"Sorry! You're a retard."

Ah, vodka and prescription sleeping pills - not only a glamorous way to wile away one's evening, but also a glamorous way to die; I like to keep my bases covered.

Just kidding, of course. Last night Agatha and I turned off "Planet's Funniest Animals" in favor of a board game or two. First up: "Wit's End", a sort of "Trivial Pursuit" for those who know a lot about classical composers and eastern Europe (aka not me). Agatha won fair and square, mostly because she somehow knows shit like this:

Alto is to tenor as French is to: A) German; B) English; C) Spanish; or D) Japanese.

The answer is B) English. Why? There are alto and tenor saxaphones; similarly, there are French and English horns. Yeah, I know. By the last round, I was truly at my "Wit's End" - but I suppose that's all in the name of the game. (Literally!)

After allowing me sufficient time to gather the tattered remains of what was once my self-esteem, Agatha brought out "Oxford Dilemma", a game in which the main objective is to correctly spell and define words ranging from "bubble" to "Pythagorean theorem." Now, I failed to spell "Pythagorean theorem" correctly, but I did offer a definition: "Is that, like, when all angles of a triangle add up to 90 degrees?" Um, no. And the angles of a triangle add up to 180 degrees, but thanks for playing!

Victoriously, I did manage to spell "Nicaragua" and offer the sweeping definition "A country either in South or Central America, I forget." Agatha granted me a win for that round, but I failed to take home the bacon overall. Oh well - I usually beat her in the "Maintaining While Fucked Up" game, so we're even.