If you know me, and have attended even one social gathering with me in the past six months, you would understand how thoroughly I despise the game Apples to Apples. Christ this fucking game… where do I start?

It’s basic premise is the “dealer” draws from a pile of cards, each with an adjective written on them. Every player has their own deck filled with nouns. Players hand in a noun a turn to the dealer, who then decides which match up is the silliest. And that’s it.

I’m not shitting you. That’s fucking it. That’s all you do. And as I’m sure you can figure out for your fucking self, people thrive at this game the more ironic the card pairing is. If the adjective is “lovable”, you better hope to Christ you have Hitler in your hand.

Which will happen by the way! Hitler comes up at least once a fucking game. So does Anne Frank. So does Vietnam. This game is lost on me, I’m sorry. How often am I supposed to laugh at, “Artistic! I have Mussolini! He was artistic! He was fucking Italian!”

Go to hell Apples to Apples. Go to hell.