My roommate has beaten me three times in a row, in chess.

Victories in the previous 434 matches had caused me to become accustomed. I considered the outcome certain, predestined in fact, and attributable to the possession of what I gladly reasoned was an ineliminable mental advantage. The matches themselves could be delicate and ornate explorations of the possibilities for dismantling your opponent. They were almost ritualistic. I tremendously enjoyed this state of affairs.

The losses of this weekend, well, they've got me a bit concerned. Early onset Alzheimer's? Mercury poisoning? Sex addiction? There must be some fucking explanation. This shit does not just happen!

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