Boor Game

If you know what’s good for you (and you probably don’t, given your diet of Krispy Kreme do[ugh]nuts and Mountain Dew, your penchant for potent intravenous drugs, and your unbridled promiscuity), you will never ever ever play a board game with me. It doesn’t matter if winning is determined by skill or by a simple toss of the dice, if the game is Battleship or Candyland, or any other sort of circumstances … I’m going to wind up either gloating (if I win, of course) or sulking (if I l-l-l-l-l-looo-[spit it out, Fonzie!]-loooo-loooooo-lose), and for the duration of the game I will exhibit all sorts of behavior that, within minutes, will make you wonder why you ever agreed to play with me in the first place.
This afternoon, I played Monopoly (New York City “collector’s edition”) with the DOG, and when it became clear that he was deliberately trying to undermine my delicate sense of self-worth and maliciously ensuring that I would regret ever bidding on this game on eBay, I realized that I am still the petty, petulant baby my mother once called a “slum lord” when the tables were turned and the winning thimble was on the other thumb.
Nothing brings out the most unattractive side of my personality than a board game. Believe me, you don’t want to see it.
P.S. That’s the last time I allow a self-serve bank, too! “This money is sticking together just like fresh bills from the ATM,” my ass! (Cheater cheater cheater!)