Underpants On The Outside

I’ve done my share of illegal narcotics (Mom, you should probably just skip this one). I’ve spent a night in absolute terror because mushrooms made me think my best friend was the devil, based on the fact that his teeth are jacked up and every time he smiled he looked positively terrifying. (Of course, he thought it was funny that I was pointing at him and calling him the devil, so the problem perpetuated itself a bit.) I’ve spent hours watching lint under a couch, then gone off to write the greatest poem mankind has ever produced, though the next morning there was only one semi-legible word and I’m pretty sure it was ‘cat’.

I don’t say that to brag or anything; I just want to establish that I am familiar with the sense of exhaustion that comes from a night or four of being propped up by exotic chemicals while you fail to find the words to describe the boundless love you have for your friends, loved ones, and gummi worms. I just never expected to wake up with that empty paper bag feeling after a weekend of Magic: The Gathering.

I haven’t reported on it much, but for the past few months I’ve been playing semi-regular games with a group of guys I met through Craigslist. I haven’t written anything because I like these guys, and let’s face it, this site relies on humiliation (if you prefer, you could say that the Underpants is full of crap…) I certainly did not avoid the subject because it makes my girlfriend embarrassed to be seen with me and because I’ll spend the next week answering questions like “so, do you guys wear capes? Do you have special magic names?” (Answers: “No,” and “Only in my head, where I am known as Zandalf*”)

To my excitement and Wonder Woman’s dismay, this weekend we had something of a sleepover. Through a friend of his family, one guy in the group had access to an empty house up in Schenectady (which I still can’t pronounce) and we planned an old-school nerd-out like it was 1997**.

It started off alright: six guys in a van, some jokes about humping someone’s mom in anatomically awkward ways, and some ideas for Magic-based drinking games that we had no intention of going through with. What happened after that is difficult to describe, but I should have seen it coming the first night, when I was about to challenge one of the guys to a rematch and saw sunlight coming through the window. The last time that happened I was playing dollar craps in Reno, and I actually had a surge of panic before I remembered that there wasn’t much chance I was down five hundred bucks.

The next morning we woke up around noon and went out to get food supplies. That was the last time we saw sunlight. By the end of the weekend, it was like we were in some bizarre suburban flophouse with junkies in the living room and fresh fruit in the fridge. Guys sorta slept…wherever. We would get up, find someone who was awake, and play. I don’t even think we were having fun by the end of it, but rationale had left us, and as tired as we felt, we kept on playing because it was what we were there to do.  We’re the type of guys who know that no one ever got extra credit by giving up easily.

How’s this for depravity? No one showered for the entire weekend, despite several working facilities (take THAT, nerd stereotype!). Our last morning I was woken up by a smell so bad it took me a minute or two to realize it was my own. Yet rather than use one of the two available showers, I washed myself in the bathroom sink and dried myself with my t-shirt. But first I made sure no one else was awake, because somehow that made sense at the time.

It was like my body owed me money. Between Friday night and Sunday afternoon I ate a piece of pizza, a peach, a chicken sandwich, a couple small pancakes and a bag of Raisinets. (No, I was not stoned.) Since that’s how people get scurvy, it’s not surprising that there were consequences, like on the drive home when I ripped a fart so nasty it woke me up, the second time that day that I had produced a smell I couldn’t sleep through. (That has to be some kind of record.) It probably had something to do with the fact that in the 48 hours we were gone, I hadn’t taken a shit. Not one. I think my body had a similar attitude as Wonder Woman, one of, “I think it’s stupid, but you seem to enjoy this, so go have your fun. But so we’re clear, you owe me a lot of attention when you get back.”

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I still giggle at my own farts***, but this particular one was so bad that I kept my head down and pretended I was still asleep. Normally, you fart in a van full of dudes and you’re going to hear a mixture of laughing, yelling, and the sound of punching. This time, one of the guys up front said, “Uh, that may have been me. I’m not sure,” and that was the end of the matter. From our demeanor, one would have thought that we had just shared some profound coming-of-age experience involving a dead body by the train tracks.

Three days have passed and I’m still not completely okay. The whole world seems a bit too bright, and Wonder Woman looks at me in a way that makes me think she won’t sleep soundly until I’ve been properly sanitized in boiling water and/or an autoclave. Someone could tell me I managed to contract mange and I wouldn’t bat an eye. When I decided to play Magic again, it was because I remember those days as pure happiness set to a Weezer soundtrack. Now I’m amazed I survived. It’s like if I went back to my pre-school and found a bunch of kids making Nikes.

The defining moment was definitely when one guy asked what everyone’s biggest strategic mistake was. The guy next to him didn’t miss a beat before muttering, “coming here,” and no one laughed. They say that all you need for Magic is a deck and a friend, but I sure could have used a bath and a hug.

*For the love of pete, I don’t actually call myself ‘Zandalf’. I mean, c’mon, I don’t have NEARLY enough experience points for a name that cool yet.

Okay, really, there are no names. Or experience points. Seriously.

**When we were in AP Calc.
***I’m 28 years old.

Oh yeah – if anyone familiar with Magic thinks I wasn’t DYING to make a mana burn joke in this thing, you are sorely mistaken, sir.