This takes place in a relatively popular Minecraft server for my area, where everyone is challenged to build the biggest, best build they can. I personally love modern-looking mansions, so I decide to build a huge one, and since I’m gay, I put a rainbow beacon set on the roof. It is huge, and it takes me weeks of logging on during every spare moment I have to finish just the outside. I start on the inside, but I have to log off for the night.

When I log back in the next morning, I can’t see the rainbow beacons. There are hundreds of other modern mansions that are just as big and spectacular as mine, so it will take me at least thirty minutes to look, but I have to be somewhere in thirty-five minutes. I decide to take the fast route and just chat [Moderator #1] to see what happened. I am also acquainted with [Moderator #1] in real life, so I have an idea of what happened.

Me: “Hey, [Moderator #1], do you know what happened to my rainbow beacons that were on top of my mansion? I can’t find it otherwise, because it looks so similar to everyone else’s.”

Moderator #1: “Oh, those? Yeah, the person that lives in your mansion now took them off.”

Me: “In my mansion?! I didn’t give anyone permission to be in my mansion!”

Moderator #1: “Oh, well, you gave me permission to sell one of your other mansions, so I figured you wouldn’t care if I sold this one.”

Me: “I only gave you permission to sell that mansion because it was small and crappy! This one I’m not even done with yet, and it’s the hardest build I’ve ever made!”

Moderator #1: “Whatever. It’s not my problem that you didn’t clarify it was just the one mansion. If you want to complain further, here’s the gamertag of the person that lives in your mansion now. [Moderator #2].”

[Moderator #1] then logs off, leaving me to talk to [Moderator #2] alone.

Me: *Fuming* “Hey, [Moderator #2], I need to talk to you.”

[Moderator #2] reads all the chats.

Moderator #2: “Yeah, [My Gamertag], I kind of figured that out. I’m so sorry and I had no idea he didn’t have permission from you to sell the mansion. I also thought I got scammed since the inside wasn’t even finished.”

I’m relieved that [Moderator #2] isn’t an a**hole like [Moderator #1].

Me: “Yeah, the reason it wasn’t finished is that I didn’t know he was going to sell it. I’ll get him to give you a refund.”

Moderator #2: “He’d better give me a refund! I spent four emeralds and three wither skeleton skulls on this house!”

Me: “Oh, also can you put the rainbow beacons back up? I have to leave now, but that’s the only way I’ll be able to see it when I log back in.”

Moderator #2: “No problem. Also, after he gives me my refund, [Moderator #1] is getting banned!”

[Moderator #1] did end up paying back [Moderator #2] in full, he gave me an apology, and then he got banned for selling property without permission from the owner. I finally finished my house, and I also never saw [Moderator #1] in person or on Minecraft again.

My dad starts taking a liking to a few video games when I am just starting high school, and he usually asks me for any help with them. However, he has a quick temper whenever I help him.

A clear example of this is when a popular game re-releases with a special edition. My dad asks me how to deal with the inventory space within the game.

Dad: “So, how do you work with the inventory? How can I get my sword quickly?”

Me: “Oh, that’s easy! You press E, and then you press Y on whatever item you want quickly. It’s called Favorites. And, actually, we can take it further by numbering them so it is a lot faster. So, with your sword, you can number it—”

Dad: “Stop! STOP! You’re controlling my game!”

Me: “…”

I’m playing an online video game with a few friends when a newer player approaches and asks to join. I, the leader, say no because it would hold back our leveling. Then, we have the following conversation.

Player: “Let me join! I’m a good player, I promise!”

Me: “I’m happy to do it later, but I’m grinding right now, and a low-level player would only hold me back.”

Player: “Why not let me join? I can help you a lot!”

Friend: “[My Username] is right; we can’t let you join right now. In a bit, maybe, but not right now.”

Player: “F*** you!”

My Whole Party: “What?!”

Player: “You all are a bunch of a**holes!”

Me: “Cool it, buddy.”

Player: “Just let me join, or I’ll report you!”

Me: “Nope, not now, not later, not ever.”

The player lets loose a slew of profanity and slurs, directed toward me.

Me: “You signed your own death warrant just now.”

I click report and the player is kicked shortly. The next day, I meet someone with a username just one letter off, and I receive this message.

Player: “Hi, can I join your party?”

Me: “You must take me for a low-watt bulb.”

Player: “What?”

Me: “Your username is literally just one letter different. At least change it properly, if you’re going to try and trick me.”

The player unleashes another slew of profanity, stretching for a few minutes.

The player was kicked again. We’ve danced to this same tune at least half a dozen times now, and it won’t be the last. I’m partly entertained by this dude’s persistence and partly saddened to have lost my hope in humanity.

I’m playing on a rather small Minecraft server when a new player approaches me.

Player: “Hey, [My Gamertag]!”

Me: “Hello! Welcome to the server.”

Player: “You’re wearing diamond gear. Can I have some?”

Me: “I’m sorry, no. I barely have enough to keep my armor repaired.”

Player: “I’m black.”

Me: “Okay, and?”

Player: “Give me diamonds.”

Me: “Look, I already said no. I can help you mine for them, but I can’t just give you my stuff.”

Player: “Racist!”

Me: “What?”

Player: “You’re not giving me diamonds because I’m black!”

Me: “No, I’m not giving you diamonds because I can’t spare any.”

Player: “[Moderator #1], [My Gamertag] is harassing me!”

The mod has read the entire exchange.

Moderator #1: “…”

Player: “[My Gamertag] is a racist. BAN HIM.”

Moderator #1: “I’m not banning him, and you need to calm down, [Player].”

Player: “You’re racist, too! This server sucks!”

Me: “Just be quiet. Nobody is buying into your crap.”

Player: “F*** you, f****t!”

Moderator #1: “Stop cursing, or you’re going to be banned.”

Player: “You can’t tell me what to do, p****-a** b****!”

The mod bans the player.

A few days later, a player with a very similar username joins.

Player: “Hi, I’m white. Give me diamonds.”

Me: “Didn’t [Moderator #1] ban you a few days ago?”

Player: “I don’t know what you mean.”

Me: “Listen, I don’t have any diamonds to spare.”

Player: “You’re a racist! You’re a hacker! You’re…”

The player proceeds to call me every name in the book and proceeds to contradict himself multiple times, saying that I hate black people and then later saying I hate white people. 

Me: “Hey, [Moderator #2]! Can you ban this guy?”

Player: “I haven’t done anything!”

I couldn’t help laughing; this guy was so stupid. [Moderator #2] banned him.

I haven’t seen him since, but I still joke about it sometimes with my friends. To this day, I wonder if he was a troll or just plain dumb. I hope it’s the former; otherwise, I would lose faith in humanity.

It’s Christmas Day at my grandparents’ house. Dinner has been served and eaten, presents and stockings have been opened and, to entertain the eight cousins in attendance, my aunt has come up with some party games.

First up is “pin Baby Jesus in the manger.” My oldest cousin, a ripe twenty years old, offers to be the first to have an oversized Santa hat pulled over his eyes. Once that’s in place, he gets spun around by many eager hands a few times. It’s simple from there: get Baby Jesus from his hand to the manger that is no more than five feet in front of him.

The manger is taped to a closed door, which my cousin had noted before having his eyes covered. Next to said closed door is a painting that has hung there for as long as any of us can remember. When he gets close enough, my cousin confidently leans one hand against the door and slaps the Baby Jesus as hard as he can onto the glass of the painting’s frame with his other. 

Lots of shouting and laughter ensues. After it’s established that he didn’t break anything, my cousin turns to my grandma and asks an innocent question. 

“That means I get to keep the painting, right?”