I Am NOT an Insane Dancing Fiddler

Wednesday, at the House of Chaos a.k.a. Kelly’s household (hey, she came up with it, not me. I’m just calling it by its proper name) we had the first game night we’ve had since little Munch was born back in September.

I was thrilled. Eight other people who share my geeky love of strategy games and the chance to capture glory and make it mine? I’m totally in. Except for that glory part. Do you know how rarely I actually win at these things? Luckily, I don’t mind losing too much.

Really.

Okay. Fine. I want to crush and destroy the opposition. I want to kill them with the Kneepads of Allure.

Do the Kneepads of Allure kill, or do they just protect? Please advise. It’s been awhile since I’ve played Munchkin through. (Steve Jackson games? Everyone should own one.)

In any case, this game night was especially sweet, because, for the first time in a year and a half, I talked three other people into playing my favorite board/strategy game ever – Betrayal at House on the Hill. I kid you not, this game is awesome.

AWESOME.

It’s kind of like highly interactive, supernatural Clue. Pick a character, build a mansion, one room tile at a time, get objects to help you fight the supernatural beings and the traitor.

Did I mention that there’s a traitor? At some point during the game, the house becomes haunted and someone – or maybe several someomes – start trying to kill you. Sometimes they attack your might. Sometimes they attack your speed or your knowledge. Sometimes, they attack your sanity. It all ends up looking something like this:

The house is different every time. The dynamics change with each game. Did I mention how freaking awesome it is?

See that chick there in the purple? That’s me. One of the attending children was given the task of passing out characters. Both of those dudes in the room with me were played by men named Dave. Both of them were insane. Both of them were traitors. Both of them were trying to kill me.

Fortunately, I had the Holy Symbol, and was able to resist the haunting call to become an Insane Dancing Fiddler.

I repeat, I am NOT an Insane Dancing Fiddler.

I was on the winning team, this go around, but really, one has to wonder…

 

is it a good thing that I ended up being the most sane person at the table? Because I’m not sure that it bodes well. I’m not sure that it bodes well at all.

*Bobs
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