But that isn't even the evil part. The evil part is that it shows me where I rank amongst my friends who also play this game, and now I totally have to keep at it for fear that they think I have a secret developmental disability and all this blog stuff is just a clever ruse like the guy with the big nose from the Steve Martin movie* who is super-romantic and eloquent but feeds his best stuff to an oaf to trick a girl. And that isn't to say I am opposed to tricking girls, because that's pretty much the only way men ever come off as being impressive, but I'm afraid my inability to find the word "shed" out of the letters "S-H-I-T-H-E-D" will make me look like an absolute mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, Cro-Mag without the sense to fully club the woman he has just tricked.
AND then there is the issue of which friends I am willing to be beaten by. Like, "[name] has a better score than me because they do [something smart] for their job at [company name] so it's okay if they beat me.", or" [name] can beat me because they know I'm an idiot savant and that makes my low score acceptable". Or "[name] is aware that I get panicky in time-based situations and if you try and change your order once I get to the drive-thru ordering hole at McDonald's when I think I have your order all squared-away in my head, I will totally panic and I always end up ordering myself a "Filet-O-Fish©" because for some reason that is the default setting for my brain in these circumstances". I don't know how my "go-to"** answer to "What do you want to eat?" ended up being "Filet-O-Fish©"but I do know that it's a motherfucker, because I've come to hate those things, because "How do square fish swim?"
So my point is I am not French and do not have a long nose, and am not a character in a play written by Edmond Eugène Alexis Rostand (1 April 1868 – 2 December 1918)***, I am just a handsome genius who can't think of the word "why" in a pinch and is forcing down another goddamn fish sandwich because you can't pick between a Big Mac© or a Quarter Pounder© until we're at the effing order-shouting hole.
*I didn't write "Cyrano de Bergerac" because I thought it had one of those fancy "e"s in it with the accent**** that I still haven't learned how to make. In my defense, I have learned the © symbol like a mother.
** If you think I'm making finger-quotes when I write this in my mind, then you are correct and we both need to be stabbed with a pen in the throat. Me, for imagining finger quotes in my head, and you for imaging that I imagine finger quotes in my head, although technically you will have been wrongfully murdered, while I totally had it coming.
***I totally looked this up, so now Wikipedia IS my Cyrano de Bergerac and I am the meathead and you are the girl on the balcony I am trying to trick. Where did I put that club?
**** It doesn't. Shit.