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Whenever I tell people about
this, they always jump to the conclusion that it was a metaphor for
getting beaten, e.g. "My fist is the airplane, you're the airport, time
for a crash landing!" But really, it was much, much worse. The
psychological trauma of never being able to make the right call leaves
no bruises. At least, none that anyone can see.
I hope to one day play this game
with my own progeny. It won't be fair to them, of course. But that's how
it goes. One generation passes its scars onto the next under the guise
of tradition. Take THAT, future! |
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