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at our unsuspecting, beloved mothers to rile the other up so turns became focused on forming rebuttals and not on how many cards are on your side of the field, if they should call your bluff on that face down trap or magic card and attack your life points directly, if they should let that shit you said about their mom slide. “Your mom is like a cheeseburger, dude: big, greasy, and worth a dollar.” “Yeah, but your mom is like a vacuum cleaner: she sucks, blows, and they put her back in the closet when they’re done with her.” On even exchanges like those, you maintained the status quo and the game continued as whatever. The uneven exchanges though, the uneven ones were the ones to watch out for. For example, let’s say you were winning by 3,000 life points and had an Archfiend Soldier and a Jinzo on your side of the field while the poor chump across from you had no monsters, three facedown cards that were useless or else they’d have used them by now, and were constantly checking them over and over again, reading the effects more carefully each time, like a broken contract. “Yo, just admit you’re losing, man. It’s ok to lose to someone like me.” “Just shut the fuck up and let me think.” “Just pass on your turn and let me win. You don’t have to be a little bitch about it.” “Now’s not the time for your pompous shit, dude. Just let me fucking think.” “You’re wasting everyone’s time with your little bitchness,” you’d say before a few deep breaths were had, before a few tears were choked back, before a non-apology had to be issued so the game could be continued. “I’m sorry, alright.” “It’s cool. Just… it’s cool.” “I’m also sorry you’re a little bitch.” “Fuck you.” It all reached a breaking point when Ross and Miguel were in the middle of a heated duel. Let me start off by saying that we were all insecure of ourselves, in case you couldn’t already tell. It’s just that Ross and Miguel were a perfect mixture of insecurity, the moisture of Ross’s pompous relishing of his winning situation combined with the warmth of Miguel’s anger rising from his wounded pride to form the oncoming perfect storm (side note: I aced the shit out of the TAKS Science portion, got a fuckin commended performance). You see, when Ross was winning a duel, he rubbed it in like a body massage, made damn sure every part of you knew every other second that he was the man. On the other hand, Miguel was a pretty quiet and reasonable guy until you poked at his flaws over and over again. The moment where shit got real was when Miguel had nothing on his side of the field and Ross had like a Blue Eyes or some shit, Miguel’s 1,200 life points to Ross’s 4,000. Ross went in for an attack. “I attack your life points and end this embarrassment of a duel.” “Fuck that. I activate Scapegoat,” Miguel said as he flipped his only face down card. Scapegoat lets you put four tokens on your side of the field that defend you from getting your life points attacked directly, in case you forgot. Each attack relieves you of a said token until you

21 | Issue 36

Blue Mesa Review Issue 36  
Blue Mesa Review Issue 36