This is a summary of two distinct situations that happened a lot when I lived with, at its peak, three other steadfast geeks. Primarily, the puns. Always the puns. And I would be a liar if I claimed that I was innocent of them, descending from a long line of men with a propensity for language contemplation. My brain is genetically wired to find an absurd hook in our tongue, and then search for a way to employ it.
Once, one of the aforementioned roommates, so repulsed with my wordplay that his face had contorted into a kabuki mask of (justified) intellectual superiority and disdain, called down a curse upon me. He warned, seer-like, that a "karmic pun" would one day fall from the heavens, and crush my brittle frame, and the universe would have its justice. I'm not kidding.
Secondarily, this deadlock is also pretty typical of our arguments all through college. When you play Scrabble and Fluxx 
and Soul Calibur with the same two to three people for five years, you start guessing their next move. Person A might assert X. Person B will ask person A to repeat himself, in an act of defense. Person A will oblige. Rinse, repeat.
