So a little while ago I played MASH for the first time since 1997. That's right, MASH. Remember MASH?
Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House. You choose options for different categories, such as future spouse, job, income, pet, number of children, car, death, etc. Then you draw a spiral, and when the person you are MASHing says stop, you count the number of lines in the spiral. Using that number, you then count through the options, eliminating the ones you land on.
Everybody plays it differently. Some people are boring, and only do 4 categories (house, spouse, kids, income) but me and my friends tried to include as many categories as possible.
Most of my friends would end up with pretty good results, like marrying Leonardo DiCaprio and living in a mansion and driving a porsche.
MASH wasn't all Leo and Porsches for me though. I always ended up with the lame results, like living in a Shack with a Hobo.
Sometimes I'd end up living in a Shack with Leo, but what's the fun in that?
That turned extremely emotionally abusive really quickly, didn't it...
Turns out I'm still really unlucky when it comes to the game of MASH. After letting my 15-year-old sister Annie and her friend Maggie do MASH on me, it looks like I still have quite the dysfunctional and bizarre life ahead of me.
Even though I asked them to please put Sean as every single option for Spouse, they still included a Hobo (I guess I look like I'd be the type to marry a homeless person...) and Harry Potter.
Turns out I'm going to marry Harry Potter.
Which wouldn't be too bad, even though he's, you know, a FICTIONAL CHARACTER. But then what if I married one of my versions of adult Harry? (See here: http://www.verbal-vomit.com/2011/07/harry-potter-needs-therapy.html)
"Hannah, when are you going to stop somehow including Harry Potter in all of your posts?!" Never. The answer is never, so be quiet.
Harry and I will live in an Apartment in Forks, Washington. I imagine Forks is actually a lovely little place. Or it was, before it was became a scary pilgrimage spot for die-hard Twilight - excuse me, Twihard - fans.You're probably thinking living in an apartment in a beautiful area of Washington state with Harry Potter doesn't sound too bad.
But then you also need to know that my occupation will be a Cat. I'll wait while you process that. YES A CAT. It's a pretty ambiguous career, and Annie and Maggie really didn't have much to say on it besides "You're going to work as a Cat, Hannah." This could be a number of things, some of which I still haven't dared entertain the thought of.
So I'm going to pretend that I was bitten by a radioactive feral cat and turned into one.
It doesn't get better from here. How much money does one earn being a Cat? Well, no money, as it goes. As a Cat, I will be paid in Burritos. So that's good. I guess we'll never go hungry, right? Burritos all the time. Everyday burritos.
How will I get to and from my job as a Cat? I must have a car, or a mode of transportation, right? Not exactly. Of course, fate grants me the worst "car" ever.
I will be driving a Cardboard Box...wait for it....pulled by cats. This should make sense, since I am an occupational Cat. I'd like to imagine I am perhaps the Queen of the Cats, or...maybe its just as scary as you're imagining.
We also own a pet. You're probably thinking our pet will be a cat, since that would be a natural assumption to make, because of the whole team of cats that pull me around town. But we will actually have a pet Piece of Ham. I...really don't have an explanation for this one.
Over the years, Harry and I will become the proud parents of TEN children. Those poor children. A Burrito Cat (this is what I'm calling it now) as a Mother, and a fictional boy-wizard as a Father. Not to mention a disgusting pet. And since I'll probably be constantly strung out on whatever it was that made me think it was a good idea to keep a piece of ham as a pet, Harry will probably end up naming all of our kids really stupid things.
Once our children move out and go to Hogwarts or whatever, my entire life will go even more downhill.
I will, of course, eventually die. In this particular game of MASH we included how and when I will die. There is some good new and some bad news.
The good news (good?) is that I'll die at the ripe age of 90, probably looking like a big sack of flesh with some cat ears. The bad news, is that I will die in a freak explosion. All Annie and Maggie wrote down was Dryer+Flames. This didn't make sense to me at first, until they explained that I will be inside of a tumble dryer...which will then cause me to catch on fire.
Still didn't make sense. Still doesn't make sense. I've spent a while figuring out under what circumstances I would need to be in in order to meet my fiery end inside of a dryer. This is the best explanation I have.
That was the story of how my life is probably going to unravel into complete madness. If any of this actually happens, please kill me before it gets to the point where I'm screaming at a piece of ham.
Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House. You choose options for different categories, such as future spouse, job, income, pet, number of children, car, death, etc. Then you draw a spiral, and when the person you are MASHing says stop, you count the number of lines in the spiral. Using that number, you then count through the options, eliminating the ones you land on.
Everybody plays it differently. Some people are boring, and only do 4 categories (house, spouse, kids, income) but me and my friends tried to include as many categories as possible.
Most of my friends would end up with pretty good results, like marrying Leonardo DiCaprio and living in a mansion and driving a porsche.
MASH wasn't all Leo and Porsches for me though. I always ended up with the lame results, like living in a Shack with a Hobo.
Sometimes I'd end up living in a Shack with Leo, but what's the fun in that?
That turned extremely emotionally abusive really quickly, didn't it...
Turns out I'm still really unlucky when it comes to the game of MASH. After letting my 15-year-old sister Annie and her friend Maggie do MASH on me, it looks like I still have quite the dysfunctional and bizarre life ahead of me.
Even though I asked them to please put Sean as every single option for Spouse, they still included a Hobo (I guess I look like I'd be the type to marry a homeless person...) and Harry Potter.
Turns out I'm going to marry Harry Potter.
Which wouldn't be too bad, even though he's, you know, a FICTIONAL CHARACTER. But then what if I married one of my versions of adult Harry? (See here: http://www.verbal-vomit.com/2011/07/harry-potter-needs-therapy.html)
"Hannah, when are you going to stop somehow including Harry Potter in all of your posts?!" Never. The answer is never, so be quiet.
Harry and I will live in an Apartment in Forks, Washington. I imagine Forks is actually a lovely little place. Or it was, before it was became a scary pilgrimage spot for die-hard Twilight - excuse me, Twihard - fans.You're probably thinking living in an apartment in a beautiful area of Washington state with Harry Potter doesn't sound too bad.
But then you also need to know that my occupation will be a Cat. I'll wait while you process that. YES A CAT. It's a pretty ambiguous career, and Annie and Maggie really didn't have much to say on it besides "You're going to work as a Cat, Hannah." This could be a number of things, some of which I still haven't dared entertain the thought of.
So I'm going to pretend that I was bitten by a radioactive feral cat and turned into one.
It doesn't get better from here. How much money does one earn being a Cat? Well, no money, as it goes. As a Cat, I will be paid in Burritos. So that's good. I guess we'll never go hungry, right? Burritos all the time. Everyday burritos.
How will I get to and from my job as a Cat? I must have a car, or a mode of transportation, right? Not exactly. Of course, fate grants me the worst "car" ever.
I will be driving a Cardboard Box...wait for it....pulled by cats. This should make sense, since I am an occupational Cat. I'd like to imagine I am perhaps the Queen of the Cats, or...maybe its just as scary as you're imagining.
We also own a pet. You're probably thinking our pet will be a cat, since that would be a natural assumption to make, because of the whole team of cats that pull me around town. But we will actually have a pet Piece of Ham. I...really don't have an explanation for this one.
Over the years, Harry and I will become the proud parents of TEN children. Those poor children. A Burrito Cat (this is what I'm calling it now) as a Mother, and a fictional boy-wizard as a Father. Not to mention a disgusting pet. And since I'll probably be constantly strung out on whatever it was that made me think it was a good idea to keep a piece of ham as a pet, Harry will probably end up naming all of our kids really stupid things.
Once our children move out and go to Hogwarts or whatever, my entire life will go even more downhill.
I will, of course, eventually die. In this particular game of MASH we included how and when I will die. There is some good new and some bad news.
The good news (good?) is that I'll die at the ripe age of 90, probably looking like a big sack of flesh with some cat ears. The bad news, is that I will die in a freak explosion. All Annie and Maggie wrote down was Dryer+Flames. This didn't make sense to me at first, until they explained that I will be inside of a tumble dryer...which will then cause me to catch on fire.
Still didn't make sense. Still doesn't make sense. I've spent a while figuring out under what circumstances I would need to be in in order to meet my fiery end inside of a dryer. This is the best explanation I have.
That was the story of how my life is probably going to unravel into complete madness. If any of this actually happens, please kill me before it gets to the point where I'm screaming at a piece of ham.
