I’m about to declare war on my friends. Don’t tell them. I’m still developing my battle plan, and my tactical advantage won’t last long when those monsters find out that they’re under attack. Here’s what’s up: this summer, I’m waging a Pleasure War. It’s on. Look the fuck out.

Cold-weather masochists that opt to live in Toronto (this includes the lying liars that “like winter”) are rewarded for our inclement patience with awesome summers (last year not included). It’s true that the city can be an asthmatic nightmare in the smuggy depths of July and August, but generally, summertime in Toronto slays. To manage and make use of the evanescence of those three-ish months, I usually institute a theme or agenda. When I had a ping-pong table in my backyard, I spent the summer drinking 40s and playing honky ball in tube socks. I guess ‘‘Malt Liquor’’ was the superstructure that year. After that was ‘‘Homeless Summer’’ when I lived out of my Oldsmobile and on various couches for a while, went to the driving range a lot and ate mostly peanuts from the 7-11. Last year’s theme was inadvertently “Unemployment Indulgence,” wherein I spent much of the summer reading in parks and taking mini-trips.

This year, I want to do better. As I get older, summer and its alchemical rightness feel more and more fleeting, too unavoidably riddled with work and obligations. By making fun competitive, Pleasure War will annihilate the excuses I have about why I can’t or won’t maximize my good times, destroy my mid-week social laziness and guarantee that if I meet my death on the 401 on Labour Day, or sink into autumnal angst come fall, I have at least done right by summer.

All of this excitement/retardation started when I misread the phrase “pleasure wear” on the internet and knew, instantly, what summer 2009 was all about. An example of how it works:

You: “So, what did you do last night?”

Your friend: “Oh, you know, had a few beers on a patio and played guitar for a while.”

You: “Sounds good. I, however, drank pink champagne in a tub full of ice cubes, then skateboarded to the bookstore for comics, and then fucked your sister on her roof.”

You win.

Or, you know, it might just be about aggressively executing your best ideas: hustle down to the waterfront for a weekly picnic with pals and a boom box. Wear whatever ridiculous shit you want, and half of what’s appropriate. Bike to five different ice-cream parlours in an afternoon. Do it on the kitchen floor and toss a jug of water on you and your sex-bud when it starts to get sweaty and after, make with the popsicles (also good for bruises). Invite your office buddies to your house, BBQ something weird, and project movies onto your garage. Have a sleepover on your porch with your roommates. Mostly, death-grip anything that seems potentially rewarding, and fun the shit out of it.

Sneaky-like, Pleasure War really requires that you’ve got your business handled. If you’re going to go swimming on your lunch break, or meet up with the neighbour’s kid after work to learn how to play craps before the Jays game, you have to get off the internet, get up earlier and stop paying for banal, pre-fabricated fun. That sort of thing will topple a Pleasure Warrior.

Also: purposefully cruising for pleasure means that there’s less inclination to just text your friends about the leaky boner you got for that babe in the Queers shirt, and a little more inclination to say "hi." Soldiers in Pleasure War are in the shit all the time.

Determining winners and losers in Pleasure War is a little more abstract than in war-war. I suggest awarding oneself one point when you feel you’ve earned it, when the quality of fun in your day has trumped that of your friends’ (who are now to be considered both your comrades in fun, and mortal enemies in Pleasure War). The competitive spirit must be maintained, so brag with intention about your summery exploits. Aim for a solid cumulative average: you will still have loser hangovers, get PMS and at some point, need to snuggle in bed on a Friday night to watch 30 Rock and eat crackers. Just make sure you come out of the gate hard the next morning, and remember that a mediocre summer is not to be tolerated. Don’t forget to stay hydrated, and keep it up with the SPF and condoms. Don’t get captured. To battle!

Enlist as a soldier in Pleasure War. Email your triumphs and challenges to  kcarraway@eyeweekly.com.