Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home yet another collection of decorated cardstock, this time featuring illustrations of those spiky-haired, perpetually shouting men from the noisy picture-box. Apparently, this is a "game" called UNO, a ritual where they sit around the table slapping these things down and making noises of triumph or despair. From my perspective, the true value lies not in their nonsensical rules, but in the individual components. The cards are thin enough to slide under the refrigerator with a satisfying skitter, the box is a potential, if snug, new napping spot, and the so-called "Wild Shenron's Wish Card" means nothing to me unless the wish is for a continuous-flow gravy fountain. It seems like a tremendous waste of good petting time for them, but a moderate source of new batting materials for me.
Key Features
- It's the classic UNO card game everyone loves, with graphics geared to Dragon Ball Z fans! Perfect for anime fans ages 7 years and older.
- Each card is decorated with Dragon Ball Z graphics, which provides a new card-matching plot twist every time the game is played!
- Just like in the classic UNO game, players match cards by color or number in a race to empty their hand.
- Includes an exclusive Wild Shenron's Wish Card. Like other action cards, it can immediately change the momentum of the game!
- UNO Dragon Ball Z makes a great gift for collectors and manga aficionados.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with a foul ritual. The humans, instead of dedicating their laps to their rightful purpose as my thrones, gathered around the Great Wooden Plateau in the dining room. They produced a small, colorful box and from it, a deck of flat, slippery rectangles. I watched from my perch on the credenza, tail twitching in disdain. The cards were garish, depicting men with absurdly stiff hair in various states of agitation. It was, I concluded, a new and particularly foolish form of meditation where they stared at these ugly pictures. I began to groom my pristine white chest, utterly unimpressed. My interest was piqued, however, when the sounds began. Not just their usual chatter, but a rhythmic *flick-flick-flick* as my primary human shuffled the deck. It was a sound not unlike a moth beating its wings against a window pane, a siren song for my hunter's soul. They dealt the cards out, and I saw them not as a game, but as a flock of strange, rectangular birds. Each time one was played, it was a challenge. A bright yellow card with a grimacing warrior was a feint. A blue one was a clear taunt. They were communicating in a code of color and combat, and I, a master strategist, understood the true nature of this engagement. Then it happened. The tension in the room thickened. My human was down to a single card, a smug look on her face. Her opponent, however, smiled, and with a dramatic flourish, placed a card on the pile that was different from the others. It was dark, but swirled with power, and in its center writhed a great green dragon. "Wild Shenron's Wish!" he declared. A hush fell. This was it. This was the alpha of the flock, the king of the paper birds. It was a creature of immense power, capable of changing the very fabric of their little battle. It was a worthy adversary. While the humans debated the card's effect on their silly rules, I made my move. In one fluid motion, I launched from the credenza, a silent, grey predator descending upon the battlefield. My paw shot out, hooking the Shenron card with a single, perfectly extended claw. I snatched it from the table before they could even react, landing softly on the floor with my prize. They could have their lesser cards, their numbered peasants and colorful jesters. I had captured the soul of the game, the dragon itself. It was a magnificent trophy, and it crinkled most satisfyingly in my mouth as I carried it off to my lair beneath the sofa. The toy, I decided, was worthy. The players were not.