The card states “If your hand is lower, remove one garment.” My hand is lower. The digital model on screen, a woman with this intense, almost bored stare, uncrosses her arms. The dress just fades away, obviously, no physics to it. They call this a strip card game but it’s really about counting. Counting high numbers. Counting low numbers. I’m sitting there, Wednesday night, dominating these hands with a rhythm that feels almost aggressive, like swiping through Tinder too fast. There’s this one opponent, a redhead, who keeps pulling aces from thin air and I swear the logic is bent.

Her outfit reverts back after each ‘round’ if you lose focus on the sequence, like a bad dream where you’re trying to assemble furniture and the instructions keep changing. For an unpolished project with real models, the lack of any real striptease animation is a gaping hole. I mean, the clothes just vanish. Poof. I spent fifteen minutes fixated on that visual hiccup, not in a horny way, more in a ‘debugging code’ kind of irritation. Yet, I kept playing. The erotic part is buried deep in the anticipation it creates and then fails to deliver, a sort of ruined orgasm you manually have to imagine.

But the deck. The deck feels watched. I’m pretty sure the shuffle algorithm learned my tells. You nail a complex trick, feeling like a genius in your sweatpants, and then the next draw smacks you down with a mathematically impossible five of clubs that costs you a shoe. A shoe. I complained about the lack of boobs to my ceiling for a solid minute. It’s a logic puzzle wearing a trench coat, flashing you not enough, and honestly, the soundtrack in my head was better than whatever muted quiet the game offered. I’d say it’s sixty percent frustration, thirty percent accidental comedy, and ten percent whatever you can flick through on your phone from the browser tab that’s definitely not work safe.