Watching the dice come up cocked / Very much like my first marriage.

Your disgustingly slow play will not disturb my inner tranquility / I recite this mantra as I plan his dismemberment.

Alone in the box / Watching the faces of my former friends.

Whether to make his 5 point or mine / Wishing I could flip a coin so no one could see.

Please tell me how lucky I am one more time / Let me show you what hot coffee feels like.

Tell me again how the dice on line are fair / Tell me again where Santa Claus lives.

The joy of making the prime / A feeling not unlike a successful visit to the bathroom.

Watching him gammon me with that smirk on his face / Wishing I had a gun.

How hard can it be to keep the dice on the table? / Wondering how this man can drive a car.

Yes, yes, I know. Yes, it was a good game. Yes, it is fun when you win a gammon, isn’t it?

A small bird picks up a tiny twig in Lubbock, Texas, and flies gently North and West. Once over the Grand Canyon, the bird will drop the twig. The twig will float gently down toward the bottom, and it will probably hit bottom before you make your next move.