Waiting For the Bubble To Pop

What do you think?  Two years?

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Remember kids: Girl D&D is Fake D&D.  It’s a perversion of the wargame cake with RP frosting added in post-production.  It’s all frosting with a few crumbs to maintain the semblance of respectability.  That metaphor is so perfect that whenever the YerTerbs algorithm crams another LiveD&D Let’s Play Cast into my pristine SDL and Bear-Fest heavy feed I think of this scene from Death Becomes Her:

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“I’m playing D&D!”

I give it maaaybe three years.  The 2020 Trumpslide will feed the hambeasts a real need for escapism, and pretending to be D&D players will provide them with added impetus to keep their fangs fastened on D&D’s jugular to suckle on that sweet, sweet creative juice that we creative types have invested into the hobby and which they can only ape and enervate.  Then, once the reality of the God Emperor Eternal sets in, the novelty seekers and locusts will move on and we stalwarts can set about rebuilding this hobby from the ashes.

We’ve done it before, we can do it again.

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Lick My Dice Bag, Haterz

With year over year growth like this, we’re just five years away from becoming an overnight sensation.

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Thanks for sticking around, folks.  You make this all worth wasting my time.

Have a great 2019!

Remember, we’re only six months away from the start of the Trumpslide 2020 campaign seasion!

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Cuts Me To the Quick, It Does

Thanks to my excessive habit of self-love (pic below related) my eyesight grows dim.  My haunting of the Manly D&D blog comments has slowly devolved to the point that most of my contact with the Manly Man’s D&D Community comes via the Youses and the Tubeses.  As the YooToob D&D culture is dominated by the fakers of the fuggernaut, that means that most of my limited contact with the doings in the Real D&D Community comes by way of the degenerates over at Inappropriate Characters.

Here’s their latest, which cannot be embedded for some strange reason.  Click on it to watch the whole episode on the JudenTuben:

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There’s some interesting discussion about how the bints at ConTessa are doing what bints always do.  With hamsters in full sprint, they are “upgrading” their menfolk from the thirsty OSR fellas (present company excluded of course) to the soon-to-be-outed-as-sexpests-Fake-D&D fellas.

It’s the same old story.  Some entryist gal decided that what the world needed most was the ruination of a male hobby via *cough* improvements* by way of some heavy-doody en-pink-ification.  Said gal, Stacy Of the Orphano, set up a gaming con – ConTessa – to be run by women women for women and sexpest male feminist allies who pee sitting down and who think nothing of letting their women drive them around town.  Naturally, the con was initially sold as “just gaming” and “we’re not like other women”, and so earned the scorn of the hobby’s Baron Harkonnen lookalikes.  Naturally, the limp-wristed and thirty cucks of the D&D world leapt at the chance to support the wimminz to own the libs.  Naturally, the organizers ripped the Mission: Impossible masks off at the first opportunity and revealed themselves to be just like other women who enter male spaces and set about destroying the very things that attracted them to those selfsame male spaces in the first place.  Naturally.

And now perennial loser moderates like RPGPundit are shocked, shocked I say!, at this astonishing betrayal.  Until the next time an, “I’m not like those other girls,” comes along and repeats the process.

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You want to talk betrayal, notice that if you give the video a watch, ol’ Pundy repeatedly links hands with Stacey of the Orphano to join forces in ignoring the existence of shitlord wing of the OSR.  “Not one product,” they chant in unison.  “Not one creator,” they say in the desperate hopes of unpersoning your humble bumbling host.

Yeah, about that.

This is where it gets funny.  Brace yourself for some primo Kenneth Hite levels of connective tissue.  The impetus for the latest outrage was some Pound-Me-Too, d20-style action, directed at Bill Webb for hitting on a chick at the thoroughly pozzed PaizoCon.  Bill Webb is the creative genius behind Swords and Wizardry.  Which, those of you keeping score at home will recall, was the excellent OSR retroclone used as the template for Shitlord: The Dated Meme Triggering.

And now you know the REAL reason they went after Bill Webb.

I’m his game-baby.  His unholy and fearsome game-baby whose very name carries such power that merely to utter it in hushed voices risks shattering the foundational pillars of the entire gaming hobby.  They cannot reach me directly, so they sent a Terminator forward in time to attack Webb, Christine Blasé-Ford style, in the hopes of discrediting my game-daddy.  Well, it’s too late – the John “Shitlord” Connor genie has been released from the bottom of my bottle of Wild Turkey and unleashed upon the world like a mixed-metaphor hurricane of hurr-durrs, and there’s nothing Team “Pundy and Stacey D Sitting in a Tree” can do to put the pudding back in the toothpaste tube.

Look upon my works, ye mighty, and hush your mouths in fear!

And whatever you do, do not say my name lest you unspeak the gaming world out of existence.

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Me Talking to Normie D&D Fans

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And some bonus fun for my yellow bellied baguette chokers.  Stand strong, mon Freres!

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Trash Takes Take the Cake

Geddaloada this weak-ass piping hot garbage fresh from the landfill:

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Ack?  One word and we’re already off to a childish start to some entitled Millennial dopery.  I’m going to need to change into a couple of different outfits to analyze this.

DM HAT ON!

Whadda yutz.  We’re pals who get together to share a good time.  You don’t need to bribe me to do it.  Funny thing about preparing for game time, nobody has a gun to your head.  It’s something that we classy and refined and well-spoken nibbas do…brace yourself for this…for fun!  We enjoy it.  We’re glad to have victims to squeeze through the wringers our twisted and degenerate minds craft when we should be focused on less important things than gaming like hygiene or kids.  If you think your players should be paying you for the time you spent enjoying yourself, then you are a bad person.  You should feel bad about yourself.  You clearly don’t like yourself and no one else does either – stop playing my beloved D&D and take up a solitary hobby like stamp collecting or hanging yourself by the neck.

PLAYER HAT ON!

No.  Piss off with this lame-ass plea for free stuff.  If I get you something nice it’ll be because we are gud frens, not because I feel like I owe you for your half of the transactional nature of co-operative entertainment.  What am I supposed to buy gifts for the slobs that sit across from me at the Magic: The Gathering tournaments too?  That ain’t gonna happen, and not just because I’m not gay enough to play that tabletop Pride March simulator, neither.  Can’t we just enjoy each other’s time without you begging me for scraps from my lucrative career as an elbow model showcasing the finest in arm sling fashion on the runways of New York, Paris, and Des Moines?

BLOOGER HAT ON!

The username looks legit, but I changed it to something more appropriate to protect the mentally challenged twatter that posted it.  You can tell this was written by a chick, because it’s vapid and selfish and there are 305 dudes not worth having sex with who love it (just in case).  I wouldn’t buy this broad dinner to chat with me for an evening.  You can almost write her D&D campaign for her just from this tweet.  Urban adventure in an Anything Goes But No Nazis knockoff of Waterdeep with lots of “social combat” *vomit emoji* and lots of woke points to be scored by a population that somehow reproduces despite eighty percent of the citizens being in deeply committed and monogamous same-sex relationships.  Hey, it’s fantasy, if they can have dragons, they can have the last four words of that sentence.  In the words of Pope Rope-A-Dope, “who am I to judge?”  I’m Judgy O’Judgepants, Lord Mayor of Judgetown and Protector of the Empire of Judgelandia, and you can too!

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An Alt(Star)Hero Six Cameo

When I heard the title, I got all twitterpated that my second ex-wife, Shontaytayniqua, was going to show up in the sixth title in the Alt(Star)Hero comics.  Then the well washed potato and creative Big Brain behind the project released the cover:

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Oh!

“The Dark HUNT!”

That makes so much more sense.

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I’m Outraged? Maybe? Little help?

Do any of you dorks know about The Dreams From Gary’s Basement?  It’s a Kickstarter making a documentary about Gary Gygax.  Funded to the tune of 400%.  It’s kind of nice that all these entryists who will abandon the hobby after they ruin it for the rest of us, I give it five years tops, are helping fund some of this stuff that will stick around long after they chase the next big trend. dreams.pngI’m seeing some boss names associated with this project that have never irked me before.  Names like Tim Kask and Mike Mornard, but they also interview Frank Mentzer?-I-Barely-Knew-‘Er! and purported human being despite all appearances to the contrary Satine Phoenix.

Personally, if they don’t go deep into the scary eccentric crackpot details unearthed by the reputable and honorable agents at the FBI (ha!) then I’ll be disappoint.  Max disappoint.

Gygax in described by an informant as “eccentric and frightening” person, a known “substance abuser” who carries a weapon and corresponds with prison inmates. The report further notes that Gygax is a member of the Libertarian Party who set up a shell company in Liberia to avoid paying taxes, and would likely not cooperate with an investigation.

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Looks interesting.  I’m withholding judgement for now, but lawdy-lawdy is my outrage trigger finger itching like my crotch after a twenty minute session with your whore of a sister*.

I mean, it has to be legit, right?  It stars a person who was on TV a few times.  You can trust them.  And people who won ENnies – those are almost as totally not corrupt and useless as the Hugos.

*I’ve been interning in Marvel Comickalbook’s marketing department.  They assure me this is the way to better connect with my audience, and by audience I mean you filthy rubes.

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