A great new game I made up / Krystal Pepsy

Here's how you play!

1. Scroll through all the contacts in your phone and find people who you've either A: lost touch with or B: talk to very very infrequently.

2. Send each of these people a text message that appears as if it was meant for someone else and contains odd information that begs for further clarification (see examples below).

3. Await their reply. Nine times out of ten it will something along the lines of "Huh?" or "???".

4. Reply with something like, "Sorry, that text was meant for someone else" or "Sent to the wrong person. Kindly disregard."

5. Ignore all further inquiries regarding the nature or circumstances surrounding the message.

6. Relish in the fact that this old acquantience is now, no doubt, enamored with your mysterious doings and can't help but think you lead a life far more interesting than theirs.

Examples:

Case Study #1: Text sent to "Glen" (former roommate - no correspondence in the past 4 months)

Me: But once they hosed off the blood it looked like a legitimate skating rink.
Glen: What?
Me: Sorry. Must've hit a wrong button. Texted wrong person. Crazt smart phones. lol!

{ - }

Case Study #2: Text sent to "Kim" (girl I used to have a crush on - no correspondence in 3+ years)

Me: Sort of. Try flipping over and pumping from on top.

Kim: WTF?

Me: Whoops. That text wasn't meant for you.

Kim: I figured that. How have you been?

{ - }

Case Study #3: Text sent to "Ron" (guy I used to do stand-up comedy with - no correspondence in past 3 month)

Me: So I told her my last name was Davenport. She wrote me a check for 5 hundy before the eulogy was even over.

Ron: OK

Me: Sorry dude. That was sent to the wrong person.

Ron: Well I really enjoyed it!

{ - }

Case Study #4: Text sent to "Paul" (old friend from high school - no correspondence in 5+ years).

Me: I swear. She was a bonafide Eskimo. Wholly snatch and all.
Paul: Huh?
Me: Sorry. That was meant for someone else.
Paul: Who could that possibly have been meant for?
Me: Sorry. Doesn't concern you.
Paul: It concerns me now. Now I want to know about the Eskimo.

{ - }

Case Study #5: Text sent to "Mary" (sister of friend - last correspondence unknown)

Me: Two dolphin calves, a barrel full of carp, and a female manatee. They didn't even check my bag. Where should I keep them?

Mary: ???

Me: Whoopsie. That text wasn't meant for you. Do me a favor and kindly keep this under your hat.

{ - }

Case Study #6: Text sent to "Beth" (friend from college who I heard just had a baby - no correspondence in 2+ years)

Me: So with no other obvious options we hid the body in the garage. We call her Carol to this day.

Beth: Huh?

Me: Whoopsie. That was supposed to do to someone else. Congrats on the new addition!!

{ - }

Case Study #7: Text sent to "Tim" (cousin I haven't spoken to since last Christmas)

Me: It couldn't have been me. I haven't been to that particular massage parlor in weeks. It was probably Doug. He has a mask of me.

Tim: Is this Rich? Who is Doug? Mask of you? WTF?

Me: Sorry man. Sent that to the wrong person. See you soon. Say hi to your mom and dad.

{ - }

Case Study #8: Text sent to "Bob" (guy I used to work with 5 years ago)

Me: And that's why we call him Date Rape Charlie.

Bob: Huh?

Me: Sorry Bob. Texting error. Please disregard. Hope all is well!

{ - }

Case Study #9: Text sent to "Joe" (high school buddy haven't talked to in several years)

Me: I didn't have the heart to tell me the peanuts had been jizzed on.

Joe: Whoa. I'm confused dude.

Me: Sorry. That was meant for someone else. Kindly disregard.

Joe: Wait a second. I need an explanation. Holiday party? Sugar coated cocktail peanuts? Or did you really jizz in a nut bowl?

Me: Let's just say it was a long night : )

{ - }

Case Study #10: Text sent to "Ben" (former college roommate - no correspondence really ever - not sure why I even have his number)

Me: Call me asap. She's still breathing and she won't stop mumbling your fucking name.

Ben: [no response]
Me: Hold that thought. She's breathing but she has no recollection of the Knicks game. Please advise.

Ben: [no response]

Me: Whoops. Wrong number. Disregard.

Ben: Rich? Rich Zeroth?

Self-sabotage, the ally of obstacle / Merle Tangerine

Gather round gentlemen. . . Take a knee.

I don’t need to tell you who is waiting out there. Their reputation is no secret. You’ve no doubt read about them in the papers and heard the whispers in the hallways in between classes. They’re the best in the state - bar-fucking-none. Their quarterback is on pace to break every passing record this side of the Rio Grande. Their defense is good enough to line up on Sunday afternoons. And as much as I’d like to tell you different, it’s all true.

But here’s the thing, gentlemen. Fact is, we are blessed tonight. Blessed to be presented with such a challenge on this glorious Friday night. Getting ready for school today you might have been worried that you were running a bit late, that you might not have time for a wholesome breakfast, that you hadn’t studied enough for your sixth period social studies exam, or that you didn’t get invited to Sally SweetPanties after-game party.

[some muffled laughter]

It is funny. It’s god damned comical is what it is! Why? Because that’s stupid shit to worry about. Life is hard, ladies, let no one tell you different, but anyone tempted to nod their head in approval better lock their necks and fix their eyes on me because you don’t know what hard is. But you’re about to.

No use keeping it a secret any longer. I had a nice long talk with the officials tonight and arrangements have been made to spot our opponents with a two touchdown lead. That’s right. When we step onto that field in a few minutes we’ll be down 14 – 0 without so much as taking a single snap. Now I don’t want that to get you down. That there is a motivational tactic to get this team in the mindset to line up and achieve despite the odds. I can see by the look on your faces that while a little confused, you are up to that challenge. And that makes me proud.

Now put your helmets on. Do it! Now stand up! Get loose. I said get loose!! Jump up and down, punch a fucking locker, do whatever it is you fucking do to get ready. You feel ready? You feel ready for the challenge that waits outside those doors? I can’t hear you!

[YEAH!!]

That’s what I thought.

Now take those helmets off because you’re not going to need them. Lock ‘em back up in your lockers because tonight’s not about lining up and putting your helmet on one of another color, it’s about the look on your opponents faces when you smack your bare skull against one covered in painted protective polycarbonate. Now off with your shoulder pads. YOU HEARD ME, TAKE ‘EM OFF!! Lock them up with your helmets. Now turn to your right. Look at your teammate. Turn to the left. Look at your teammate. Does he look like he’s ready to play football? I’ll safe you your breath. No, he does not. That team waiting for us on the other side of the field? They are ready to play football tonight. They got their helmets and their shoulder pads and their going to go about their business the same they did last week against Prior Lake and the same they did the week before against Lincoln. And I’m willing to bet they are going to go about their business the exact same fucking way next week against whoever the fuck they happen to play. Week after week after week of preparation and safety precautions and proper stretching so that the challenge placed before them that evening can be bested to the best of their ability. And really, what does that say about them? That they are focused, formidable, successful? BULLSHIT? No one knows what they, least of which themselves, because they have yet to take a good long hard look in the mirror and punch themselves in the face.

Jerseys off. That’s right. Tops and bottoms. Shoes too. I want you standing there in your jocks and socks.

Ha! Now we are getting somewhere! You assholes don’t look ready to play a football game. Do you feel ready?

[some ‘not really’s mixed a few half-hearted ‘yeah’s]

Of course you don’t! That’s the point. I changed my mind, go back and get your helmets. There you go. No, not on your head. Strap your helmet onto your foot. Right or left, whichever feels more awkward. I don’t know, chin strap around the ankle I guess. Figure it out. That’s more like it. Kinda hard to get around, isn’t it. Beautiful. Now we got ourselves a bonafide challenge on our hands. Now, when we take that field, we’ve unevened the playing field to the degree that any minor shred of success can be hoisted high and bragged about till kingdom come while at the same time any shortfall of our ultimate goal will not only be expected, but pitied to a level that might just get you all laid tonight.

[Assistant coach walks in carrying an extra large duffel bag, drops it at Coach’s feet]

[Coach unzips it. It’s full of volleyballs]

I want each of you to take one. Hold on to it. Get used to the feel of it because we’ll be holding on to these the entirety of the game. These volleyballs represent everything we stand for tonight. They are our way of saying ‘fuck you’ to the idea of putting our best foot forward. They are the blindfold to the seeing eye dog. They are the water pistol to the soldier on the front line. They are what make people feel sorry for us. They are our way of taking control of the idea of ‘expectations’. They are what make us special. These volleyballs are life. Now I understand that it’s hard to get into a three-point stance with a volleyball in your hand and a helmet strapped to your foot. I understand it’s damn near impossible to throw or catch a football in one hand with a volleyball in the other. We’ll likely get called for several penalties. Many, if not all, of you will get injured tonight. But each drop of blood spilled, each broken bone endured while still clutching your volleyball will be a testament to the added obstacles we’ve knowingly put in place to make success all the more sweet.

Now if I send you out their tonight naked as the day your momma first laid eyes on you carrying a bunch of volleyballs I WILL lose my job. Make no mistake. I’ll never coach again. But that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make just to get the chance to see you boys do your damndest against a superior opponent using inadequate, not to mention, incorrect equipment, in all your glory. Because while there’s something to be said about a man prepared to face a seemingly insurmountable challenge, I swear to you there will be fucking books written about the men who go out of their way to make themselves woefully unprepared but go out to face that same challenge regardless.

The ally of obstacle is self-sabotage, gentlemen. And the key to success is obliterating all preconceived expectations to such a degree that it can only be defined in your own heart. Do that, and you might actually be able to say to yourself that you won in some way. At least there's really no way people can categorically say you lost.

Go wildcats!