and girthy penis when in fact you have a vagina. It’s just a blatant lie. The Wilhelm scream is the time-honoured proof of mastery over your adversary, and for that, it is worth a sip.



Someone defies the laws of physics and/or religion:

Look Harrison, you know we believe the sun shines out of your arse, and you are a man capable of many things which no one except for maybe Thor is. However, that luscious-locked hero, featured in our last Friday Drinking game, is a god. You are just a professional nerd. Therefore, you, more than anyone, need to respect that your guns are fucking anachronistic. They are too big, too fancy and too semi-automatic by half. And if you shoot them in flight, you do not hit anyone squarely in the forehead other than yourself.

Every time Indiana loses that fucking hat:

Admittedly, the hat is devilishly sexy, second only to his face. Why, therefore, he cannot keep ahold of it when he’s been hanging on to his sexy every minute of his life up and including this advent of his eighth decade, is beyond us. So it deserves two sips every time he loses it, and a triumphant downing of the remainder of your drink when he gets it back.



Every time a woman shouts at Indiana, clearly aflame with lust:

As we have pointed out, Dr. Jones is a man who has mastered many things; one of the most enjoyable, for everyone involved, is the art of wading through copious amounts of international clunge without drowning – which not even Head of the Pussy Patrol Lil Wayne has ever been able to pull off without having to swim to the butt like some sort of amateur. In homage to this unmatched prowess, three sips, and down your drink and make the lewd remark of your choosing if she shouts at him and he still manages to pull.

Every time Indiana Jones throws a punch:

Every hardman has to look good in a fistfight. While Indiana’s actual success rate is rather variable, he’s always a safe bet for plenty of verve and hairy-chested brawling with the enemy, and that’s worth three sips (especially in an age where screen-fighting has become something akin to ballet, only girlier).



Every time a religious artefact is on screen, down your drink for your favourite archaeologist, because this is his cause. Some might just call it an affinity for stealing shiny things, like a some sort of whip-wielding magpie, but we’re on Indy’s side.

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