Editors Jennifer Wright and Ashley Cardiff are very fond of the bar game “Fuck, Marry, Kill,” in which they must choose one fate for each of three given subjects. It can be played with conventionally attractive people, literary figures or fictional characters. Today, they’re playing with… Rock, Paper and Scissors. You read that correctly.
Ashley: Okay, so we were trying to find some good subjects for a “Fuck, Marry, Kill” and we were looking in the news. The Avengers seemed like the best bet, but Jen’s just going to marry Tony Stark because he’ll send their kids to private school and I’m just going to be conflicted about it. So then I figured I’d just let the top searches on Google news decide for us, but that resulted in “Fuck, Marry, Kill”: Mark Zuckerberg, Dharun Ravi, and the Solar Eclipse. Which is problematic for at least two reasons. Jennifer agreed it was stupid and compared it to doing, “Fuck, Marry, Kill”: Rock, Paper, Scissors. I thought that was hilarious so here we are.
Jennifer: So, I think this is an easy one. Marry Paper because he will send your kids to private school. Fuck Rock because of his hard, unyielding personality and dominant streak. And kill Scissors because anything else is either literal or emotional suicide.
Ashley: Well, obviously fucking or marrying Scissors is… dark. But aren’t you conflating Paper with money? Because I think you are.
Jennifer: No, books! (And money.)
Ashley: Paper is clearly the most refined. Certainly husband material. And I’m a sucker for Rock’s rakish masculinity but, I think we were both too quick to pass off Scissors as the obvious kill. Don’t you think Scissors seems kind of… tortured? In a compelling way? Also, this is absurd.
Jennifer: NO, ASHLEY, NO! I WON’T LET YOU RUIN YOURSELF FOR HIM, EVEN THOUGH HE SEEMS “SENSITIVE”! It’s interesting how the tortured situations you have to pull me out of are very different than the tortured situations I have to pull you out of. You’re always being sucked in by “edgy gleaminess”.
Ashley: There is a marked difference, yes. But you could craft with him, Jennifer. He would use craft as a verb for you. These scrapbooks won’t craft themselves. Wait. Isn’t scrapbook a verb now?
Jennifer: Ashley. Be serious. He would cut you apart in your sleep for fun. Why can’t you just love people who are nice to you? Who take care of you, rather than slashing you, CREATIVELY?
Ashley: I’m being as serious as I can be about marrying inanimate objects. It’s just–if we’re going by abstract personifications we kind of agree on–Scissors is clearly the most sensitive but also dangerous. It’s a tried-and-true combination. Scissors is like the James Dean of the three.
Jennifer: He’s not sensitive! He’s all about destruction! I know it! I recognize his desire to watch the world burn in myself!
Ashley: Scissors plays on the self-loathing instincts in each of us. But you can’t introduce your parents to Scissors. Moreover, Scissors is arguably the most painful of the three for the Fuck option. So I guess, no matter what, you have to kill Scissors.
Jennifer: With sheer joy, Ashley. With sheer joy. Why are we so drawn to him? I mean, look, you know I’ll marry Paper, because, obviously. But as I’m fucking Rock I can see myself… yes… fantasizing about Scissors.
Ashley: You’re dead right.
Jennifer: La doleur exquise.
Ashley: I agree that the obvious choice is to marry Paper. There’s a clean, open certainty to Paper that I could really see myself being with for the long haul. Moreover, I feel like the name of the game implies that marriage will involve qualitatively lesser sex than whomever you choose to “fuck.” By which I mean, with Paper, long after the passion dies, you can sit together by the fireside and play Pictionary in your twilight years. I guess, maybe. Well, obviously Paper shouldn’t sit beside the fire. And you can’t touch him within thirty minutes of taking a shower. Or let him near children. Or pets. Maybe marrying Paper would prove difficult.
Jennifer: I mean, do you have an apartment in New York that has a working fireplace? No. Of course you don’t. I also really like Pictionary. I really do. You know what I absolutely hate? Scrabble. And chess. I really hate strategy. I think it would be a really good, stable life for me, with Paper. I think he’d be nice. I think I could be happy with him.
Ashley: Look, I’d hate to see my partner die because my hair was wet. Or because he was outside on July 4th. I rescind my statement that Paper is most fit for marriage, because now I realize ours would be a marriage fraught with tragedy.
Jennifer: But love, first! Also, really? Like, are you constantly finding your dollar bills are ON FIRE? Are you a careless, loveless idiot, Ashley?
Ashley: It’s a big problem! Okay. New direction. I say marry Rock. He’s simple, sure, maybe a little more dull and less literate than paper, but he’s also dependable. He’ll always be there. He’s probably 1,000 years old so you could ask him about stuff like codpieces and the Plague. AND you could put little googley eyes on him, to make it less weird.
Jennifer: Oh my gosh, and a fuzzy nose! You could rub his fuzzy little nose!
Ashley: It’s true!!
Jennifer: Also, rocks can mean diamonds. In rap songs. Like “Jenny from the Block”. One is not to be fooled, by the rocks that she got.
Ashley: I’m not going to be distracted by the thing you just said, and I’m instead going to file my final decision: I say Marry Rock because he’s an old soul, etc. Fuck Scissors, just do it carefully but passion is dangerous, anyway. And Kill Paper, because it’s easy. And he’s recyclable.
Jennifer: No, Ashley, Scissors, legitimately, will actually kill you. You will be dead. You can’t fuck Scissors. I won’t let you. I will show up with Rock. And he will beat the shit out Scissors. For you will be his wife.
Ashley: Can’t decide if a joke about those soft-handled “kid friendly” scissors is inappropriate or not.