Dear Angry Agony Aunt,
I play Monopoly with my father religiously every Friday night. For the past year and a half, I’ve never won a game. I love my Dad but between the hours of every Friday night, he turns into a ruthless property tycoon. Then after it’s over, he returns to being normal and makes me a conciliatory cup of tea. Rather than make me tea, wouldn’t it be just as nice to let me win once in a while?
It sounds like you only have one choice. To cheat. And I’m not talking about easy cheating. That’s too easy. Simple distracting catchphrases like, “Dad, is that Donald Trump behind you?” or “Dad, who’s that guy in the kitchen and why is he kissing Mum?” isn’t going to work. You need to cheat big time. You need to think like an intellectual ninja - be swift, silent and accurate right from the first blow.
The first thing to do is visit charity stores and buy as many preloved, manky Monopoly sets as you can. You’re not looking for good quality boards; you’re looking for in-tact green Monopoly houses and red hotels. The rest of the set is just collateral damage. Chuck it out. Just let it go. Then when you’re Dad’s at home watering the garden, sneak into your room (I’m guessing you still live at home) and stash them. Then wait. Come Friday night, it’s elimination time.
At on Friday, take all the houses and hotels and shoved them in every polite orifice. Bra/pants/pockets/gstring/the underpart of your man boobs. Open the game with a polite , "Good evening Dad, ready for another game?" then sit down. Spend the first ten minutes or so, moving your horsey around the board a couple of times until that glorious moment when you get your first set of properties. It doesn’t matter if you get crappy Old Kent Road and Whitechapel Road, this is your time to pounce.
While he’s not looking, get all the houses and hotels off your person and place as many buildings as you can on your newly acquired properties. Jam fifty on the one spot if you have to. Don’t even wait for council approval.
Dad will argue. He’ll protest. There’ll be spit around his mouth when he yells down your face. He’ll call you a liar, a cheat and a ball-less bastard. It’s at this moment he’ll realise that, alas, with all these personality traits, you’re the ultimate property developer. Believe me, from then on, he’ll let you win a few games in the future. And let’s never speak of the ‘Incident of 2011’.
