Richard Spencer Looks a Little Mongoloid

I’m just saying.  Has anyone ever checked his name against a list of Special Olympics gold medal winners?  Bet he’s on there.

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Look, I didn’t want to do this, but people won’t stop hassling me about the Alt-Riechtards and where I stand on the issue of punching Nazis. I’m against it.  It isn’t right to punch people with such obvious mental disabilities.

But mostly, I don’t even want to talk about it.  Especially here.  Is there a d20 involved?  No?  Then get the hell outta here – haven’t you figured out yet that I don’t think the D&D table is an appropriate place for politics?

Seriously tho – this is a pretty good analysis of things.  Better than most that you’ll read.

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On Sale Now!

I’m experimenting with pricing.  If you already paid full price for Ultimate Victim, shoot me an email and I’ll send you one genuine, bona-fide apology suitable for printing, framing, and admiring.  If you waited to buy it until the time was right, then now is the time.  At a mere $1.99, it now costs less than a candy bar and is twice as filling!  Here are a few pages of free preview so you can dip your toe into the glorious writing of this epic tale of justice – social warrior style!

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Well, Well, Well. What Have We Here?

Remember when I said that this week’s session might see the players encounter goblin-wights if I had a bad week?  Well, let me tell you about my week.  A long drive to Virginia to visit a friend for a nice lunch picnic turned ugly on us when a bunch of anime LARPers showed up waving their black flags, and then the cops emptied the park right into a bunch of people LARPing as commies waving their red flags.  Then the media got stuck in, jamming cameras in everybody’s faces and desperately jockeying to get footage that would support their pre-written Narratives without a pesky little thing like a factual basis getting in the way.  It was crazy with a capital craze!

So Sunday’s RPG sessions saw…nah, I’m just kidding.  My weekend has nothing to do with my RPG session.  I had already decided earlier in the week that the wights were gone, thanks to the goblins, and that they had captured two goblin-wights, which they had chained up at the entrances to their liar in The Dungeon.  All the minimum-wage Soros-funded bottle throwers in the world couldn’t convince the alt-right DM to change that.  He is a clever and heavy handed judge, but he is also a fair and impartial judge.

Come to think of it – that latter quality doesn’t just make him a good DM, it makes him a good person.  It is also that quality that makes him an alt-right person.  But I digress.  It turns out the five minutes of prep regarding the goblin-wights that I conducted during my morning neckbeard trim wasn’t even necessary.

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Near the entrance to The Dungeon, in one of the first few rooms, there is a well.  A plain and simple well, the likes of which you might throw a fool of a Took.  One of the FLGS players impishly dropped a rock down the well this week.  It made a splash, and the characters turned to leave, only to hear the clatter of a rock behind them.

A wet rock.

I did a silent ten count in my head, as they gathered about, stood about, and did about everything but get ready for the swarm of fishmen coming up the well.  The magic-user finally thought to look down it, and found himself face to face with a fishy headed thing crawling out.

Surprise round!  Four of the things jumped out and laid into the party.  The party lost first round initiative and then there were eight, all jumbled into the party.  The torchbearers went down, and things got dark – for everyone.  The fishmen live in caves lit by phosphorescent fungus and found themselves as stricken by the darkness as the party.  The lone dwarf managed to grab the magic-user, a thief, and a fighting man, and throw them at the exit while two henchmen wailed on each other and the second fighting man in the dark.

Village.  Roll up a new character.  Hire an increasingly expensive pair of torchbearers, one with a lantern.  Buy plenty of rope and make sure the magic-user has levitate in his arsenal.

The descent into the depths of The Dungeon was uneventful.  Forty feet down, the first room was only knee deep in water.  They did some exploration, killed some flying wolf fish, played with a statue that hid a small treasure, triggered a trap or two, and fought some more fish-dudes.  They also found a number of submerged passages that are beyond their capabilities right now.  They lost a PC, lost an NPC, and retreated under duress.  The rope up the well was still there, so the fighting withdrawal went better than anyone expected.  The magic-user cast levitate on the last fighter at the bottom of the well and snatched him out of the claws and jaws of three fish-dudes.  While he was doing that, the dwarf had run outside, grabbed a rock the size of his head, and returned.  With the last fighter ‘safe’ in the well room, they hucked the Big Rock down the well and cleared it off pursuing fish-dudes.

Not a bad little expedition for Team Game Shop.  No real lessons learned or wisdom to impart from this session.  Just the usual crew doing workmanlike work, man.  Stack them coins, rack them XP, and see what the next week brings.

Stay safe out there, my dudes – and don’t let the alt-Riechtards get you down.  America wasn’t made great in a day, and it won’t be made great again in a day.  If the God Emperor can face down enemies in his own White House, we can face down enemies in our own hashtags.

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Thus Always With Tyrants

Last time we talked about why calling not-D&D by the D&D name is a huge mistake, but only touched lightly on why it is so important for the progressives to commandeer the D&D brand away from right thinking individuals and rugged manly men.  Let’s delve deeper.

These people are parasites.  Plain and simple.  They’ve been parasites their whole lives, and they know no other way.  Deep down, they realize that everything they do, everything they think, everything they are, is predicated on those who have come before them.  At the same time, they have been force fed the lie that they are special and unique and clever and better than anyone who has ever come before them.  It’s a terrible thing to do to somebody, to tell a loser that they are a winner and then put them in a position destined to expose their fraudulent existence to the world.

To tell somebody they are like, so creative, and then to expect them to create, is cruel, but that’s what we do.  You can see it at Marvel Comics where the milkshake crew.  (And aren’t you proud of me for not making any “I’ve got a milkshake you can suck down” jokes?  I’ve really matured since becoming the best selling author of Ultimate Victim: The SJW Superhero.)  You can see it with the ladies at D&D With Porn Stars.  You can see it draped all over the head table at the Gen Con Inside-Her Panels.  Hell, you can see it in every word ever written by John Scalzi.

These people lack creativity.

They participate in Chinese Menu style gaming where everything is pre-selected for them.  They pick and choose a few modules that somebody else built, bolt them together in a predictable pattern, and then brag about how new and cool that thing they invented is.

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SJW D&D, in a fishing expedition of a nutshell.

“My dwarven wizard is gay and has daddy issues and rolled a 4 on the backstory table.  I’m so creative!”

“My campaign is set in Faerun, except Elminster is gay and the Harpers are all trans-women.  I’m so creative!”

“Everybody loves Mass Effect!  Let’s make that again, but more autistic and cringey!”

“My Iron Man is a black teenage girl genius who likes the science and doesn’t need Tony Stark except that she can’t do the science and since I don’t know how to show her being awesome, I’m going to keep Tony Stark around to constantly tell the reader that HE thinks she is awesome, because while *I* can’t get people to like Riri, maybe a creative character that the reader likes can do it for me.”

Deep down, they know.

The only thing worse than building your self-image around a talent that you don’t have is trying to show the world how great you are while a true talent effortlessly outshines you at every turn of the page.  So they worm their way into the realm of the true creative, drape themselves in the hard won victories, of their betters, and then crow about how special they are.  See?  They are doing the D&D, too!

If they were creative, they would have made their own games.  They would have met D&D on the field of battle and wiped the floor with it.  They tried – oh, how they tried – with all of their flash in the pan story games, their Forge Inspired tedium, but in the end, they simply couldn’t compete with that might juggernaut engineered by Saint Gygax.  So, as is their wont, they doubled down, lied about their failures to secure places of honor as “successful creatives”, and did what entryists always do – latched onto the glory of D&D like lampreys on a shark or my second ex-wife on my bank account, and claimed to be the true heirs of D&D, fixing it and improving it by turning it into another one of their failed state games.

Nobody likes storytelling games.  Not really.  They say they do, but they don’t.  Not in enough numbers to support that style of gaming.

So if you can’t beat them – and the SJWs can’t beat creative types – join and usurp them.  Then suck the value they’ve created out of the property, and move on to find the next victims/suckers.

Sic semper tyrannus.

And that’s why it’s so important to push back against them.  If you stand idly by and watch , they’ll destroy every creative thing ever produced, and then you will once again be left with nothing to choose between but “Big Bang Theory” on the telly, John Scalzi on the bookshelf, and Girl D&D on the table.  And I can’t imagine a worse world than that.

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You Really Are Doing It Wrong

GirlDND2My weekly podcast listen turned into trash when the three DMigos bailed out on Save or Die.  If I want to hear lazy, nasally analysis of trivial nonsense, I’ll turn on CNN.  It was grim for a while there, until in an idle moment I checked on the status of Save For Half.  Somehow the massive marketing push they made on Save For Half failed to penetrate my media shields, but now I’m catching up.

In Episode 4: Cyborg Commando, Jim Wampler provides a very thoughtful discussion on play styles in which he completely misses one of the larger fault-lines destroying tabletop gaming today.  Jim’s analysis focuses exclusively on cosmetic differences and arguments about preferences.  It all sounds eminently reasonable and ecumenical, but ignores the key disconnect.

Imagine, if you will, that old E. Reagan Wright were to tell you that he sure does love him some Dungeons and Dragons.  He loves the flashing lights, the driving music, the well-oiled hard bodies,  the arrhythmic sound of slapping flesh and soft moans punctuated by loud grunts, the ready availability of hard drugs, and the wide selection of accessible partners ranging from big huggable bears to young and nubile barely-18 boys.  But really, the part he loves best in the complete lack of judgement in the room as he dives naked into the writing carpeted bleachers full of fully aroused drunken men who care nothing for tomorrow nor the decades stripped off of our lives thanks to the homophobic nature of epidemiology.

Reagan, you might object, that doesn’t sound like Dungeons and Dragons at all. That sounds like a gay nightclub orgy.

To which E. Reagan Wright might explain: don’t tell me how to play Dungeons and Dragon.  That’s how I prefer to play it, and if you dare suggest that I’m doing it wrong then you are a hateful jerk.  After all, everyone knows that modern Dungeons and Dragons requires the copious exchange of body fluids, and Wizards of the Coast itself supports hot man on man D&D action in dark clubs, so you have no right to tell me I’m doing it wrong.  And if everyone starts to associate D&D with AIDS, then welcome to the current year, expletivenoun*.

You get my point.  You can slap all the lipstick on that pig that you want, but it’ll still be Anita Sarkeesian.

When E. Reagan Wright says, “You’re doing it wrong!”  he doesn’t mean that you should stop what you are doing.  He doesn’t mean you should be ashamed of what you are doing.  He doesn’t mean your way of doing what you are doing is better or worse that his way of doing what you’re doing.

He just means that it is wrong to call what you are doing D&D.  If what you are doing is storytelling, then call it that.

And that’s why E. Reagan Wright calls the modern day pink slime played at the friendly local, Girl D&D.  It isn’t really D&D.  It’s a not-D&D that the world has agreed in its collective delusion is somehow D&D – similar to the way everyone pretends that CNN does journalism or that drinking milkshakes while young and plain and wearing the right style of problematic glasses proves one’s talent at comic book editing – despite all evidence to the contrary.

Jim Wampler might be right about a lot of things, but his entire rant is built around the wrong questions.  It isn’t a question of preference, it’s a question of terminology.  What you are doing might not be objectively wrong, but it’s objectively no more D&D than my usual Tuesday night out at the bars.

*Asshat.  Fuckface.  Turdbaby.  Madlib swearing is how progressives demonstrate their “creativity”.

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Spam Sucks, As Do Filters

You’ll never see old E. Reagan Wright filtering his speech, but his mail server apparently has a macro-aggressive spam filter.  This fact has become clear in just the last few weeks.  So if you’ve sent me an email before then, and I didn’t respond, it isn’t because the Alt-Right DM doesn’t love you.  He just didn’t check his spam filter.  He’ll start doing that on the regular now that he knows.

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My Players So Smart

My players are really getting the hang of this “Real D&D” thing.  It took some time to break them of their soft and womanly style of play, but now they are running like a well-oiled murder machine.  They hit The Tomb and where last time through, they did a run and gun, this time they took a little more time.  Did some more searching.  Started opening things best left unopened.

The first two sarcophagi were empty.  The third held a wight.  Two henchmen went down, unwillingly sacrificing themselves so the party could get back to town and re-arm themselves.  They discussed leaving the place alone and hitting the gobbos, but that wight had some sweet gleaming gold wrapped around its forehead, and these guys know that you want to level up, you have to follow the money.

So they pooled their cash and bought out the town’s stock of oil.  They hired two more torchbearers (at a premium given the fate of their last henchmen).  They bought an extra long crowbar.  Only then did they return to the tomb, expecting to find the wights roaming, but he’s off on the wandering monster table now.  Which left them free to carefully pry open each sarcophagi, with two encumbered fighters sitting on the lid for good measure.  Just a few inches to check the contents, and every time a white wight hand shot out – they stopped, and let it flail while they poured in the oil, lit up the place, and waited a bit.  They pushed the lid back in place to snuff out the flames, and bingo bango bongo, wight bacon, extra crispy.  The gold was melty, but the crowbar served as a nice spatula for it once a little water cooled the ingots down.

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Wight supremacists.  Get it?  Hey, they can’t all be winners.

The antique priceless artifacts were worth a tenth as raw gold as they would have been intact, but it was worth it for a first level crew to wipe out a dozen wights without a scratch and still walk away with loaded with that sweet XP-injecting boullion.

And then they got greedy.  They went back for the goblins thinking a quick hit and run would push them over the edge and into that second level status.  Instead, they wandered into the three wandering wights in the earthen halls, and just like that they turned three level draining monster into three level draining monsters.  They got lucky and killed two of them, but not before two more characters got drained to zero.

The good news is that one of the dead wights was packing one of the gold headbands, and the thief snatched that up instead of backstabbing the last standing wight.  They retreated at that point (read: ran screaming like little girls) and when they cashed me outside, they wound up with just as much loot from one wight as they got from a dozen of his melted friends.  Second level should help them survive if they meet the three second generation wights.  Or maybe they’ll get lucky and the gobbos will deal with the wights on the loose.  Or maybe they’ll get unlucky and find the whole dungeon overrun with wight goblins!  I guess that depends on what kind of week I have this week.

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