Fuck chess, this isn't even checkers; it's fucking Candyland. Imagine the dumbest girl in the universe. Not the plain ignorance of a person who doesn't know how to turn on a computer, but the sheer stupidity of someone who thinks it's a television. And yes, it just so happens that she's blonde.

Just because the game's simple doesn't mean it isn't fun to play. Remember all those years you spent with Hungry Hungry Hippos? Tell me that wasn't the greatest thing ever.

It's not because she's pretty. It's because you have a talent. The challenge, the thrill of the hunt, and it's such a bonus that she's already dating someone. You get to break two hearts for the price of one.

Call me a pig.
Call me a chauvinist.
Call me a mean-spirited evil son of a bitch.
Just so long as you call me.

The other guy in the equation. Imagine someone who's almost but not quite entirely dumber than the aforementioned blonde. He is in love with her after all. That alone puts him one notch lower on the food chain. Social Darwinism at its finest. It doesn't even resemble a fair fight. Imagine David and Goliath without the divine intervention.

Nothing going for this guy at all. Remember all those people you knew in high school. The ones who sat around reading "The Lord of the Rings" and playing Advanced Dungeons and Dragons at lunch; they're just as pitiful now as they were then.

Every Sunday night with your group of fat smelly friends, you stare down through Buddy Holly glasses at a photocopied sheet of paper, and you're a level 15 dark elf mage. Every Monday morning you're jack shit and no one cares how many goblin overlords you wasted over the weekend.

People like this should do themselves and everyone else a favor and next Sunday night they should stay home, slit their wrists, and sit in a tub of warm water.

That's just the way I feel and I'm not sorry.

Everyone who makes excuses for the way they feel and spends all their time being careful not to step on anyone's toes is a waste of air.

Nothing going for this guy at all… except for the girl… but we can fix that.

Next Sunday night while he's shooting fireballs and magic missiles at his friends, you're at her house.

You knock on the door.

She's doing her hair.
She's tired.
She's just getting ready for bed.
She's lonely.

And you're in. Remember all those nice pleasant conversations you had with the young girls that you cared about impressing. Pretending you cared about their problems. All you're really thinking about is how you're one step closer to Candycastle.

You are such a good listener. She says.
You are so attentive. She says.
You are so sweet. She says.

You are not even trying. Try shooting ducks in a barrel sometime. Its like the hippo game except with lots of blood and feathers.

Go home now. Leave her unsatisfied. Leave her wanting more. Leave her wanting you. That way when fat smelly geek finally gets home, she'll be thinking about how much better things could be.

Buy a calendar. How else will you know when you've waited long enough? You have to let these things stew for a little while. Give her time to have a few fights with the loser. It's not his fault. He's not a bad guy. He's simply outmatched.

Two, three days later, you go over to her house. She's crying. This is so easy.

Don't cry. You say. He's not worth crying over.

Have your fun and then move on. This is the way the game is played and I'm not sorry.