This game is best when its commencement is inferred and not announced.

One person says a word which is a compound of two shorter words.
Next person says a word, also a compound of two shorter words, where the first half of the new word is the same as the second half of the previous word.
Each player continues, picking a compound word whose beginning half is the ending half of the previous word.
No player may reuse a word previously chosen, though word-components may be reused.
Two-word phrases are acceptable substitutes, particularly toward the end of the game when the well has begun to run dry, though compound words are worth more imaginary points than two-word phrases. The point deltas are never mentioned directly and are left to the aesthetic determination of the other players. Winning on points is also known as “losing”.

Example:
A: (innocently uses the word “firefly” in conversation)
B: Flypaper.
A: What?
B: You said “firefly”, so I said “flypaper”.
A: Yeah, and? …Oh. Hm… uh… “papercut”.
B: Cutthroat.
A: Throatlatch.
B: What? What the hell is “throatlatch”?
A: I don’t know, some piece of horse gear. I read it in a book once.
B: Okay, fine, fine, have it your way. Latchkey.
A: Keyboard.
B: Boardroom.
A: Roommate.
B: Mateless.
A: Lesson.
B: Less…on? Lesson? Hah. Very funny. No. I already gave you “throatlatch” and I’m not convinced that’s even a real word – you can’t have “lesson” when it’s blatantly not a compound.
A: Who says it has to be a compound? “Less” and “on”, it’s two legit words.
B: But it’s so gross, what are you, twelve?
A: Your fault for painting me into a corner – what else IS there? You nearly killed the game there and I’m just trying to save it.
B: (gives a long, hard look)
A: Okay, fine, “less than”.
B: Than what?
A: What cheer.
B: Cheerleader.
A: Leaderless. (bursts out laughing)
B: You’re a dick! What’s wrong with you!
A: (giggles) Okay, okay. Leadership.
B: Shipwreck.
A: Wreckless!
B: (groans)
A: Wreck yard.
B: That’s terrible. You lose ten points. Yardcare.
A: Care…free.
B: Freefall.
A: Fall-guy.
B: Guy wire.
A: Wirehead.
B: Is that a real word or just something from science fiction?
A: Who cares? It’s a real word now.
B: Okay, fine. HEADLESS.
A: Hah! Cheater. Less wrong.
B: Wrong way.
A: Waystation.
B: Stationkeeping.
A: Keeping time.
B: Time travel.
A: Travel time.
B: Well… that’s totally uncool, but I suppose it’s legal. Timepiece.
A: Piecework.
B: Workhouse.
A: Housefly.
B: Flypaper.
A: You already used that one.
B: Damn it, you’re right. Flyweight.
A: Weight class.
B: Class clown.
A: Clown car.
B: Car phone.
A: Phone home.
B: Homework.
…and continue until the novelty has worn off.