i've played this game for as long as i can remember. from people i've polled i believe it to be an only child game. as for the other only children i've asked, they claim to not know it. i've concluded that it is they who are aberrant and not me. i call my game the What-If game. in this game one simply thinks of scenarios they could physically act out and then ruminate on the consequences of such actions.

for instance, when in junior high and in mad love with my math teacher, mrs venatta, the What-If game would allow thoughts such as "what if i stood up right now, stripped down to my yellow-spotted tightey-whitey's, confidently walked to the front of the class and took mrs v. in my arms and gave her a deep soul kiss." in the what-if game, this scenario was totally physically possible. i could stand up. i could disrobe (i would be wearing the predicted urine-dotted briefs). i could take my vixen number cruncher in my arms and pull her to me. i was physically capable of performing each and every one of these acts. the repercussions of such a round could include the astonished face of the principle, the hand-over mouth exclamation from my mother, the sideways glances from my peers, and obviously, the writhing escape of the tantalizing mrs v. this is how the what-if game is played.

as an adult the game's tenor assumes a more serious demeanor. take delivering a toast at a wedding for example. by the tenet's of the what-if game one could stand up and talk for 30 minutes, refusing to give up the mike and force the other groomsman to drag him from the spotlight. or only talk for 3 minutes but in that time claim to have had relations with the bride, or the bride's mother or even the bride's new husband (i.e. groom) the night before in a moment of life-changing stress. or talk about bursting a pustulating blemish on the chin or cheek moments before the ceremony or even highlight their best and most troubling bowel movement. all of this and worlds more are possible via the what-if game. it's simply a never ending exercise for the mind. and if fruitless thoughts were muscle my cerebellum would be sunned, oil-soaked and having female brains hanging on it while it flexed it's assets on muscle beach.