Game Review: Cards Against Humanity
How well do you know your friend? Do you know their sense of humor, or maybe that one pop-cultural reference they can’t stop mentioning? Cards Against Humanity will test that. More than just what humor means to one another, the game connects friends through their individual personalities—by what makes them laugh or feel comfortable enough to admit out loud.
A 600-card deck packed into a black coffin-like box are divided into white and black cards for “eternal replayability.” White cards are nouns or gerunds, and the black cards are fill-in-the-blank prompts. Each player takes ten white cards at random and considers which to put down for the prompt. How close are you to your friend—close enough to share when you’ve last pooped? Well, you have to know this because the player who most recently pooped is the first Card Czar—the one who selects a black card.
The deeper each participant knows the Czar—his or her personality, the kind of humor or niche pop-culture references they make—the more likely you are to place down a white card in favor of the Czar’s humor, rather than what is funniest to yourself. It’s a test to what you’re willing to have people know about you.
The subjectiveness of the game forces players to listen, remember, and play to the Czar’s tastes, quirks, and comedic likes through playful competition. Deeper, a more interactive Mad-Libs, Cards Against Humanity is an intimate exploration of companionship. Anyone who plays with me knows if there is a Baja Blast or Taco Bell reference, I will be selecting that card—the more you know what I like, the more likely your card will be chosen.
There are several varieties of expansion packs, such as the Nasty Bundle, Pop Culture bundle, the Hidden Gems bundle, and more. The limits to your sick or greatest pleasures are limitless. You can get as rowdy, nerdy, sexy, or quirky as you and your friends want.
While the game is meant to challenge stereotypes and expose what people find funny or funny enough to be a stretch-of-the-line joke, Cards Against Humanity’s catch phrase is a party game for terrible people. If you know what makes me horrible, then you win. The exaggerated stereotypes are an unexpected lens for self-reflection. It tests what the room is willing to admit and repeat out loud through the Czar. Cards such as cocaine in vending machines, a hopeless amount of spiders, dead infants in a cardboard box, grandpa’s burning ass, or illegal [undocumented] immigrants for a What does mom love? prompt can pull what the room treats as decipherable and appropriate. It is a line between harm and humor.
The R-rated game ends at the players’ choice. After each round, the winner takes the black card; thus, the greater number of black cards a participant has at the end establishes the “winner.”
As the rounds unfold, Cards Against Humanity becomes a subtle test of friendship and observation, rewarding players who can read the room and tailor their responses with care. It becomes a social experiment, where the real win is proving how well you know the people you’re laughing with.