Artwork of the week!

Everyone,

This weeks artwork award goes to Shahzad Khan (www.ckcpark.net) .
Here’s sharing it with all of you

Just be sure to give credit where it’s due.

Life’s too short- now’s the time to eat chocolate, feel good and PARTY!

 

_______________________________________________________________________

Phat and proud girl:

 

Mohawk Boy:

Fat and proud monk:

Vacation Graph

Tripppy as hell

I got a feelin’..

 

… That tonights gonna be a good night … that tonights gonna be a good night… that tonights gonna be a good, good night!!!

 

I love the contentment that comes with having loved ones come home There’s nothing like it. Speeding across open boulevards, singing, dancing, totally off key, letting your hair down.

Alhamdolillah, it’s the best ! May Allah keep it that way, always! Ameen!

Silence and the Sea

It’d been a long time since she had had time to think. Or maybe she had just chosen not to. But this voice in her head came up time and again – so this must be what thinking sounded like. She shifted uncomfortably. The rocks were pointy and her flesh was complaining. She hesitated before adjusting herself – perhaps if she rocked a little, maybe she would be able to prolong the pleasure from this pain. The ocean roared, echoing her own anguish. The waves rose, higher and higher, before they crashed, one big gasping sob after the next, spraying her with the surfs tears.

A stray tendril of hair blew across her face- an invisible hand trying to wipe away the damp. She smiled at the irony. The person she needed was far away – on a mission, he said. He was gone for long long periods, even more so lately. Something had been amiss since his past few visits. His eyes didn’t meet hers, and he shied from her touch. His big bear hugs had reduced themselves to chaste kisses on the head. She ached inside for his touch, for his warmth, for the reassurance that she felt in his arms.

Evening was falling. It was getting chilly. She rubbed her the flesh above her elbows vigorously, trying to stay warm. A sharp pain shot through her left arm. Tears filled her eyes, and overflowed. She winced. The bruise wasn’t getting any better. Perhaps it was her heart that wasn’t healing. She had become so disillusioned with their relationship. He, who would tenderly kiss her goodnight, now displaced his affection by throwing her down the stairs, or beating her with the iron. Her arm had been a particularly nasty blow. He had struck her with a heeled shoe.

Tears fell down her cheeks. What had happened to the promises never to hit her. Where was the supposed fulfillment and content he used to promise her before they eloped. She had willingly left behind oppression. Now she missed her mother. Alone, with no one to talk to, all she seemed to do was cry. It was almost all there was to do. She lived alone. Slept alone. Ate alone. All the neighbourhood women kept their distance. They heard the shouting, and her cries late into the night. But no one stepped forward to save her, even when she was being beaten to within an inch of her life. Na rey baba, who wanted the jhanjhat.

She was drowning. Suffocating within herself. The way he had kicked her till she lost the baby. Smothered in the love inflicted by his father. “Hopelessness lies at the outermost limits of intense longing”, she’d read somewhere. Oh yes, it was from that Premchand book. What wisdom there was in his words. After all, what did life have to offer her now. She had chosen this road, she should suffer it out, her relatives had laughed. To hope was futile. He was gone for long periods, yes, but he left his indelible marks on her life. Even when he wasn’t there, they were watching. Watching and waiting. Even one slip, and she was dead.

She lived in fear, and he was the one spreading it. She had suspected her had gotten involved with the wrong crowd. It had all begun when he decided to journey up country to find a job. Times were hard, and with a baby on the way, their savings couldn’t have lasted very long. She had planned to put her education to good use, and get a respectable teaching job. But then she had gotten pregnant. He had put on a brave face, decided to play the role of the provider, and set out to find a job. Days went by, there was no word. Days turned into weeks, and her panic grew. One day, a slight knock was heard on the door, and she rushed to open it – just before she got to the door, she was overcome by a bout of heaving, and when she had wiped the spittle from her face, she found an envelope under the door. He had written her a letter. Relief brought angry questions to her lips, and she asked them aloud, even though he couldn’t hear her.

His mobile had gotten snatched. She shook her head at the news, he was so stubborn, he wouldn’t replace it. But his note was full of hope. He had found a job that would suffice. He would send home money every month, and as soon as he found accomodation, he would send for her. A home, he had enthused. A home at last. This hope had sustained her for the first few weeks. Then, slowly, she’d gotten lonely. Money was infrequent. Some nights her stomach would cramp with hunger, and she would press her parched lips to the tap for water. Loneliness turned into desolation. A few months passed. The season changed. She had started out in the spring of love, weathered the summer of fruitfulness, and when she had all but given hope, he turned up at the door.

He stood before her, gaunt, and bearded, clutching her letters. Unopened. All of them. About twenty. She had jumped into his arms. He stood, stiff, unmoving. She had looked up at him questioningly, the voice in her head wondering why he didn’t seem happy to see her. He had kissed her on the head – a fatherly kiss, and walked away. She had run after him, clutched his arm, eyes wide, her voice cracking with tears. She hadn’t seen it coming. The large crystal vase had come flying at her temple. The world had gone dark. When she had woken, he was gone. From there on the terror began.

He had returned some days later, begging, wheedling, apologizing. She immediately dissolved in tears and forgave him, clutching him to her chest, trying to heal the wound he had left inside. Even then, he grabbed her by the arms and shook her hard, and told her not to touch him. Her questions went unheard. His guilty conscience had made him enter a vicious cycle of abuse. Now he didn’t even offer apologies.

She rose, stood and faced the wind. Night had descended. Her body hurt from being in one position. She strolled under the stars. What a ride her life had been. A year had past, living in fear. A year had past since she’d lost her child. Darkness had become a familiar friend. The waves lapped the rocks gently, swooshing as they emptied the crevices in the rock surface. It would be so easy to walk into the water, and vanish. No one would miss her. Her footsteps took her forward, then back.

She walked headlong down the rocky strip. The stars twinkled down at her, aligned , guiding her towards her final jump. Suddenly, she stumbled. Her foot hit something warm, and wet. She jumped. Her hand went down to investigate. The clouds parted, and the moon briefly shone through. It was blood. A scream rose in her throat and choked.

A hand grabbed her from behind and spun her around. “Quiet. Say one word and I’ll show you what else my knife can do.” She froze. Felt his hand travel over her throat and come settle on her shoulder. “I’ve seen the way your husband has been treating you. I’ve been watching you, silently, patiently. Waiting for the right moment”. She stammered out “Wh-who a-a-are yo-you?”. She could feel the smile in his voice. “I’m just someone trying to give you the new life you crave. The life you deserve”.

“Wha- What have you d-d-done?”. She felt faint.

“I’ve given him a taste of his own medicine. He was asking for it, saala! A woman is not to be taken for granted”.

“Why are you still here?”. The fear inside whispered that maybe tonight was the night she really would die.

“I was waiting to show you his face one last time.” And with that, a match struck in the darkness and filled a lamp. “I will show him to you one last time, and then shove his body to eternal death. This is how you will end your memories of him – put them to eternal death. But before I show you, you must answer me one question”.

“Anything”, she said, desperately wanting to get away from this man.

She smelt a cigarette being lit behind her, and heard him take a long drag. “Why did you forgive him, over and over again? Why did you take him back?”

She smiled. A tear rolled down her cheek. “He was all I had”.

The man took another drag. “You have more than you realise. You just need to take the time to look around”.With that, he swung the lamp over the body.

She gasped.

Bloody, distorted, mangled wounds stared up at her. Blood had flooded the rock pools. His eyes were open. Vacant. Empty.  She saw the lips that had caressed her flesh. Bile rose inside her, goosebumps covered her body.

Her defender spoke – “You like what you see?” He reached down, stubbed his cigarette in the corpse and blew the lantern out all in one breath.

She turned to her side and retched. The heaving wouldn’t stop. When her body finally stopped, she looked up and found her defender was gone.

The night was dark. She stood alone, under the stars. She understood. They hadn’t been guiding her to an end. They were guiding her to a new beginning. There was nothing but silence – silence and waves. Freedom assailed her nostrils. The smell of smoke lingered in the cool air – the smell of revenge.

Check your lemons!

Breast Cancer has become more and more notoriously common in women of all ages, striking when least expected. The idea of cancer scares people so much that they resist learning more. Well, no longer. The World Wide Breast Cancer website has come up with really cute animations, coupled with facts and information about how to self check yourself at home, and how to indentify “bad seeds”. They do it in a way that helps you move past fear, and enhance your understanding.

These are the 12 signs of Breast Cancer. For more info, visit http://www.worldwidebreastcancer.com/

Click the image for more.

You know you grew up in Pakistan in the 90’s when:

• Evenings on STN/NTM were the highlight of your day.

• The Jetsons, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Captain Planet were dubbed in Urdu.

• If you were lucky, you had a dish, and you’d watch Disney Hour dubbed in Hindi on Zee TV. And you never missed ‘Hum Paanch’ or ‘Tu Tu Main Main’ either.

• You played “King” in school.

• Playground feminism took form in the shape of “Queens” and “Kish”.

• Guys only ever played cricket and football, depending on what World Cup was going on at the time.

• The only co-ed sport that was ever played was DodgeBall (called Dodge the Ball) and girls were actually pretty good at it.

• You played Dark Room, Tilo-Express, Oonch Neech, Chor-Sipahi and Chupan Chupai.

• You decided conflicts not by Rock-Paper-Scissors, but by Pugan-Pugaai, In-Pin-Safety-Pin, or Akar-Bakar-Bambay-Bo.

• 5 words: Yasoo-Panjoo-Haar-Kabootar-Doli.

• Anyone owning a real Barbie or Hot Wheels was a source of envy and admiration.

• “Bil Patori naasan chori aadhi mithi aadhi kori I’m sorry I’m sorry” means something to you. As does “ZAAAAAYYYMEEENAAAA!!!.”

• You drank Frost juice with Super Crisp chips. And then when you were done, you’d chuck the juice box on the floor and jump on it to burst it.

• There was never a line at the canteen. Instead everyone drove the canteen wala mad by screaming at the top of their lungs.

• You picked out only the chips from your mum’s Nimco.

• You remember RC Cola and how no one liked it.

• It was taboo for guys to drink Mirinda/Fanta because it was a GIRL’s drink. lol

• You idolized Imran Khan even though he was retired when you were 2 or 3, and wiped your face with your Pepsi bottle or Frost juice because he did it in that ad.

• Wasim Akram’s ‘Mein cigarette nahi peeta’ ad made half your generation vow to never smoke (the other half just missed out on good stuff).

• You had to ask “Ma’am/Miss may I come in” before entering a class, and you had to stand up to answer questions during a lesson.

• Cordless phones were the coolest things.

• You went crazy when your dad bought his first ever mobile, and you wouldn’t shut up about it to your friends.

• You begged your parents for a walkman and then bought tapes of Junaid Jamshed, or if you were really cool, Junoon.

• You went to a Junaid Jamshed concert in a PAF building or a Junoon concert in PC.

• You remember Fakhr-e-Alam hosting the Top Ten on NTM and his “Bhangra Rap” was always #1.

• #2 was “Jaadoo Ka Charagh” by Awaz, #3 was “Dohlna” by Shehzad Roy and #4 was “Mann de Mauj” by Hadiqa Kayani, the only cool female-singer in Pakistani.

• You were really sad when Awaz split up. And later you took sides between Haroon and Fakhir, and if you liked one you had to hate the other.

• You remember waking up early in the morning on Saturdays and Sundays to watch English cartoons on Star Plus (before it got taken over by the Indians).

• You still hold a grudge against the Indianization of Star Plus after all those years.

• You remember celebrating when they changed the weekends to Saturday and Sunday because it meant Friday was a half-day.

• You played Sega-Mega Drive, Atari and Super Nintendo.

• You played Mario Brothers like there was no tomorrow. YESSSS

• You remember the Nintendo game where you had to shoot ducks with an actual gun-shaped joystick and thought it was the most amazing thing ever. (YUPIEEE. i never lost in it)

• Your life was never the same again when your first Windows 95 was set up in your house.

• You played Dave 1 and thought level three was the hardest thing in the world. Then you upgraded to Lion King (probably from a Power Games CD bought out in the street).

• You shafted Polka Ice Cream when Walls became popular. And yes, admit it, you used to wait for the Ice Cream wala in the afternoon and bought Paddle Pops from him. ( I miss Polka)

• Walls wasn’t as good as the Challi Walla.( hmmmmmmm)

• Cartoon Network showed good stuff like Johnny Bravo and Johnny Quest before crap like Cow and Chicken ruined everything.

• You had ‘kutti’ (pinkie finger) with your enemies and ‘dosti’ (index+middle finger) with your friends.

• ‘Dustbin’ was ‘duss-bin’ and ‘desk’ was once ‘dex.’

• Your childhood was over when they made you stop using pencils and start

using fountain pens. And you always made a mess filling the ink.

• You watched Small Wonder, even after it was dubbed in Hindi by Star Plus.

• You wanted to be on the Crystal Maze, The Legends of the Hidden Temple and such game shows.

• The coolest clapping games were ‘Cham Cham Cham,’ ‘O Pillar,’ ‘Zig Zag Zoo.’

• You were on the top of the food chain if you were made monitor (and you very easily abused the power too, by chucking chalk and dusters at people).

LOL. This brings back SUCH crazy memories…

Samsung Star Wifi price!!

So this phone, with the wifi, under the S5230W, and the s5233W costs a grand total of … 35,000 Rs.!!!

No way in hell am I paying that much for a phone – especially one where I hate the touchscreen friendliness.

Dirty Dancing in the heavens

Story quoted from (CNN.com)

LOS ANGELES, California (CNN) — Patrick Swayze, whose good looks and sympathetic performances in films such as “Dirty Dancing” and “Ghost” made him a romantic idol to millions, died Monday. He was 57.

Swayze died of pancreatic cancer, his publicist, Annett Wolf, told CNN.

Swayze’s doctor, Dr. George Fisher, revealed in early March 2008 that Swayze was suffering from the disease.

“Patrick Swayze passed away peacefully today with family at his side after facing the challenges of his illness for the last 20 months,” Wolf said in a statement Monday.

Most recently, Swayze starred in A&E Network’s “The Beast,” which debuted in January. He agreed to take the starring role of an undercover FBI agent before his diagnosis.

The network agreed to shoot an entire season of the show after Swayze responded well to his cancer treatment. … READ MORE

Incredible short story

Death by Scrabble

Charlie Fish

t’s a hot day and I hate my wife.

We’re playing Scrabble. That’s how bad it is. I’m 42 years old, it’s a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.

I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.

My letters are crap.

I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.

I watch my wife’s smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn’t around, I’d be doing something interesting right now. I’d be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I’d be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I’d be sailing the Vendée Globe on a 60-foot clipper called New Horizons – I don’t know, but I’d be doing something.

She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She’s beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.

If only I had a U, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.

I start chewing on my H. It’s a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my H.

As I’m picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking – the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I’ll do it right now. I’ll finish her off.

My rack spells MIUZPA. Plus the H in my mouth. Damn.

The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they’re not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife’s throat.

She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn’t too hot to move I would strangle her right now.

I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The H makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.

She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.

She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.

It’s the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.

She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I’m going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I’m going to start hitting her again and again and again.

The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I’m sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.

She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.

I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she’s not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I’m beating her now.

She asks me if I cheated.

I really, really hate her.

She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.

The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack. If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.

I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That’ll show her.

As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.

My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don’t believe it – but it can’t be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened – the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is – JINXED.

My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.

I have to test this.

I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.

I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.

Stupid. I open my eyes, and there’s a fly. Buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.

I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final.

My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.

My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I’m awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I can’t wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.

Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.

I play QUAKE for 19 points.

I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.

My wife plays CHOKE for 28 points, just as the room starts to shake.

I gasp with surprise and vindication – and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.

I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.

It’s a hot day and I hate my wife.

We’re playing Scrabble. That’s how bad it is. I’m 42 years old, it’s a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.

I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.

My letters are crap.

I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.

I watch my wife’s smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn’t around, I’d be doing something interesting right now. I’d be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I’d be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I’d be sailing the Vendée Globe on a 60-foot clipper called New Horizons – I don’t know, but I’d be doing something.

She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She’s beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.

If only I had a U, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.

I start chewing on my H. It’s a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my H.

As I’m picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking – the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I’ll do it right now. I’ll finish her off.

My rack spells MIUZPA. Plus the H in my mouth. Damn.

The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they’re not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife’s throat.

She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn’t too hot to move I would strangle her right now.

I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The H makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.

She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.

She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.

It’s the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.

She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I’m going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I’m going to start hitting her again and again and again.

The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I’m sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.

She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.

I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she’s not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I’m beating her now.

She asks me if I cheated.

I really, really hate her.

She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.

The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack. If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.

I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That’ll show her.

As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.

My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don’t believe it – but it can’t be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened – the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is – JINXED.

My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.

I have to test this.

I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.

I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.

Stupid. I open my eyes, and there’s a fly. Buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.

I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final.

My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.

My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I’m awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I can’t wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.

Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.

I play QUAKE for 19 points.

I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.

My wife plays CHOKE for 28 points, just as the room starts to shake.

I gasp with surprise and vindication – and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.

I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.