This weeks bonus blog comes to us thanks to everyone’s favorite Dave (and also partially inspired by yesterday’s Books Without Any Pictures):
How do I piss off my friends with unlimited combos in Magic the Gathering. Like, how does that mess work?
There’s a positive and negative side to this question. On the up side, learning infinite combos is easy, and takes very little effort at all, just some time and money. On the down side, as you’ve already pointed out, you’ll piss everyone off and alienate yourself from everything you hold dear. No one will love you. No one will speak to you. You’ll find yourself surrounded by mountains of Magic cards: your only friends and solace in an otherwise cold and meaningless existence.
Slowly, you will stop caring about simple things that we all take for granted: brushing your teeth, changing your underwear, flushing the toilet, cleaning out the lint trap on your dryer. You’ll start to wonder why your clothes won’t quite get dry enough. You’ll wonder where the smell is coming from, and you won’t ever figure out why you have that bad taste in your mouth.
Next, your mind will go, and you’ll start thinking that Fallen Empires and The Dark were good sets. You will only build theme decks, convinced that your cards are lonely and need to be with their own kind. Your bathroom mirror will argue with you about whether or not they should have stopped making Magic cards after Revised. Your mind will be endlessly blown every time you see a card illustrated by Quinton Hoover.
Soon you’ll be so warped and out of touch with reality you’ll begin tapping land for mana to feed yourself with. You’ll waste away into a skeletal, shadow of creature, forgetting the most rudimentary means of communication. The neighbors will knock on your door, wondering if you’ve died. You’ll answer it, naked and moldy, stinking of your own filth. Mouth agape, a vague memory teasing your mind, you’ll try to speak, but all your throat can do is creak; a long dead watering hole baked to perfection by the flames of your own private Hell.
Then, before you know what you’ve become, even Magic will lose meaning to you. Staring at your binders and boxes and pile upon pile of dusty cards, you struggle to remember what they’re there for. You reach a hand down, pick up a barren Plains, and stare for hours, maybe days, but nothing will come. Only the sound of straw rustling in your hollow skull will bring you back to yourself, reminding you of nothing.
Dropping the card, you walk out the back door, blinking under the blinding glare of a long forgotten Sun. Your hands rise, shielding you from its brilliance. Your knees give way, and you collapse to the damp earth, tasting dirt and wet grass. Realizing just how utterly lost and alone you are your heart cries out in agony, and pain becomes your only existence. As your last breath escapes from dusty lungs, bloodshot eyes fall upon a long discarded Magic card in the grass: Wrath of God. Then you let out a final, feeble, whimper.
And that’s why I won’t tell you anything about infinite combos. You can ruin your life without my help. Good luck to you sir.
Praying for your Soul,
The Dungeon Master
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