I was reading in a book about a man who was living two lives. One as a suburban husband, and the other as a homicidal maniac. The reason he had to leave the house every night and go kill someone was because he hated his family. He couldn’t kill his family because of his wife’s money. He didn’t want to mess up his cushy lifestyle. Therefore, he hung out with all the people he despised and killed people he was attracted to. What?? Where do they come up with this stuff? Look, I’ve actually written a couple of books and can’t get them published, because as strange as I am, I’m not weird enough to come up with crap like this.

The issue is, during the two-month span of the book, he wipes out some thirty people. I know there’s been some successful killers but this is unbelievable. Another thing, the detective who’s assigned to the case is in a whole bunch of books, and every one of them have tremendously successful serial killers, and not one of them is sticking knives in boxes of Cheerios. If you catch my drift. I don’t know what to think. Either the detective is a jinx and should be sent to the Siberian Tundra. Or he’s a super genius, and the city needs him. It’s just too bad thirty folks have to die, and the book has to be ninety-five percent finished before he can solve any of his cases. Then again if our hero could solve the case after only one murder the city would be safer but the book would suck.

Of course, we could also ponder the reason the man went crazy in the first place. Why hanging with his family for a few hours would make him need to go out and kill dozens of people? My best guess is Family Game Night. If you have never partaken of this Satanic ritual let me explain. Family game night is the obtuse creation of game manufactures. They make games that somebody might want to play. Other than this nut no one else does. Next, they created the concept of sitting down with your family so everyone can play. The manufactures win, the dummy who bought it wins, everybody else loses. They’re stuck playing a game they don’t want to play in an attempt to emulate a commercial.

In the commercial the whole family is smiling and laughing while playing the game. This is a lie. These are actors. Not a family of actors, just a bunch of unrelated actors who are paid to smile. They don’t even really play the game. The game is set up by designers to appear as if it is being played, the random actors sit at the table, the lights and camera click on, and it looks like everyone is having a great time. When in reality they haven’t got a clue of what they’re doing. Hey, I could look like I’m having a great time if somebody paid me to do it, even with my family.

I’ll admit there’s a few games my family and I play together. These are the ones where there is no way to tell who is winning until the very end. One game is like this: A person turns over a card, then everyone else puts down a card supposedly related to the first card. The cards are evaluated at the completely silly whim of one person who says which card wins and therefore which person. Since it’s so random no one gets terribly upset. It’s also stupid, but hey, no war was started playing this game.

There is a game which is evil incarnate. It was developed in 1934 and WWII started in 1939. Coincidence? I don’t think so. The game is called Sorry. This is a misnomer. It should be called Not Sorry at All, In Fact I’ve Been Waiting All Day to Do That.

There are no dice in this game. You pick a card and move how it says. You start with your pawns in Base and have to move them around the board to Home. The thing is there are only four cards to start a pawn and six-thousand ways to get one sent back. You can imagine the frustration. In fact, the Korean conflict began when Shin Sung-mo played a Sorry card Kim Il Sung then left. Kim sent seventy-five-thousand soldiers across the 38^th parallel to get the game back for a rematch. Sadly, Shin couldn’t find all the pieces and the rest is history.

As a result, I avoid all games except one. I do like to play chess. The thing about chess is you have to find someone to play against. This is why I made children; instant opponents, that come with tax breaks. What more could you want? As soon as they were old enough, I taught my sons to play. It was great. They were six and four and I could always win. My older boy got tired of this and quit, but my younger son kept at it. Oh, the glorious games we had. Then the day came when he finally beat me, and I was so pleased. Well not any more.

I know I should be happy about him progressing past me. I also know I should be proud he has won a couple of games in local tournaments and at school. But I’m Not! I want to be selfish. I want to be the best in the house and certainly don’t want to relinquish that title to someone with hair in his shoes and a whole generation younger than me. I taught him. I should be his master like in those bad martial arts movies. He has disgraced me in my own dojo and I want my mommy! Okay take a few deep breaths. Sorry, I was gone I’m back now.

The really bad thing is that he studies the game and keeps throwing obscure stuff at me. I move my third piece and he says something like, “Aha, you used the Cranfranok Opening. What the heck is that? I went through three years of Word-Of-The-Day calendars and can’t find Cranfranok anywhere. It’s no use asking him about it. The question just elicits a sigh and he starts talking about a game that was played in 1846. I have trouble remembering to take my phone when I leave the house and he can recall nineteenth century chess matches. Of course, I’m upset.

He pulled out a new one last week that flipped my gourd. I took one of his knights, and he informed me he was using the Burgher Meister gambit. Look, I took a year of German in high school. I know that meister means master in English. I’ve also eaten burgers. Therefore, to my mind he thinks he’s the master of burgers. What?? I think that title should go to his brother who works the grill at a fast-food place, but what do I know. Besides, what do fried beef patties have to do with chess anyway? Were they eaten in 1846? Who knew?