This was written sometime around 2000.  It’s called “Teaching David Wong.”  Suck it.

“You’re sure you want to do this,” I asked as David Wong sat down with his briefcase. He seemed unusually edgy today, and to tell you the truth, I couldn’t really blame him. His hair was just less than perfect and his $2000 suit hadn’t been pressed in literally hours. He had the look of a man under pressure, but that wasn’t about to stop him from this destined meeting. He sat opposite me at my kitchen table and placed the briefcase on his lap, answering my question with a stare that simply said, “bring it on.” I glanced down at the case.

“Yo, man. What you got in there?”

“In here,” he asked coldly, running his fingers down the black leather and unsnapping the latches. Pulling it open, he revealed a Magic: The Gathering deck that seemed to almost glow. “Doom.” He said it with a cocky smile, eyebrow slightly lifted to accent his daring smirk.

“Let’s play.”

David had never played Magic before, though I had been begging him to learn for years. The only real problem he had with it was that it was an expensive game, and despite the countless millions he had collected from his website, David Wong is a fucking cheap bastard. But three years of calling him a pussy for not knowing how to play was too much for even this master of wit to handle, and finally, he gave in. Today, David Wong’s life would take on a new direction. Today, David Wong would become a true gamer. Wasting no time, we began our first instructional game.

“I trust you’ve read the basic rules I emailed you.”

“I have,” he replied, never breaking his staredown.

“Excellent. Then let’s get started. Please rise for our national anthem.”

“John,” he protested, “I realize that there are certain rules you must abide by in this game, but do we honestly have to sing the national anthem? It just seems kind of ridiculous and unnecessary.”

“Hey, do you want to play this game or not?”

He sighed, stood, and performed the most beautiful rendition of The Star Spangled Banner that has ever graced my ears. Hand on my heart, my American pride swelled as I stared on, allowing him to immerse himself in patriotism.

…and the hoooooome… of theeeee… braaaaaaaaavve…

“That was beautiful,” I complimented through tear-filled eyes. “I can tell you’re going to be a great player.”

“Thank you. Are we ready to play?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I just have-“

“Just as soon as you finish the Canadian national anthem.”

“John, I’m not singing the-“

“I’ll tell you what, David, why don’t you just make up your own damned rules, huh? You wanted to learn how to play, and I’m fuckin’ teaching you how. When we play basketball, you have to dribble. In Magic, you have to sing The Star Spangled Banner and O Canada.”

“Alright! I’ll sing the damn-“

“And Adavance Australia Fair.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

Through gritted teeth, David belted out the stirring anthems of Canada and Australia. And Seychelles.

Enou tou zour mars nou tou ensam,

Fraternité dan leker, nou lavenir devan nou…

Now, we were ready to play.

Page 2

The first game is always the hardest to teach, but fortunately David already knew the basic rules of Magic. He knew what “mana” was and what it was used for. He knew the simple spells and object of the game. However, the more complex rules were the real challenge, and that’s what our meeting was all about. If he were to become an expert-level player, he would need to understand the full facet of advanced gameplay. I taught him the way I was taught: I showed no mercy.

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.  And then you have to worship Satan.”

“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.

Page 3

“What the hell are you doing,” I yelled up at my roof as the second cat came hurling down from two stories up.

“CAT STORM! IT’S A CAT STORM,” David yelled back as he launched the felines from my roof.

A third cat hit the ground at my feet. It bounced twice and ran crooked across my lawn and into the garage.

“David, come on! You’re gonna kill one of them.”

Two more cats sailed over the house in rapid-fire succession. Faintly, I could hear giggling from the other side of the roof.

“Where the hell are you getting all those cats,” I hollered.

“RED ROVER, RED ROVER… SEND KITTIE RIGHT OVER!”

Another one bounced off the hood of my car and it scampered away. Then, there was ten seconds of silence. My wife looked at me in horror.

“You think he’s OK,” she asked.

“I hope so. Maybe I should go up and-“

My thought was cut short by a large ball of human feces that hit me flush in the chest. I stumbled back a couple of steps and gagged. My wife sprinted to the front door and took shelter under the safety of the porch. David Wong continued to giggle.

“Oh, you dirty bastard,” I screamed. “Get off of the roof, you freak!”

“Not until I cleanse you of your sins with my magic poop!”

“David, I’m sorry I made you eat that butter and drink that shot. Come on down and we’ll talk about it.”

“DEMON BE GONE!”

Another turd hit the windshield of my car and splattered across its width. My wife bent over and vomited on our front steps. Taking the only chance I had, I bolted towards the ladder while David was in between loads. I took the steps two at a time, and just as I surfaced the edge of the roof, another cat covered in human shit whizzed by my head. David Wong stood holding a second one.

“Don’t you move, John Cheese. That poop-cat was just a warning. Next time, I won’t miss.”

“I’m not here to hurt you, Wong,” I said as I slowly and calmly made my way across the roof. “I’m here to help.”

“Help? How could you possibly help me? I have been chosen to deliver the word of our lord through any means necessary, and this, my friend, is the only way.”

“Now, think this through, buddy. Do you honestly think that God wants you to stand naked on my roof and fling feces-covered cats at me and my car? Does that sound like something our Lord would ask of you?”

“God? I’m not talking about God. I’m talking about my lord, Jesse James Dupree. He has commanded me, and now I must obey.”

“Jesse James Dupree? The lead singer from Jackyl?”

“Yes, my son. And now, you understand.”

“David, put down the cat.”

“You back up, John Cheese.”

Slowly, I inched along the roof towards my drunken friend. He drew back the quivering, stinking animal and locked his gaze on me.

“David, listen to me. That Jack Daniels-“

“NO! Enough of your lies, white devil! DEMON BE GONE!”

With that, he began shaking his penis around in large, twelve-inch-radius circles by gyrating his hips. I guess this was some sort of an attempt to exorcise the “demon” in me. When he realized that it wasn’t working, he only did it more aggressively. It made a sickening slapping sound when it glanced off of his lower thighs, and all I could do was stare at him in horror.

“David, that Jack D-“

“FOUL DEMON! I COMMAND YOU-” slap slap slap slap

“-was just tea.”

His whole body froze, and the drunken insanity in his eyes faded. He looked at the poop-cat and then back at me.

“It was a joke, dude,” I explained. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to drink because I know how you feel about it.”

“But… but the… the demons…”

He timidly tried to gyrate his penis again.

“No, David. Just… no.”

“But… Jesse James Dupr-” slap slap

“No. Come on. It’s been a long day.”

Suddenly, from the front yard, a voice bellowed up.

“You guys playin’ Magic?”

We both looked down. It was my friend, James. He was dressed in a hot-pink jockstrap, leg warmers, and a colonial hat. On his forehead he sported a tattoo of the word “Squancho.” David Wong glanced over at me.

“I take it you’ve beaten that guy?”

“Every time we play. He sucks. You wanna play him?”

David smiled. “Sure,” he snickered. I knew all would be well.