Car Hive: verb, engage in the nighttime activity of (sitting in/standing out) a parked car with a group of friends.
Example: I can hear these fagots car hiving all the way from my room.
Us homeboys like to chill. We like to ramble, and since having hos in your crew is a commodity in Egypt, our appetite for bro-ing out got exponentially bigger. And what better way to quench that bro-thirst than car hiving, the quintessential Egyptian-man leisure activity. It’s cheap, it gets you out of your house where mom is sewing a burka, and it marginally counts as something “you did last night.”
it’s also the bread and butter of the kiosk industry. In fact car hives must hatch with close proximity to a kiosk. I don’t know which came first, the kiosk egg or the car hive chicken, but I know that one can’t survive without the other.
Now in order to initiate a successful car hiving session one must
- Assemble his crew.
- Go to his favorite kiosk.
(one that’s named after the jerk that runs it)
- Park his car near said place.
- Open all/some doors.
- Put on some shitty music.
(some choice House circa 2005 will suffice)
- Engage in some playful banter with his bros.
- Create awesome memories.
(e.g. being your friend’s watchdog while he’s takes a piss on the corner)
That seem to scratch some right where they itch, and I can tell from their faces that they are having the time of their life. I’ll see them laughing it up and slapping one another, pulling off almost every acceptable form of affection short of full-on french kissing. And that led me to a conclusion: Car hiving is for checkpoint-fearful fagots, while cruising is for real men.
Compared to the lackluster car hiving, cruising is awesome. It leaves a hefty carbon footprint, just like a man. You also have the heterosexually reaffirming option of hustling the ladies, car stocking them, and good old picking them up. Unless you’re under age and can’t get your license, you should never settle for car hiving.
I don’t think there is enough shitty hash out there to make me put up with such bull shit, if I wanna have a jolly good old time with my buddies and I am short on the brown I’ll go to one of these shisha-cafes or fool stands or even fucking sket-elmatar, but I won’t be caught dead eating Doritos in the backseat of my friend’s parked car. it’s called dignity, and I still have some left.