Roast Me

Land on Roast Me and the whole table turns on you at once. Not one dig from one person — everyone round the table gets a free go, whatever comes to mind first, and the rule gives no one a reason to hold back. You just have to sit there and take it until the ring's had its say.

At a real table there's a beat of silence first, while everyone works out who's going for what. Then it comes thick and fast: the housemate who never washes a mug, the ex who was clearly a mistake, that one thing from three years ago somebody swore they'd let go. The thrower's face usually shifts from smug — they landed the dart, after all — to properly wounded by the third comment in. It goes wrong the moment someone reaches for something too raw, a break-up that's still fresh or a job that didn't pan out, and you can feel the table quietly dial it back.

The honest etiquette: roast the behaviour everyone's already seen, not the thing only you happen to know. And if you're on the receiving end, laughing along kills it stone dead — sulk, and the table just keeps going.

It sits in the 2nd Circle, so it's not a once-a-night novelty. Expect it a couple of times before the evening's out, which is only fair — everyone gets a turn dishing it back eventually.