The Most Dangerous Game

Looking around, I concluded that this certainly was nicer than the library in my house. And that’s assuming you would be generous enough to call the stack of Maxim magazine on top of my toilet tank a “library”. No, this place had wood paneling. Real books. No DVD’s. Classy. I let out a low whistle.

The classified ad had read simply:

Do You Have a Passion For Life?

Have I Got The Job For You!

No Experience Necessary!

Pays Well!

Call 687-2768

It’s probably not accurate to say that I have a “Passion For Life.” However I do have a passion for “Pays Well”, and seeing as the only thing I’ve had much experience with lately is reading Maxim on the toilet, this “No Experience Necessary” business was right up my alley as well. The phone number connected to a machine telling me when and where to go for the interview. When I arrived, there were a dozen or so other guys standing
around aimlessly. Exactly on time, a couple vans pulled up and we were shepherded in to them. 45 minutes later we’re out of the city at some estate, and shown to the library.


After about 5 minutes of standing around, an energetic man swept in to the room. He told us his name, which I immediately forgot, then stood there grinning and looking around the room. Eventually someone asked if he might tell us what the hell we were all doing there.

“Right, right! Of course! Straight to business! I like that! Good!” He stood there grinning and nodding for a couple more seconds. “I expect you want to know what you’re all doing here?”

A murmur spread throughout the room. Our self-appointed spokesperson replied, “That’s what I just asked you asshole. What are we doing here?”

“Asshole! Outstanding! Yes! You’ve got a bit of fire in you don’t you! Fantastic!” More grinning like an idiot. “All right! I’ll tell you!”

The guy practically skipped over to a chair, turned it backwards and sat down straddling it. “Gentlemen……I am……an eccentric billionaire.”

“…an eccentric fucking fruit cake….” was whispered somewhere behind me.

“And as an eccentric billionaire, I bore easily. I’ve tried all the so called “Extreme” sports.” He actually used finger quotes when saying “Extreme”. “I’ve “sky dived.” I’ve “bungee jumped.” I’ve “driven race cars.” I once “smacked a lion in the face with my penis.”


“And of course…..I’ve hunted. Birds and pigs, and lions and tigers and bears….oh my! Hahahaha.” He laughed at his own joke.

“But now I want to hunt the most dangerous game of all: Man”

A bit more silence. The madman grinned, clearly waiting for a response from the crowd. He would end up being a bit disappointed:

“Are you for real?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Wasn’t that, like, the EXACT plot of a Steven Seagal movie?”

“Yeah! Yeah it was! I remember that one!”

“No morons, it was a Jean Claude Van Damme movie.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“I think he’s right. That was a Van Damme movie.”

“Right, Jean Claude helps out some sexy female reporter to uncover some lunatic millionaire hunting homeless people. He ends up kicking a bunch of dudes in the face.”

“Did that one have the sexy female reporter?”

“Dude, every Van Damme movie had a sexy female reporter.”

Our host jumped out of his chair. “Please! Shut up! Shut up every one of you!” He stalked to the doors of the room and through them open. A butler of some sort came in and distributed extremely thick documents to everyone there. Our lunatic host returned to the middle of the room. “Look! This isn’t
some goddamned movie! I’m doing this for real! Will you stop talking about that fucking movie!”

A pause.

“Was that the one where he like kicked that guy around a corner?”

“I dunno. Maybe. The one where he’s standing like with the corner……. and he reaches up around the corner with his leg and hits that guy in the face?”
“Yeah, that one! That kicked ass!”

“That was retarded! You can’t kick a guy around a corner like that! It was the stupidest part of the damn movie!”

“DAMNIT! I SAID SHUT UP!” our host yelled. He started pacing back and forth at the front of the room. I started flipping through the document the butler had handed me. It appeared to be a contract authorizing this guy to hunt me for sport. On the last page it even had the line: “I, the undersigned, hereby acknowledge that as The Most Dangerous Game, I will be hun…………


“Look! This is really quite simple: I will pay you a large some of money if you let me hunt you for sport” our exasperated host launched into his sales pitch. “And I…..”

Someone interrupted, “Look. GUY. Speaking on behalf of The Most Dangerous Game you’ve got gathered here….”

Some chuckles from the crowd.

“… I think it’s important to say two things. One: You’re a fuckwad. Two: If you’re going to steal the plot from a movie for your little game, it should at least be a good movie. I mean. Come. ON. Set up an underground fighting tournament or something. Call it Fist of the Fucking Fuckwad. Did you ever see Lionheart? Now that….”


One of the excessively large contracts sailed through the air and struck him on the head. Thump. He collapsed in a heap


“Totally. Man, let’s get out of here.”

“I think it’d probably be rude if we didn’t steal several things on the way out.”

We started shuffling out, me trailing behind the rest.

“Hey, you guys sure that was a Van Damme movie? I could swear it was Steven Seagal”

I finally opened my mouth: “No man, that wasn’t me. It was Jean Claude.”

They all wheeled around.

“Steven Seagal! What are you doing here?”

I shrugged. “I saw the ad.”