The questions. "Would you still ___ someone who…" hypotheticals, from gift-safe to absolutely not gift-safe. They live in one deck — nobody holds a hand of questions.
Every player gets the same two, kept hidden in hand:
That's your whole vocabulary. No maybes. The explaining comes after.
The drawer flips the top question card and reads it to the table, loudly.
Every player — drawer included — secretly picks a decision card and plays it face-down. Identical backs, no leaks, no fence-sitting.
All cards turn over at once. Count the split.
Now the game starts. Everyone justifies their vote — the weird what-ifs are the point. What if it's winter? What if it's one sock? Exactly.
The drawer awards 1 point for the best defense — or to nobody, if you were all mid. Cards come back, next player draws.
Public habits and social crimes. Plane-clappers, aux-cord hostage-takers, the people you love anyway.
Loyalty, pettiness, and the group chat you're definitely not in.
For couples brave enough to find out. Heart, heat, and one yard statue.
The worm, the delulu, the cortisol. The internet made them like this — vote anyway.
Socks stay on. Feelings get complicated. Someone signs something.
The expansion you hide when your parents visit. Confidently filthy, played after the polite friends go home.