arranged for four hands
O Lord more people I know are finally starting to trickle into Portland—we went to trivia night at the bar—I met a man who invited me to his housewarming party on Saturday. Will I go to the housewarming party? Probably. It is necessary to interact with the humans, to consume their foodstuffs and perhaps in time marry one of their daughters, so that they will accept you as one of their own.
Tuesday night is trivia night at Beulah Land Coffee and Ale House. Our team doesn't drink coffee or ale. We are sober and cheap. We crowd around the pinball machine and do our best to answer the questions shouted by the loud young muscular fellow who owns the bar: What island was Odysseus king of? (Easy!) What three reproductive groups comprise the mammals? (Hang on, I've got this.) Who played Hooper in TV's Hooper? (Er.) Then we win second place and get pixie sticks and some incense cryptically called "Luck," with some playing cards printed on the box, including the ace of spades, perhaps signifying that if you burn this incense you will capture Saddam Hussein. If I captured Saddam, I would make him teach me Arabic so that I could check out Omar Khayyam without Edward Fitzgerald's mediating influence. Then he would bake me a yellowcake cake of Nigerian uranium and we'd have a tea party.
Nigerian—that's not right. What is the adjective for Niger? Nigerese? Nigeric? Help me out, Merriam-Webster.
Ah. Nigerien (pronounced all Frenchy). "Nigerois," which M-W still uses, is out of date.
