Playing pre-1980 D&D will make you a better person. But don’t take my word for it, listen to the world’s most beautiful woman…
It’s no exaggeration to lay the blame for the slow death of Western Civilization squarely at the feet of Lorraine Williams. Her takeover of TSR led to the overwhelming popularity of Loser D&D, a style of play adopted by the broken souls who now lead the world. Had Winner D&D continued to enjoy the popularity it had when Saint Gygax stood at the helm of the USS Tabletop Gaming we would live in a world today that would make film Wakanda look like a real world African nation.
It may be too late to save Western Civilization from the likes of Gail Simone, Joss Whedon, Cat Rambo, Tim Doyle, and other silly women, but it’s not to late to save yourself, dear reader! Heed these words! Make your amygdala swole, and when the soypacalypse finally turns the rest of America into the sort of vast wasteland of misery that has taken root in my hometown of San Francisco, your mettle will be tested in fire, tempered into steel, and ready for the spiked football pads and assless chaps uniforms of the army of Lord Humungus. No cringing behind a school bus gate for you, picking nits from a feral kid with a bladed boomerang for you, and watching the only HB8 in the colony smooshed under a semi full of sand – no sir!
Consider that post-1980 iterations of the Great Game have slid down the feelz slope slipperier than an SJWs argumentation process. Where once ya rolled your dice and moved your mice, the game morphed into a all-the-happies-all-the-time strokefest written to cater to people who never learned the concept of the word, “NO”. They didn’t like that the dice wouldn’t give them the specific character class they wanted, so they rewrote the game. They didn’t like that the dice gave them fragile 1HP characters, so they rewrote the rules. They didn’t like that the dice sometimes giveth and sometimes taketh away, so they rewrote the rules. Always with an eye towards the GIMMEDAT rather than the CHALLENGE ME!
The mincing and effete players demanded the ability to influence the game not through clever play, but through whiney wheedling. They demanded spotlights and sparkles and multi-hued snowflakes with long and detailed stories invented whole cloth. They demanded unkillable characters and long strings of vidya-game-esque reward-reward-reward cycles to stimulate their shriveled amygdala’s, and as a result never learned the hard won lessons in life. Which of course led them to embrace all sorts of nonsensical ideas, such as:
- Evolution stops at the neck
- Socialism has some good things to offer the world
- Vampires are cool, sexy, and misunderstood creatures of romance
- America’s magic dirt instantly turns cavemen into spacemen
- Streamlined saving throws enhance the game
- Subtraction is so hard that ascending AC is the only way to make sense of combat
The rotten and pouty style of play infected their brains. It turned them into zombies, desperate for an unearned love, for whom whining and shaming was the ultimate tactic to affect change in the world, and only by the merciful grace and blind kindness of their enemies did their tactics succeed for a time. Succeed being a relative term, given the ultimate failure of every public and private policy their feelz directed them to implement. It left them sad and miserable and broken wretches addicted to the rush of Big Pharma’s faux-love sold by the bottle. It left them physically scarred and incapable of adopting a hairstyle that didn’t scream out, “Danger!” to the world.
On the other hand, you have the brave and strong jawed men who embraced the harsh satisfaction of playing through the pain of a low INT magic-user. You have the rugged individuals who wrassled the game space and threw countless characters into the meat-grinder of countless dungeons, in the process learning how to deal with loss and rejection and a stoic sense of stone cold acceptance of the harsh realities of an uncaring world that laughs at your pain. They took punches to the chin, laughed and spit in the face of the fates, and kept getting up for more.
In the process, their amygdala’s became ripped and jacked and ready for the real world. They built up a spiritual armor that left them ready to accept the slings and arrows that life slings and arrows their way, and today stand tall and proud in the face of Mike Pearly Mearls, refusing to be fired, and rolling them 3d6 in order and backstabbing the enemy spellcaster a 1HP thief, heedless of the inevitable counterattack.
Those men strode into gyms and churches and jobs and worked to make the world a better place by kicking it in its metaphorical balls. And when those balls hadn’t dropped, the Winner D&D types didn’t cry about it – they got back up and tried again. This time with a different party make-up. A different party marching order. More spears to attack from life’s metaphorical backrow. They learned to embrace CHA as a powerful stat and used henchmen and found allies, and today, led by the Emperor Ascendant, Hallowed Be Trump’s Name, they stand ready to take back Western Civilization from the heirs of Lorraine Williams.
Join them. Join us. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to America.
And all you have to do to get started is put away childish things and play some Big Boy D&D. Like a pebble in the muck-laden pond of your life, the ripples of that choice will spread throughout your psyche and help you become the man Gunnery Sergeant Hartman always knew you could be.