That awkward moment when you wonder not just “Who did I just offend?” but “Who did I just encourage?” ought to give all satirists pause. And Cards Against Humanity, as a do-it-yourself kit for amateur satirists that also bills itself as an icebreaker party game, is a wall-to-wall extravaganza of such moments.

You see, the tagline on Cards Against Humanity’s box is a lie. The game isn’t for horrible people. It’s designed to reassure you that you aren’t a horrible person. That’s the whole point.

When I play a card combo like “What will always get you laid? Date rape,” I’m asking the women at the table to trust that I’m a good, decent guy who doesn’t actually commit date rape or find date rape funny. I’m asking them to get the joke, which is that obviously we all think rape is horrible and therefore me being flip about it is shockingly hilarious.

Every time I play “Surprise sex” as a punchline in Cards Against Humanity I have no way of actually knowing why anyone in particular is laughing. I have no way of knowing if I’m making a rape joke with an actual rapist. But if I play enough pickup games of Cards Against Humanity, someday eventually I will. Hell, even if I only ever play with close friends that I trust, that’s no guarantee—I really, really don’t want to think any of my friends are rapists, but how would I know?

This puts words to a lot of the feelings I have specifically about Cards Against Humanity, but also popular sources of satire like Stephen Colbert. We seem to obsess over who’s getting offended (and then why they shouldn’t be offended because its “just a joke”). But the very real flip side of that is who didn’t get the joke? Who thinks you’re being serious? And why doesn’t that bother you more?