Ah, those were the days, hunting submarines with whatever that device was. But it wasn't always battle on the high seas. No there were islands to be taken as we rolled back the Empire of the Rising Sun.
But the high seas called again. In the words of Herman Melville: Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
Pirate Night. Yo ho ho and a bottle of whatever we had.
But Game Night wasn't always about drinking and fighting. Well, it is always about drinking but not always about fighting. There were also nights to tax the old gray matter. 
To tell the truth I don't remember playing that one. And then there's always the cutthroat competition for the almighty dollar -
And what's a game night among geeks without the Star Trek?
Experience Bij young man!
OK, that's as bizarre as it gets. Finally, a game that's not only pointless but seems to involve wheels of color. Do not adjust your sets -
Well, that's it tadpoles. A revolution is not a dinner party and Game Night, as you can see, is not all printed cardboard and tea cozys.
1 comment:
Many -- many, sir! -- were the nights at that folding table I asked myself, "Can peg-legged pirates have it off with lusty barmaids if the peg comes unscrewed and won't go back in its socket for love or money? Or, worse, plain breaks off, trailing a ragged stump and leaving the amorous pirate short the necessary support and traction, a situation made dire by his constitutional distaste for any landlubbing that does not end in riotous and ill-tempered intercourse?" There are positions, known in the East, that might allow salty, monopedal consummation. But would a pirate consent to such? I know not, having at present both legs, less of a leg up on barmaids than in my ruinous youth, and recourse to only a severely abridged version of the Kama Sutra (the Realtor-provided copy that comes with a new house -- totally useless).
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