How this beautifully inappropriate game came to be.
[Placeholder — replace with the real story.]
It started at a funeral. Of course it did. Somewhere between the second drunk eulogy and a great-uncle loudly explaining the will to a stranger, someone leaned over and whispered: "I swear this is a bingo card."
So we made one. Then another. Then a whole cursed deck. What started as a coping mechanism for one awkward afternoon turned into a full-blown group sport, played in hushed voices from the back pew.
Terrible Bingo exists because grief is weird, families are weirder, and the only thing that makes the whole spectacle survivable is quietly making eye contact with someone across the room when the third cousin brings up crypto.
Play kindly. Mark honestly. And for the love of everything, silence your phone before you shout BINGO.