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"What if I win?" I ask, knowing I can kick this guy's ass, even
if I haven't watched TV since Jonny Carson hosted the tonight show.
"I'll give you ALL my beer." He replies, confident in his beer-defending ability.
"Fine. You're on. Now crack open that Blue and hand it over, bitch."
Now the good thing about this game is that theoretically it could be over in a relatively short
time period, provided the game is played correctly. Using the "Roll Again"
squares wisely will almost always result in getting halfway across the board
in one turn. From there it's a simple matter of landing on the all-important
"Cheesepie Squares" and answer one question from that colour category.
Frank, unfortunately,
did not know this. He proceeded to go around the outer circle in one direction,
blissfully unaware that I was at that moment plotting to stab him to death with
his own shoe.
I'm not sure at
what point he caught up to me, I was too busy trying to drink all of his beer.
Of course, my luck never fails...I get the hardest questions known the mankind,
and he gets the shit written so that even retards could feel smart. Obviously,
it was working. Here I am, answering questions like "Which group of mountains
did the Beverley Hillbillies come from?" ...The Ozarks (don't ask how I
know that, I had a very odd childhood) and he's getting questions like "How
many sides does a square have?" It's just my fucking luck.
It wasn't that I didn't think I would win, I just wanted the pure satisfaction of drinking
all of his beer before he could. Luckily he was too engrossed in his Quest for
the Last Cheesepie to notice me crack open a sixth beer. By this time several
people were intensely watching us play, cheering one or the other. I couldn't
help feel sorry for the people that were cheering for Frank. Around my eighth
beer, I realize that he has not only caught up to me, but he is ahead of me.
For a brief second I considered stopping drinking so that I could think a little
better, but then I came to my senses when I remembered that it was Frank's beer.
And of course, like always, it comes down to a tie. I can't believe we're both running for
the centre to win the game. This man, who believes that Alice Cooper is a super
model, is tied with me. Thankfully I at least get there ahead of him, but the
question is ridiculously...ridiculous. I can't really remember the specifics,
but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Stephen Hawking's Theory of
Unified Relativity...or Geography...I hate geography. Needless to say I didn't
get the question correct. Cue beer #9.
Then it comes down to ol' Franky boy. Now this is where things get ugly. His question? "What
planet is closest to the Sun?" I mean, did a card from the FUCKING DOLT
EDITION fall into this box by mistake? We all wait in panicked silence for his
postumous response...as he sits there trying to remember that rhyme from when
we were kids.
"M.....My? M..Myyyy......very....Hmmmm...."
I don't know if it was the beer, or the fact that this game had once again screwed me out of
a perfectly good intellectual victory over someone so obviously below me, but
it was at this point that I was thrown into a surrealistic rage which caused
me to attack Frank with the board, the cards, the box, and the cheesepie screaming
"MERCURY!!! IT'S MERCURY!!! THERE!! ARE YOU HAPPY!??! YOU WON!! KISS MY
ASS, FUCKFACE!!!" over and over and over.
Not the most graceful of endings, but really, who can blame me?
The only good part of this story? Well, it took Frank about 20 minutes or so to realize that even
though I didn't technically win his beer, it was safely in my gut for the night.
...And I think he still has a piece of cheesepie lodged in his ass. I'll get back to you when
the ultrasound results come in.
– BB
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