In an exclusive interview with an unnamed source who claims to have been Walz’s college roommate, this shocking revelation has come to light, and it’s shaking the foundation of Walz’s public image. The once-beloved Democratic vice-presidential nominee may not only have to answer for his political decisions, but for his board game antics as well.

Our whistleblower, who we’ll refer to as “Steve” to protect his identity (and maybe his ego), attended Minnesota State University with Walz back in the day. What began as a normal college friendship blossomed into a deep rivalry that was cemented by one of the most cutthroat of college pastimes: board games. Specifically, Monopoly and Scrabble—two games designed to test strategy, patience, and, in Walz’s case, the limits of ethics.

“I knew something was off when he always seemed to win, no matter how badly he was doing mid-game,” Steve began, his voice carrying the weight of years of quiet frustration. “We’d be three hours into Monopoly, I’d have him cornered with hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place, and somehow—somehow—he’d worm his way out. And don’t even get me started on Scrabble. The man claims ‘qat’ is a word, but come on, who really knows words like that?”

According to Steve, Walz’s Monopoly strategy wasn’t just cunning—it was outright underhanded. The governor, who is known for his negotiation skills, apparently used them to manipulate the rules in his favor long before entering politics.

“He had this move,” Steve recalled, “where he’d convince everyone that landing on ‘Free Parking’ meant you got all the tax money. We’d argue about it for a bit, but he was always so convincing. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that’s not an official rule at all. It’s just some house rule that he probably made up so he could pocket all the cash.”

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Steve claims that Walz had a habit of slipping extra $500 bills under the table during the game. “I mean, who really counts how many $500s the banker has left?” Steve said with a sigh. “He’d just sneak one in when no one was looking, then suddenly ‘buy’ all the railroads.”

It was Monopoly manipulation on an industrial scale, an economy crumbling under the weight of one man’s insatiable greed for Park Place domination.

If Monopoly was bad, Scrabble was worse. Steve detailed how Walz’s tactics in the game of words went beyond simple strategizing and into the realm of linguistic deceit.

“He’d pull out these insane words, claiming they were legit,” Steve explained, shaking his head. “I remember one game where he used ‘zax.’ When we challenged him, he pulled out this beat-up pocket dictionary he carried everywhere. He showed us the word, and sure enough, there it was—a tool used by roofers in the 15th century or something. But who carries a dictionary around with them for casual Scrabble?”

Steve went on to explain that Walz always seemed to have the right letter tiles at the right time, too. “Looking back, I’m pretty sure he was ‘accidentally’ drawing extra tiles when no one was paying attention. How else do you end up with a seven-letter word for 60 points every game?”

It wasn’t just the obscure words that raised eyebrows. Walz reportedly bent the rules of gameplay itself. “He’d make up his own definitions if you questioned him,” Steve added. “One time, he put down ‘fowle’ and said it was an old English word for bird. We didn’t have Google back then, so we just had to take his word for it.”

Over time, these Monopoly and Scrabble incidents began to erode the trust between Steve and Walz. “It got to the point where we just stopped inviting him to game nights,” Steve admitted, looking more relieved than sad. “You can only take so much of that kind of behavior before you start questioning everything. Like, if he cheats at Scrabble, what else is he lying about?”

It turns out that Steve wasn’t the only one feeling the sting of Walz’s deceit. Other members of their friend group also grew wary of the future governor’s board game behavior. “We tried switching to other games—Risk, Settlers of Catan—but it didn’t matter. He’d always find some way to ‘negotiate’ an extra turn or misinterpret the rules in his favor,” Steve revealed.

The final straw came one fateful game night when Walz, after securing an impossible victory in Scrabble with a word no one had ever heard of, shrugged and said, “It’s all about playing the long game.”

“At that moment,” Steve recalled, “I knew he wasn’t just talking about Scrabble.”

Now, as Governor Tim Walz ascends the political ranks, questions arise: Can someone who cheats at board games really be trusted in the high-stakes world of politics? His critics have already begun drawing parallels between his game night tactics and his policy-making style, suggesting that Walz’s Scrabble and Monopoly strategies might just be indicative of his broader political approach.

“He’s been playing the game—literally and figuratively—for years,” one commentator observed. “What’s stopping him from bending the rules now?”

Of course, not everyone is convinced that Walz’s board game behavior is relevant to his leadership abilities. Some believe that his Monopoly skills are simply a testament to his negotiation prowess. “You don’t become a successful politician without knowing how to play the game,” one political analyst said, brushing off the accusations as trivial.

As the country becomes more polarized, it’s unlikely that these Monopoly and Scrabble allegations will be the downfall of Tim Walz’s career. Still, the revelations offer a glimpse into the man behind the political façade—one who will do whatever it takes to win, even if it means bending the rules of a friendly game night.

In a world where politicians are constantly under scrutiny, perhaps it’s time to ask the tough questions. Should we be electing leaders who cheat at board games? Is Monopoly the true test of character? And more importantly, is “qat” really a word?

The jury’s still out, but one thing is clear: Tim Walz’s board game nights were anything but fair play.