Possibly as part of The Summer Of Excessive Drinking and Inappropriate Behavior, or possibly because we're bad girls with bad mouths and bad minds, we've turned ourselves into something resembling that most repugnant of species: The Frat Boy.

Consider the following: Last night, during a girls' night at our friend Becca's apartment, we threw in two old movies, ate pizza and drank cider, ripped Xanadu to shreds, giggled at Real Genius -- engaging throughout in what an impassioned round of what can only be called, "Would You Tap That?"

Okay, so Frat Boys might not watch Xanadu, unless they're the "We're not gay, really; we just like to run around naked pranking each other and then accidentally yanking things, and any penetration is purely accidental" variety. But I digress.

"Would You Tap That?" has one rule: Announce whether or not you would tap that ass. No nuance, no rich texture, no painful, regrettable pronouncements that involve killing George Clooney.

It proceeded something like this:

Most of the rest of the night devolved into the following:

By the time we tapped out at 1 a.m., we'd tapped innumerable asses and discovered a whole new ass-tapping subtext to both Real Genius and Xanadu.

On a related note, Xanadu is the most brilliant awful movie ever made. Carrie and Becca and I, who loved it when we were growing up and didn't realize what a cheap and hideous and poorly written Olivia Newton-John vehicle it was, shamed ourselves by remembering almost all the words to all the songs and singing them loudly. Jessica and Lauren repeatedly and brokenly lamented this movie's long absence from their lives.

I think Xanadu might be the reason musicals became powerfully unfashionable box-office poison for twenty years. The trailer claims it is "Spectacular Entertainment!" and "A Love Story!" and "The Kind Of Superior Musical Entertainment You Haven't Seen Since Grease."

All of this is true, provided you are watching the movie to rejoice in its awful, awful qualities. And they are myriad.

Olivia Newton-John sings her entire serious song, the intended emotional climax of the movie, in a Tron-esque setting while outlined in a fuzzy yellow neon glow. Because that's what muses are like, see. Meanwhile, Sonny got all dressed up in a tight Hawaiian-print shirt and hot pants and roller skates for his big plea to Zeus -- yes, that Zeus -- to win back the girl. How lovely of him to get fancy for the occasion (and the actor is so bad that his career descended into being a Murder, She Wrote old-reliable -- according to IMDb, he has been in five episodes, as five different characters; we hope at least one of them was the killer who, when confronted by the feeble and aging murder-mystery novelist, always proceeded to confess the crime, explain how it happened, incriminate themselves to the fullest, and then allow themselves to get arrested rather than just offing the old bag and burying her under a bookstore).

And we sobbed with laughter over its varied and relentless atrocities -- the unexplained two minutes of animation, the hideous clothes, the ill-advised, bordering on insulting homages to Singin' In The Rain, the constant roller-skating, the lack of story, the scene where Sonny fires himself while his boss, coworkers, and the viewing audience look on in complete confusion� There are a hundred moments of utter guffaw-inducing brilliance, and they defy description. But when ON-J is skating around the empty building like Nancy Kerrigan, arranges herself in a pose wherein her arms are aloft and she's balanced on one leg, and then glides into, all the way across, and then out of a shot� well, that's just wrong and wonderful. We watched that moment eleven times; the final three gasping, "Not again -- I'm going to vomit from laughing if we watch it again" or "Laughing at this makes my body hurt."

The movie was only one minute old when Jessica said, "I might have to own this soon."

So, that was last night. Yes, that's right. I haven't seen Schindler's List, but I've seen, loved, and learned the score to Xanadu. That's horrible.

I rule.

Someone got here by searching for: pictures of dancing brave Reading: Entertainment Weekly and its summer-show preview, and wondering why our fucking network couldn't get its shit together in time to pin down an air date and have our show make the list, as it's premiering in mere weeks. Watching: Seven episodes of The Simpsons in a row. Or was it eight?