Gulag is the New Pogs

Here's how you play Gulag:

Three players (we'll call them, for the sake of convenience, M, G, and A) sit side-by-side in class. A goes to Twin Cities Free Market online and finds someone who is giving away two yards of lava rocks. A sends a quick IM to M & G to ask if they would help her haul it if she responds to the ad. M & G, who are good sports, say Aw, sure, anything for you, A (or something like that).

Two days later, M, G, and A show up at the designated place to find a big pile of lava rocks on a tarp. The rocks have been sitting on the tarp for a couple of months, it seems. In that time, it has rained, frozen, and snowed. So the lava rocks are now basically one large chunk of ice. Nice. This is the fun part of Gulag. The players (who are allowed to grumble and curse openly) stand in the freezing weather and chip away at the mound. Chip, chip, chip, chip, chip. A pick-axe would have been nice, but the players only had shovels. They sweat. They gripe. They curse the idiot that failed to put a tarp on top of the rocks. They laugh at how stupid the game is. But mostly, they chip. Gulag!

This wasn't part of the game, but after we finished playing Gulag, I promised to treat M&G to lunch. First, though, I had to move the Subaru, because it was in Matt's way. So I drove forward about six feet, then left the keys in the ignition, got out of the car, pressed the door lock, and walked away. About one second later, I thought oh, crrraaaaaap. Yup, the keys were locked in. And it was still running. And my purse was sitting in the passenger seat. Amazing. Matt says, "No problem, where is your extra key?" "Um...it's attached to the same key ring as the first key?" He made me check all the doors, and as I do so, I look at Geoff, who is in his car and shaking his head with a huge grin on his face. Matt, nearly speechless with disbelief at my incessant stupidity, told me to get in his truck. One second later, Geoff calls to tell me how incredible I am, as if I didn't already know. During the ride to school I endure ridicule and chiding interrupted only by a call from Geoff, who was driving right behind us. "Someone else is playing Gulag!" he says. Sure enough, there was a Department of Corrections van at the side of the road, and a bunch of guys with chisels pounding away at something. Awesome.