Never On Sunday

For Eileene’s birthday, I got her some short skirts and short shorts. They were a good choice; twice this month alone she’d expressed a desire for skirts that (a) were shorter and sexier, and (b) fit better since she’s lost so much weight. It saves her from shopping for clothes, a task both of us hate, and she can wear all these items in the safe knowledge that I find them all reasonably attractive. But clothes, to my mind, remain a “practical” gift, and not a “fun” one. No matter how much we may mature, birthday and Christmas gifts should include some fun.

So I also got Eileene a card game. It’s called Poo, and the box art consists of a screeching monkey. Guess what this game is about.

So classy it ain’t. I have doubts about its strategic depth, too: a glance at the rules and components suggest simple mechanics to match a simple goal of piling up 6 points of poo on rivals to knock them out of the game, with predictable block, clean (heal), and lose-a-turn cards. The only explanation I can find for the Origins “card game of the year” award is the sheer naughty factor, which is definitely ripe. We’ve already engaged in some pre-adolescent snickering at the artwork. (Defensive card: “Friend’s Face.” Lose a turn: “Just a Fart.”) And really, that’s about all you can ask from a $10 deck of cards.