Field notes
Attraction, reported chaos, reliability, and any behavior flags you actually observed.
Your ’80s Wingman
Your heart is a terrible casting director. Plot the attraction against the chaos, draw your own tolerance line, and let a VHS-era wingman tell you—with love—whether this is a romance or a trilogy of rescheduled plans.
MISSION BRIEFING / THE SCALE
It’s an old barstool joke: picture a chart with how attracted you are on one axis and how much chaos someone brings on the other, and somewhere there’s a line you shouldn’t cross. We kept the chart and fixed the part that never aged well.
Here, “crazy” means observed behavior—last-minute cancellations, mixed signals, a calendar that behaves like a weather system. It never means a diagnosis, a label, or anything about who a person is. And the line isn’t universal: you set your own chaos tolerance, because one person’s fun spontaneity is another person’s third rescheduled dinner.
The math is deliberately boring and fully shown: start at 100, subtract for chaos above your line, for lifestyle mismatch, for flaky follow-through, and for the behavior flags you actually saw. Attraction gets plotted, but it never buys back a flag. The jokes change every reroll; the score doesn’t.
THE FLIGHT PLAN
Attraction, reported chaos, reliability, and any behavior flags you actually observed.
Your own stats, your tolerance line, and what you’re looking for. Self-roast is opt-in.
Pick a wingman voice and roast heat. Get a score, a roast, a next move, and an anonymous share card.
GROUND RULES
If you report a boundary being ignored, threats, or feeling unsafe, the comedy stops and the score switches off—no punchline, no rating, just a pointer toward support. The wingman won’t read photos, guess at anyone’s mental health or identity, or pretend to predict your future. Nothing you type is stored, and share cards never include names, notes, or flags.