The first game was typical. David had a few questions about timing rules and how to attack with certain oddball creatures, but overall, he caught on pretty quickly. The game lasted about fifteen minutes, and he wasted two opportunities to bring me down to 0 life (and hence win the game), however, in the end I emerged victorious.

"Well, you lost," I gloated. "Here ya go."

"What's this?"

"You have to eat this whole tub of butter."

"I'm not eating a tub of butter, John."

"You have to. You lost. It's in the rules."

"It's not in the rules and you know it. You're just making stuff up now."

"Hey, I've been playing this game since 1994, and I think I know a little more about it than you do. Now eat this butter."

"No."

"Eat the goddamn butter, David."

"I am not eating-"

I grabbed my cup and doused his face in scalding hot coffee.

"AAAAHHHHGGG! MY EYES!"

"You eat that fucking butter right now, bitch!"

"OK! OK! I'll eat it!"

This is fairly typical of new players. They strive for the glory and adrenaline that comes with victory, but when it comes time to pay their losing dues, they want no part of it. You can't really blame them, though. No one likes to lose. After David finished throwing up his half-gallon of butter and singing the Zimbabwe national anthem, Simudzai mureza wedu weZimbabwe, we were ready to play our second game.

Fully understanding the consequences of losing, David had newfound motivation in our next duel. The game lasted much longer this time, as each play was well thought-out and carefully executed. His competitive side was really showing, and I knew that he wanted nothing more than to win.

"Ah oh," I gasped as he laid down his card. "Was that a Lightening Bolt?"

"Yeah," he smirked. "That's three damage. That takes you down to one life left."

"UNO!" I screamed as I slammed my inkpen through his hand, sticking his palm to the table.

"AAAHHHGGG! YOU SON OF A BITCH! THAT WAS MY MONEY-COUNTING HAND!"

"Three point rule, baby!"

"I think you severed an artery, you sick bastard!"

"I did?"

"Yes, you did! Look at it!"

"Yes! That means I'm back up to twenty life. I rule!"

"Screw you, I quit!"

"You're giving up?"

Pushing the pain to the back of his mind, David pondered that question. Noticing my excited eyes and clinched fist, he answered.

"No," he angrily replied. "No, I'm not. Bring it on."

Immediately, I played a fireball to take him down to three life. As he was drawing his next card, the phone rang, and I landed a solid right hook against his ear.

"What the hell?!"

"Phone rang," I explained. "Free ear shot."

"You are so freakin' dead."

But his was only trash talk as I took him out in two more rounds. Game two was again mine. I pulled out a fifth of Jack Daniels and a shot glass. Filling the glass with whiskey, I slid it over to him.

"You lost again. Drink up, David."

"No, that's where I draw the line, John. I've never drank a drop before and you know that. Rules or no rules, I'm not drinking any booze."

"David, in every game I've ever played, if I lost, I took the consequences. I took them like a man, and I didn't bitch about it. I'm not asking you to worship Satan or anything. It's just one shot of Jack Daniels. Now you lost. You pay the fees."

"I don't drink, John. You know that."

"You know who else doesn't drink?"

"Who?"

"Fabio."

"What are you trying to say," he said through a glare.

"Oh, I think you know."

"I don't think I do, John. Why don't you spell it out for me."

"Well I'm just sayin' that you're a big ol' non-drinkin' Fabio, that's all."

"I'm not a Fabio, and I'm not drinking that shot."

"Whatever, Fabio."

"I'M NOT FABIO!"

At that, David grasped the shot in his clinched fist and slammed the whiskey down in one gulp... That may have been a mistake.

On to Part 3