On the other hand, you have different fingers.

As some of you know, I hate birds.  This might be confusing because if I were to be any animal, it would probably be some sort of bird, but since I'm not, I hate them.  Anyway, here's a list of the main few birds that I don't trust, starting with the absolute worst:

- Pigeons:  Pigeons might actually be my least favorite animal on this or any planet.  Dirty little grey sheisty pieces of sketch.  I don't like anything that constantly has an opportunity to poop on me.  With their beady little eyes, creepy freaking heads, and a color scheme than not even a mother could love, every pigeon on earth could drop dead and I would do at least one heel-kick.  And I've had older people tell me they're actually nice creatures and it's fun to feed them, but if I'm going to be honest, you're 90 years old and smell like the Boston Market, I don't care what you think.

- Peacocks (or "Rave Turkeys" as I like to call them): In my opinion, peacocks look like a turkey and an ostrich got together, did a bunch of hallucinogenic drugs, and had to draw what they thought their lovechild would look like.  Seriously though, what is your purpose (besides giving Katy Perry a way to sing about penises, that is)? Where do you live naturally?  What do you eat?  WHO SENT YOU???

- Flamingos:  I've written a good bit about why I hate flamingos, mostly relating to their overall pretentiousness and odd sense of balance, which you can read more about here.

- Parrots:  Can you imagine being the first person to hear one of these things talk?  Eff that.  Oh you think that'd be cool? You're wrong. So wrong.  Not to mention they sound like a combination of Gilbert Gottfried and Wallace Shawn.  So imagine having what could be the two most annoying roommates possible, then having to feed and water them whilst they mock everything you say and shit in your living room, laughing at you the whole time because you can't fly.  Nope.  Polly want a cyanide-laced cracker?

- Crows/Ravens: Really?  Do I even need to explain this one?  Possibly the single most referenced creatures for representing evil in literature EVER.  If you have a pet raven or crow and aren’t already committed to a mental asylum, you’d better be an evil mastermind, a creepy forest-dweller in a science fiction novel, or the owner of an world famous aviary.  I still don't understand why people were freaking out when they were dying in mass quantities.  Seems like cause for celebration to me...

I realize that made me sound like a very angry person.  I don't hate all animals though, only the shitty ones, more of which are outlined here and here.  I'm actually a very loving man with simple life goals: travel a lot, be successful, never get maced, etc.  Unfortunately there are a few animals/people that, in the words of the late Peter Griffin, "really grind my gears." Like for instance people that take up the whole grocery aisle when walking.  I'm just trying to get to the Doritos dammit, LET ME BY.  Those, in particular really get me fired up.  I try to be nice and let a small "Excuse me sir/ma'am" without getting too heated, but there's still a part of me that hopes they fall down with their hands in their pockets.  Or people that stand with their face three inches from the elevator door when waiting to get on, then act shocked to find out there's already somebody in there that needs to get off first, even though this happens almost every time.  Also, anybody that struggles with an escalator.  It's 2014, get your shit together.

I do openly admit that I'm not perfect myself*, and I'm sure there are one or two people that I've managed to annoy.  (Not including the entire organization of PETA, who have finally succeeded in blocking me on Twitter. Go Meat!)  Some of my favorite scenarios are those that start off with anger but end in karma-based humor.  For a completely-fictitious-and-in-no-way-directly-pulled-from-my-personal-experiences-in-Phoenix example, when your roommate comes home very drunk and after having what sounds like a bar fight with kitchen appliances, stumbles into your room and apologizes for eating your cookies, and in the morning you realize that you didn't actually have any cookies, but the dog treat bowl is suspiciously lower in quantity than the previous day.  

*Just kidding, I’m perfect.

Sorry for how negative this one was, the next Tablet will be positive and uplifting, I promise.

Fact of the Day: The Guinness Book of Records was originally published by Guinness Breweries as a reference for settling bar arguments.

Shout out to Stephanie Walek.

I need a six month holiday, twice a year.

Hey everybody.  Did you miss me?  Of course you did.  I got the fan/hate mail.  Anyway, it's been a solid four months since my last blog and I apologize, as I'm sure you've been checking daily for an update.  Unfortunately I have responsibilities, like.... stuff.  My excuse for the last week is that I was sick.  No not hungover, actually sick, and not just a cold or some pansy shit like food poisoning.  See, this is unique for me, as I decided a few years ago that I was done getting sick because it was a waste of time and money.  Also I didn't have health insurance.  This worked fantastically for a while for some reason and everyone was happy.  Alas, all good things must come to an end, right?  I quickly realized that luck, and more importantly, bad luck stores up like rollover minutes from Cingular.  I wasn't escaping sickness, I was stockpiling it so at some point it could go effing Godzilla on my ass.  I realized that I had used up so much good luck that at this point I was liable to die from someone else's game of Russian Roulette.  Everything's just peachy on Thursday, then Friday morning I wake up and my throat is kinda scratchy.  Long night, so that’s pretty normal, right?  Wrong, idiot.  And this is not a sore throat from talking too much, because anyone that knows me knows that I've have not stopped talking since I turned 2.  My first word was a goddamned paragraph and I never slowed down.  No no, this was something much worse.  Have you ever had Strep Throat?  Chances are you have, or at least know someone that has.  It's terrible.  It feels like there's a rock in your throat and you try your hardest not to swallow anything, not even spit.  Have you ever had Tonsillitis?  50/50 chance there.  It not exactly a breeze either.  Now, have you ever even heard of a peritonsillar abscess?  I'm just going to go ahead and assume no, because most people haven't read “Satan's Personal Recipe Book Of Horrors.”  I won't describe exactly what it is because it’s just terrible and if there’s even the slightest chance that you still find me attractive after all these blogs, I'd like to hold on to that.  Well any of these three can easily send you to the hospital on their own if not immediately attended to in the right way, and some will send you there anyway because screw you.  Well guess what?  I didn't have one of these, I had all damn three.  I had the mother effing Avengers of throat maladies coming at me like I stole their firstborn, and I didn't even have enough warning to send a card to my mom to apologize for how many times I say f*ck on this blog.  Luckily, I'm invincible (not invulnerable, there's a difference), and I'm on the mend after only four days, a couple thousand Advil, antibiotics, a few knives in my throat, one egg, and a bowl of soup.  On the up side, I lost a grand total of 12 pounds in the first three days and I'm ready for the BEACH.

Wow, that was a lengthy rant.  I haven't been able to talk for a few days so it's been building up.  Moving on, let’s hate on kids for a minute to lighten things up.  I saw a kid the other day in the park with his mom and another mother-son combo.  They looked like they we were having a grand ol’ time bonding in the sun, at least at first.  At the beginning I wasn't watching them very intently because I'm not a creepy little pervert like I assume most of you are, but that changed quickly when an altercation sparked up.  It was just the kid whining, then the mom knelt down to "scold him," meaning she clenched his arm with the strength of the Hulk and whispered in his ear that if he didn't lock it down she would ruin him the exact second they got back home.  I assume that's what was said at least, and that's usually where the tantrum ends.  Usually.  Not here.  When she let go and started to stand up, Bratty McDouchekid rears back, Iron Man toy in hand, and brings a right hook into mommy's face that would make Mike Tyson spit out Evander Holyfield's ear and just go home.  Now he was just a kid, and I've always said that childhood is a lot like being drunk, because everyone remembers what you did except you, but this is not the kind of thing you laugh about later.  This is the kind of thing that needs to be fixed or this kid grows up to be a terrorist.  Not an actual terrorist, but a social terrorist.  The kind of 20 year old that needs to be hit in the face with an active jackhammer.  I know plenty of people my age that fit that demographic, and I wish that when they were young and this sort of situation occurred someone would have grabbed them by their stupid little idiot head and dragged them to the car, driven home, put their Xbox in the woodchipper and grounded them til they turned 40.

I’m going to be a phenomenal father one day.

Fact of the Day: Omar bin Laden (Osama's son) was denied citizenship in Britain in 2007 because Omar “failed to provide his father's permanent address".


Shout out to Evan Wolfson.

I love cooking with wine. Sometimes I even put it in the food.

So as you know by now I have an extensive and eccentric list of things I hate the most (how’s that for a happy start?), but I've got a new addition.  Here is the updated top ten list for those of you who've somehow forgotten:

1.  Anything associated with the University of Florida (namely Tim Tebow)


2.  Mayonnaise


3.  PETA


4.  The Smurfs


5.  Bongo players


6.  The little hole in the airplane window


7.  Tornado Chasers


8.  Flamingos


9.  Wheelbarrow Races


10. Cereal


The update, of course, is the addition of Tornado Chasers.  I don't know why this came to mind the other day, but I realized that I find these people really irksome.  In the shows they're always so hyped up like they're on the edge of some new frontier.  I hate to break it to you friends, but we know pretty much everything there is to know about tornados.  The people in the cars also act like they're the ultimate adrenaline junkies.  You're not.  Skydivers, base jumpers, wing suit divers, those are adrenaline junkies.  You people are just idiots.  I mean I'm no rocket surgeon, but if you keep doing what you're doing you aren't going to get whisked off to Oz, you're going to be pelted in the face by bullet-like rain and get hit in the face with a Volvo.  Then again, I guess Darwin will take care of these people for us eventually so whatever.


So as some of you know I just moved again, this time to Denver, and while I know a grand total of four people here including myself, it seems like a perfectly good place.  What made this trip interesting was the process of getting up here.  Not the decision making process, that is.  That took all of three beers and eleven seconds.  The actual travel up here was the good part.  Of course by "good" I mean "fantastically stressful".  My game plan from the beginning was fly back to the Georgia on the 20th to see my mom, then to Dallas to see my dad, then back to Phoenix where I’d work for one more week, then calmly and safely drive up to Denver and move into my new place.  Here's what actually happened:  On December 18th I lost my car.  No, I don't mean I forgot where I parked it for five minutes or left it at a friend’s house for a night, I actually lost it.  Like on-the-phone-with-the-police-to-report-it-stolen lost it.  Luckily, before I actually called, I had a network of cabbies looking for it while I was at work.  They found it, told me where it was, and I didn't ask any questions.  (This is how things work in my world.)  So, on the morning of the 20th I got a ride to my car so I could pack up and head to the airport.  Things were looking alright, then I got in my car, started driving, and my tire blew out.  Already frantic and running late, I hopped out and put my spare tire on as fast as I could, which was pretty damn fast.  I then got in my car, drove roughly thirty yards, and my spare tire blew out.  Just wonderful.  At that point I just drove it home and a friend took me to the airport.  When I got back I had to go buy and new wheel and tire, change it, and get to work by 11:30am the next morning.  Thankfully everything worked out pretty smoothly until I left Phoenix a week later to drive up, which was an unbelievable exhausting drive during which I was so delirious I began coming up with names for the trees I was passing.  I got here though, and within a week had found an apartment, a bed, and a couch.  And on top of all that I got a job too, life was looking up!  A little too up though, apparently, cause on the way back from the interview in which I was hired, guess what happened?!?!  My back right tire blew out. "You're kidding, right?"  NO I'M NOT KIDDING DAMMIT.  There have been very few times in my life where I was so instantly exhausted and totally enraged at the same time.  Anyway, all of this was basically to say that I'm very frustrated with customer service companies that have to come to you to provide service.  I know it's pretty freaking spoiled to say that, but honestly it feels like every time you need service from Comcast, or in this case AAA, they reply in a sickeningly enthusiastic tone, "Absolutely, we'd be delighted to help!  We'll be there sometime between 1:30pm and June."


Speaking of timing, I've decided that when it comes to waking up in the morning, I'd rather freak out and jump up because I'm running behind schedule way more than waking up early.  Why?  Because either way I'm going to end up in a totally panicked state, trying to get ready in time.  Let me explain.  When I wake up, look at the clock and see I'm running twenty minutes late, I turn into the epitome of efficiency.  There is no “waking up process”.  I launch out of bed like I just did three lines of cocaine and chased it with two liters of espresso.  I'm in the shower before my boxers are off, jump out, dress, inhale breakfast, and boom, I'm at work/school/Sea World right on time.  Waking up early, though, that's dangerous.  When I wake up early I lounge in bed for a while, and lazily move about the house because hey, why not?  I've got so much time.  You don't really pay attention to the clock because you're way ahead of schedule, right?  WRONG.  You lower your guard, and think you can get on facebook/twitter/foodnetwork.com cause you have time to kill, then all of a sudden you realize you were supposed to leave eight minutes ago, and all you've done so far is watch a video of LeBron playing the violin, read three articles about the best way to refinish a coffee table you don't even own, and taken an online quiz to determine your Disney spirit animal.  (It's Pegasus.)  Either way you're going to have a split second heart attack, so you might as well sleep in before it happens.  

Fact of the Day:  Hippo milk is pink.

Shout out to Tori Kennedy.

Reality continues to ruin my life.

That's a quote from Calvin and Hobbes.  I've been on a C&H kick lately, but even so I truly believe that Calvin may be the most relatable human I've ever come into contact with.  Never mind that he's an irresponsible, irrational and not to mention completely fictional six year old.

Speaking of relationships, I was in the library a month or so ago pulling off the god-knows-what-number all-nighter of my collegiate career when I realized something about how I value relationships.  If you've ever met me, heard about me, or even read a few of these blogs, you know all too well that long term commitment is not exactly my shtick.  I'll be the best damn friend you've ever had, but for the most part when it comes time to actually commit to something, I'm out of there faster than Usain Bolt on a Ducati.  Anyway, what I realized is that I do actually form deep bonds with people, it's just that those people never actually know it.  Actually they don't even know who I am.  For example, whilst in the library I was sitting at a large table studying/trying not to cry, and a small foreign male came and joined me at my table.  He was there for just over an hour, and not once was there a shared word, moment of eye contact, or any interaction whatsoever.  But for some inane* reason, when he stood up to leave, I was distraught.  Don't get me wrong, I did absolutely nothing to act on this, because that's just not how it works, but I legitimately felt sad.  Maybe it's the hour we spent together in suffering while doing a mutually hated activity.  Maybe I'm just batshit crazy.  Either way, whenever this situation occurs I always want to say something because I feel like we've been through so much together.  "Good luck in your future endeavors my scholarly companion.  I will never forget you."

*No, that was not supposed to say "insane", and yes, "inane" is a word.

A while ago I tweeted that I if I had a daughter I was going to draw Ed Hardy and Tapout shirts on all of the evil characters in her book so she'd grow up hating them, and the more I pay attention to the people in today's society the more I agree with that idea.  Now I'm not saying that I'm perfect*, but some people just take it to a hilariously awful level.  Earlier today I was grabbing food at Chickfila because why the hell wouldn't I, and I saw a girl wearing essentially nonexistent pink booty shorts that said "angel" on the back in glitter.  Now I'm not saying it's out of the realm of possibility that this is a perfectly wonderful human being, but if that's the case, her halo is broken in three places and probably doesn't even glow.  Or maybe Heaven is just full of sluts.**  If I have kids, and God-forbid a daughter, she will only be allowed to wear Snuggies until she’s 40.

*I'm perfect.

**Please don't kill me God.

I've been traveling a lot for the past.... well, 24 years, and I've noticed a lot of things about plane flights.  Lately I've been only flying Southwest, partially because of the two free checked bags, but mostly because they have my soul and if I'm going to pay them the equivalent of one vital organ per month to settle my credit card debt, I'm going to get some damn travel points for it.  Anyway, for those of you that haven't flown Southwest, they do a kind of free-for-all style boarding where you aren't assigned seats, you’re assigned a boarding number based on who checked in first, so when you get on the plane you can basically choose whatever seat you want.  This results in a couple things.  Firstly, you've got to be early so you can claim the armrest.  I've already got a 6 year old demon in the seat behind me, I'll be damned if I'm sitting with my arms awkwardly crossed on my lap like a nun for three and a half hours.  Secondly, once you sit down you’ve got to become an animal in the wild.  After you get to your seat, make yourself look as big and intimidating as possible so nobody wants to sit next to you.  And as far as choosing seats, there's always the battle of "Do I take the middle seat in the third row or do I take the window seat halfway back?"  Here's some advice:  Always take the window.  Always.  I don't care if it’s in row 327 and you have a connection that leaves almost immediately after this flight lands, middle seats are never worth it.  Sure, those people look civil now, but as soon as you take off, you're going to realize that you’re stuck in the middle of two strangers that probably have the worst tendencies known to man.  One of them is probably fat, and with great fat comes great body odor.  The other one, based on my research, is either extremely old, racist, and snores louder than the jet engine, or the compulsive talker that will Never. Shut. Up.  Also, if there’s a window seat, take it.  The window seat holds all the power.  "Oh, you're going to keep annoying me? Well guess who DOESN'T get to see the Rockies anymore??  And because I’m me, every time I fly I always imagine what would happen if the plane were hijacked or we went down in a crash.  It's like an extremely morbid recurring daydream.  I don't get scared, mind you, it's just like I'm watching a quick movie that I'm starring in.  I just hope if it ever actually happens I go down as a hero or at least remember to turn to the person next to me and say something witty like, "Great, now I'll never make my connection in Phoenix."

Update:  I live in Colorado now.  More on that later.

Fact of the Day:  Bananas are slightly radioactive.

Shout out to Hailey Williams.

Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

Always go headfirst.  Especially if it's in the shallow end.

Recently I've noticed that ADD has been affecting every part of my life.  For example, when I go shopping for something I will be in the store for 45 minutes, and leave with two carts full of everything they had except the item I went to buy in the first place.  A few weeks ago this became very clear when I went to the grocery store twice in one day to get toothpaste, and after both trips realized I was home with a plethora of medicine and vitamins, several different types of frozen pizzas, one lime, and enough Sour Cream & Onion Pringles to build a life size replica of The White House.  In my defense, have you ever been shopping for something and you find something completely different on sale and you just get pissed because you know you have to buy it now?  It's not even a good thing.  You're just walking down the aisle and all of a sudden that stupid little yellow sticker catches your eye and screams that these Pringles are 5 for $4, and you just sigh dejectedly and load 25 cans into your cart as you reevaluate the pathetic sham you call your life.  That's what happened.  Pringles are a crutch for me.  Homeless people in downtown Atlanta have meth, I have Sour Cream & Onion Pringles.  Judge me.

Speaking of police officers, which we weren't, have any of you every really analyzed the tiny yet ever-present bit of evil in every one of us?  It's not really that big of a deal, because it's only observable in certain situations, and even then only to yourself, but it's definitely there.  Like when a car just hauls by you on the interstate at a speed usually reserved for fighter jets or time travel.  The hoodlum cuts you off and you panic but they're already gone.  Five minutes later though, oh such sweet revenge.  You come over a hill and on the side of the road is that same car, pulled over by a police officer.  You're full of shit if you don't admit that for just one little second you think, "HA.  Serves you right bitch."  Well you should be ashamed.  You don't even know that person.  They could be the nicest person in the world.  What if they were trying to get to the hospital so they didn't miss the birth of their firstborn?  What if their family member was dying?*  You have absolutely no reason at all to laugh maniacally at that person's misfortune, yet for a split second, you do.  And you really enjoy it.  You're terrible.  

*None of this is ever the case.  It's always some douchey teenager just generally sucking at life.

So about three years ago I was staying at my friend's parent's house in Pasadena, and stayed in his sister's room.  She had a Tempur-Pedic mattress, and that was the first time I'd ever slept on one.  I've been thinking about that bed on and off for the past few years now, and I still can't figure out how I feel about it.  They're advertised everywhere as one of the best beds you can get, and everyone generally agrees on that even though half those people have never slept on one.  The reason I'm confused is that when I'm awake, those beds are just the worst.  There's no bounce, and you feel like your laying in some kind of marketable quicksand.  God forbid your phone rings on the nightstand, because rolling over to get to it may as well be an Olympic event.  I hate it.  I just remember laying there for at least two hours trying to get comfortable, thinking about how I was never going to fall asleep, or at least sleep through the night.  Then I woke up three days later.  I don't even know what happened.  Somehow the most uncomfortable bed since people slept on nails* gave me a night's rest that rivals a decade-long coma.  And the glass of wine on the far corner of the bed didn't spill a drop!

*I have no proof that was ever actually a thing.

The last little tidbit for today is just a recap of my ongoing battle with any and all parking enforcement officers.  I'm never the one that you see yelling at the officer or begging to them while getting in the car to move it.  I'm much more mischievous than that.  I don't yell or beg, I scheme.  I'm the guy that will put this in my windshield.  And this time in particular, after getting my ninth parking ticket, things got drastic.  See I had to park in this specific area to get to class, and I didn't have enough money for the parking pass because I have the fiscal responsibility of an eleven year old, so when it came time to park there again or miss my test, I had to get creative.  After receiving a small photo album's worth of tickets pinned nicely under my wipers, I decided my only option was to remove the wipers themselves.  I figured I lived in Phoenix so rain wasn't an issue, and I'd have enough for the parking pass by the next week, so I could replace them soon.  Then I got cocky.  I left a note inside my windshield for the inevitable viewing of the parking official that simply said: "Your move."  Talk about feeling empowered and generally clever as hell.  (Side Note:  It is amazing how many other places they can find to put parking tickets on your car.)

Fact of the Day:  Last week was National Hobo Week.

Shout out to Katy Moakley.

Never do card tricks for the group you play poker with.

Hi friends.  It's been a while.  I'm not good at commitment; you should know that by now.  Let's just suppress our true feelings and act like nothing's happened.  That seems healthy.

To jump right in, there are a few things I feel the need to cover from the past few months.  Namely, how much I hate the Geico pig.  I get it, all company mascots have a shelf life, but I feel like we're really going downhill with this one, and that's not a pun about the zip-lining commercial.  The cavemen were entertaining, and it was a witty catchphrase scenario.  The lizard was cute, and who doesn't love a British accent?  The pig though?  This talking swine might be the most obnoxious thing on television since Snooki.  (Is she still alive?)  The pig is basically just a play on the American kid: fat, ugly, smug, and annoying as hell.  And he doesn't even talk about insurance in the commercials either.  What the shit Geico?  And like I'm going to take financial advice from a freaking farm animal anyway?  Old MacDonald never said shit about having any insurance reps on his farm as far as I remember.  Honestly, if that pig wanted to be useful he would voluntarily turn himself in to be bacon, and even if he did, I'd probably just throw him away.*

*No I wouldn't.  I don't waste bacon, I'm not a monster.

For those of you that don't know, I spent early May and the better part of June traveling across Europe because I'm better and more cultured than you.  Also, because I have no concept of money or the repercussions of crippling debt.  Anyway, this trip went about as smoothly as you would assume.  To cover the big details:  I went completely and totally broke just before halfway through the trip, I was nearly drugged at 3am at a train station in Italy in an attempt to steal my luggage and female friends, and I totally missed my flight back to America.  Successful venture, I'd say.  I won't go into the gory details because I'm sure there's at least one person with a soul that reads this thing, but it was an entertaining trip.  And to clarify, I absolutely DID do all the sightseeing stuff and tours and culturally necessary stuff, so I'd appreciate if you wouldn't assume I'm just another trashy American.  How many concentration camps have YOU been to in the last three months?  How many Roman Colosseums?  Buckingham Palaces?  Yea.  That's what I thought.

So in January I moved to Phoenix as I may have mentioned, and currently in July, I am regretting more than anything I have ever done in my entire life.  Don't get me wrong, I have a great job, amazing friends, and a roof over my head.  The problem is that the job is basically a sweatshop, all my wonderful friends are dying of heat exhaustion, and I'm pretty sure the roof started melting last week.  IT'S HOT AS F*&K, if you get my drift.  I did not think this move through in the least bit.  Everything was fine when I got here in January, and was even bearable all the way through May.  Then I went across the pond.  When I came back it was like I had gotten on the wrong flight and accidentally landed on the surface of the sun.  The heat that we deal with daily is the kind usually reserved for the third or fourth ring of hell.  Screw frying an egg in the shade, I'm pretty damn sure you could grill shrimp kabobs, asparagus, and a 16oz steak.  At 9am.  And it doesn't help that all the delusional locals that for some insane reason have decided to stay here despite the sweltering heat terrorizing them at all times are constantly reminding me that "they remember their first summer here."  No you don't.  If you truly remembered your first summer here, you wouldn't still live here you ignorant jerk.

That's it for the day.  I've got a lot more, but I've been told to shorten these things up.  Apparently either I'm only manageable in small doses, or you people have just as short of an attention span as I do.

Fact of the Day:  Romans used to wear wreaths of celery to protect themselves from hangovers.

Shout out to Mitzi Lea.

I think it's wrong that only one company makes the game Monopoly.

This is how it begins.

You sit down to play Monopoly with your loved ones. You've got some cold beverages, some snacks, and a comfy seat. Great! You playfully choose your piece. Your brother goes straight for the dog, as always. You buy your first property. Elated, you fan yourself with the cards you've collected. Then a sense of creeping discomfort arises. You notice that people around you are changing. As the family works their way around the board, it's clear that there's a strategy in place. There's tension on the air. Your dad lost the battle for the Top Hat piece, and will take his revenge.



How long have you been playing for? Time passes so slowly when you're trying to get all the Utilities. Or the railroads! You could then catch the train out of this game, far far away. The banker looks shifty. What kind of banker doesn't keep their notes organized? Beads of sweat form on brows as illicit IOUs are passed under the table.



This isn't Monopoly. This is war.



Rent rises, and hotels are built with no regard for health and safety regulations. You reach a stalemate. All properties have been taken. You wander around the board, waiting for something. Anything. You begin to mull on committing a crime. Just so you can sit quietly in jail for a while. You float the idea of creating social housing - a better, more equal world. Nobody listens.



While you go to the bathroom, your sibling raises your rent. You declare bankruptcy, in shame. The group becomes split between 'lifers' and 'sore losers'. Neither will concede. Uncle Moneybags taunts you from outside the box, rubbing his hands as he sees a once-happy group of people, reduced to haggling over hotels. There's an uprising. The game ends in tears. As ever.



Monopoly ruins lives.