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Sunday, April 04, 2004

Usually we watch movies. Last night was different. No more coddling. We had a job to do. Luckily the Anarchist brought a pack of playing cards.

Hearts.

It sounded boring. Any game that requires strategy (and its henchman, thinking) can crawl under toad spittle. These games often result in arguments that would be better spent on the important questions*.

Hearts already had the aura of church sermon. Since the Anarchist's explanation would be of no use, I nodded as he spoke, all the while flipping through an art magazine.

Then he dealt me a hand. I was in the game. Now I had to learn the rules.

Which card went down first? How are hearts broken? Was the Ace higher than the King? Was the Queen of Spades the bad one or was it the Queen of Clubs?

During the third round, I didn't have to show the Anarchist my hand across the counter. Decisions came easily, followed by strategy.

That's when I began to lose.

My strategies for sabotaging other players backfired: my elaborate plots left me burdened with hearts. Suddenly I was keeping my three bad cards instead of sending them away. (I think the Anarchist just made up that rule.) Then the Queen of Spades turned parasitic. Round after round she would not budge from my pile of cards.

The Projectionist walked by. "Watch out for the Bitch of Spades."

Too late.

Later, the Projectionist returned. "You can gang up on other players."

Good, a new strategy. This one worked better. On my left was the Unlucky One, on my right the Lucky One. In the last four rounds, we raised the Lucky One's points from zero to sixty-something.

I came in only second last. Next time, though, watch out, Anarchist!


*Pet ownership. Spelling mistakes. Ceral-eating schedules. Human rights.

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