Slinging that DnDGayte Hash

Perhaps old E. Reagan fired his load a few strokes too early on the failure of Urbane-ski’s crowdsourced self-promotion.  Over the last half-day his stunt has back-back-fired all the way back around to clown the clown world people.  It seems the forces of gaming in Western Civilization have a few secret allies among their wide bellied and manjawed enemies, and the maul-right gamesters jumped all over that fat bodies blue hair in an orgy of pulse pounding hilarity.

Before we get to two stellar examples of Team Goofus’ critical fumbles, go back and check the comments on my last post.  My readers are Big League.  Really.  Top shelf commenters who have mad skillz in the tactical aspects of resistance to the War on Noticing.  I don’t spend a lot of time on socialist media, so I rely in part on their alert perspicacity to bring you the finest satire and mock-worthy worthies.  I also don’t do much self-promoting because no respectable socialist media in their right (or perhaps I should say left) mind would let me linger for more than a fortnite on their island of broken soy boys.

Hint hint.

Back to the tactical fun!  Case number one:

Good old at-wundergeek never fails to deliver.  As you’ll recall, she was the wind beneath my very own OSR wings and is the one to blame for my own hilarious entrée into the oeuvre.  So motivational.  Much inspire.  She veered the whole hashbacklash off intoa breathtakingly funny new direction by making it all about her.  Because of course she did.

This plaintive bleat led to a biblical deluge of Team Normal bombarding DNDGayte tweets that drowned the noise of the counter-offensive by the eternally offended in their own tears of impotent rage.

Click here for epic lulz!

Which led to Sandwich Girl no longer being in your hobby twitter destoying anything because…

Womp womp

Case number two:

Muh ratio!

Which earned him a lot of reacharounds in the short run, but which has morphed into a steady pinch face and clenched fists of rage by the not so fantastic Mister Fox.  It also led a growing list of people for whom the Foxy Latte will plug his ears and scream the mantra of, “I can’t hear you!”.  Look upon his weak ye mighty and have cheer:

That’s only one of dozens of instances of the normie and Maul Right tweet machines pushing their way back up to the top of the tabletop RPG hill.  And it is glorious.

Hey, remember that video the Diversity and Comics guy made about how warfare works by capturing nodes and not pushing across a wide front?  Basically, you only need a few spots of high ground to control culture.  Take the hill, control the countryside.  That’s why they fight so hard to take over things like Marvel comics and D&D and Star Wars and so on – if they can grab that central node, they can control the ancillary nodes as well.  What we’re seeing now is pressure on one of the nodes that has been lost for years, and so we’re seeing the Rainbow hairs and their gape-mouthed sexpest allies panicking and in that panic, make severe tactical blunders like this.

These are good signs that what you’re doing by talking past them and mocking them is working like a charm.  Keep up the good fight, and enjoy the laughs, because as we all know…

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Pundy, I love you like a leafy brother from another maple tree mother, but this #DnDgate thing was destined to fail.  It was fun watching the delusional “cool kids” slobber all over this knob of a hashamatag for a day…


The tabletop zeitgeist today feels like the political zeitgeist of 2016.  Beneath the smugness, you can FEEL the unease and rage and uncertainty.  They know the future.  And they fear it.


…but your tag was too easily co-opted by the festering hordes of people who play SissyD&D.  Ya gotta find a more upbeat and positive tag that they don’t want to use because it does is help you go Full Yenta.  Take #MoveTheNeed for example – the Comic Nerds found a way to sling hash that built up what they loved and called attention to the grassroots alternative to the corporate poz comic of today that cleaves like a barnacle to the new and improved *takes a bong hit* Haze Code.

Don’t ape the gators, who let’s face it lost vidya…for the time being.  They inflicted some serious blammage to the would be Pol Pots of vidya, and sowed the seeds for the ascendance of the God Emperor to the Cherry Blossom Throne, turning that Big Gay Win into a Big Pyrrhic Circlejerk that hastened the latter stages of the “get woke go broke” circle of blight, sure.  But let’s face it, GamerGate came away with a L nonetheless.  The “Battlefield V (The V Stands For Vagina)” represents only the most recent AAA title to go full XX.  Is that really the road down which you want tabletop RPGs to travel?

If so, then you gots to focus on preaching not to the hordes of unfuckables and their e-celebritard chasing ways.  You gots to preach to the Remnant, those merry pranksters who built the citadel taken by the Coalition of the Puling.  That Remnant gravitated to the Last Redoubt* of the OSR and bides their time while waiting for the final collapse of Team Skin Suit.  You gots to focus on waking up the normies.  You gots to lead them out of bondage by parting the sea of HGT that GirlD&D swims in and leading them to the Gaming promised land as foretold by the great prophet Saint Gygax.

You do good work, but man you gots to find a #WompWomp that makes them recoil, that drives interest to your OSR pals (*cough*), and that highlights the better alternative that awaits those who take up the Sacred Ampersand of pre-1980s D&D, bro!

I’d do it myself, but I’m allergic to Twatter.

Most of all, you have to let go of D&D.  It’s lost to us.  Dead and gone.  They pried it from our hot, lively fingers while we were distracted by the new hotness of old systems.  It’s okay, though.  They’ll wreck it the way they are Star Wars and Marvel.  And when the brand is lifeless and its juices sucked out by the vampires, one of us will kneel down over its dessicated corpse and gently cradle it, nurse it, and return it to its former glory plus one.

It’s the circle of life.  The white man builds, grows complacent, allows his works to be carried off by the Herd Worlders, then rebuilds on the ashes of what came before.

It’s okay.  Prodigal D&D needs some time to wander and squander, but we’ll take it back and set it right one day.

*Shout out!

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Are You A Bad DM?

If you think this way, then yes you are a bad DM.


Creative player solutions are part of the game, slappy!  It doesn’t mean you failed, it means you tricked them into burning a high level wizard spell and instadeath for one of the dungeon’s juggernauts on a speedbump of a door.

Of course, that’s assuming you’re playing Big Boy D&D, which is as much a resource conservation game as it is a tactical combat simulator.  If you’re playing one of the recent iterations in which all considerations of encumbrance, spell use, and even healing are hand-waved away because their cleverness and wastefulness put sand in your vagina, then congratulations of figuring out why the game’s challenge and fun relies in large part on the part of the game that you’ve excised from it.

I say this to help you find the fun and ditch the limp wristed wailing:  t’s not your players, bro.  It’s your ruleset.  Get with the B/X program and watch all your troubles melt away like that door you carefully allotted an hour of table time to solve.

Because that’s the real rub here – DM clueless there set out his carefully constructed five-room dungeon and this encounter was supposed to fill up the time while he chortled behind his screen.  When the simple and direct solution advanced the game into Room Two ahead of the clock he set in his head, it threw his plans all out of whack, and without a real sense of imagination, without a firm grounding in the literature, without the manly ability to roll with the punches and throw jabs back at the players, without the branching paths of a Jaquayed dungeon too big for one party to explore, all you can do is sit there with your head in your hands lamenting the players pulling your D&D pants down and showing the RPG cheerleaders your skinny, pale bare ass as you run tearfully from the metaphorical gym.

Get D&D swole, bro!  Get yourself a copy of B/X and play the heavy lifting version of D&D.


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Who Runs Blabblertown?

You remember when I pointed out the D&D scene has always included a fair few fair ladies?  That was a response to the specious charge that D&D was ever  land of sausage fests with high walls built to keep the ovary-laden beasts at bay.  Nerds is thirsty, yo.  My people once welcomed the lasses with open noodle arms and wide gap-toothed grins on our neckbearded faces.  Me and my scrotally blessed band of merry brothers laugh at the notion that D&D needs to be made more accomodatong to the Math Is Hard brigade, because that little fairy told fairy tale runs at such massive longshot odds to our lived ecperience you might as well tell us three saving throws ate better than five.

O20180620_191235h ho, my ho!

Well la-dee-doodly-dah, it turns out that self ensqualmated Gadoodle-ploos celebrity Bruce Vilanche Baugh couldn’t resist horning in on my narrative action.  (Seriously, dide has like 2400+ like minded Lotus eaters and his feed is 90 percent pictures of his cats rolling their eyes at him.  Gotta respeck dat hu$$le.)

Bruce claims to have been motorvated by Pundy’s failed stab at kickstarting a #dndgate hashamatag on the twit box (more on that later), but the timing of Brucey boy’s ode to a white knight essay on Lee Parentheses Gold*, the gal who kicked off and ran the fanzine ‘Alarums and Excursions’ is little suspect, following so close on the heels of my essay on Jean “Beat me, kick me, and tell me lies”** Wells.

Well thank ye roight koindly, guv’nah!  I done been telling the EssJayDubs for years that they don’t need to elbow anyone out of the way because there ain’t no room left for modron liberated wimminz to be the first to break the glass-dragon ceiling, and they laughed at the notion that wimminz were anything but shrinking violins who simply couldn’t dare to step foot in that smelly old gaming shop because of all the gate keepers keeping gates in there.  Now they fall all over their massive guts and scraggly neckbeards to claim that arm candy has always been spilling their estrogin and tonics all over the miniatures and map board.

Go figure.

Hell with it – you readers are programmed for the sound bites, so here it is:

-> We need to encourage women to finally enter the lisping lists after all these years

-> Women were always the tabletop scenesters we have today

Pick one.

Bruce, at long dong last agrees with your humble host by choosing the latter of the two, thereby wrapping his moist and gaping and hungry imprimatur around my throbbing, thick, and penetrating analyses.

Victory tastes so sweet!

Watch as I preen:


I am magnanimous.  Thanks to his conversion to my way of thinking, come the revolution, he gets to be the last one chucked from the gnomish steam-ornithopter.

*Bruce thought that the Lee’s heritage was important, and here I defer to his expertise in matters of the Diversity Totem Pole.

**Ultima II NPC reference straight from the belly of the Obscurobot 2000!

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A Morbid Fascination With Stupidity

Oh, Koataku, the garbage mine that never gets played out.


The first time grappling with a moral quandry is always the hardest.  Stick with the feelz, lady, it’s a lot easier and given your sex, it’s what we all expect out of you anyway.

We’ve had another player take over as DM for a little while. We’ve been telling him how much we want to do more roleplaying,

Buncha combat monsters here, folks.  Nothing but hack and slash as far as the eye can see.  Take a look at this background of nothing but stats and rules and crunch:

After seeing the Met Gala, one of us had made a joke that we should play a campaign where Rihanna was pope, and we ran with it. We made characters based on costumes from the Gala.


Well, the Rihanna-pope thing is pretty funny, and fits right in line with traditional D&D campaigns taking a light hearted approach to religion.  As is the way of Kotaku’s people, this comes off more as a trollish case of the author flicking her bic to the thought of a black female pope ushering in a new age of endarkenment than as a genuine bit of good natured humor, but whatev’s – Gita sure showed me a thing or two.  Me and the Catholic church will never recover from this.  (Pic above related).

“Indeed, your majesty, slay!” and all that.

Long story short, the party has to go to a keep and throw a power battle to either the rightful price, a child manipulated by a cabal of old white dudes, (ew) or a witch.

At first, we were all pretty into this old lady’s argument. Her name was Gritha, and she said that nobles didn’t have the right to declare their ownership of land. Both in and out of character I think that all property is theft, so I was into that.  It became clear that she wasn’t actually into liberating the keep for the proletariat, but more into the idea of taking the keep and then killing anyone who came by and also taking their shit. None of us liked that as much.

Emphasis added as shot to this chaser:

It should be noted that we were all roleplaying as a bunch of assholes.

If you think all property is theft, you aren’t roleplaying as an asshole.  You are an asshole.  The sound of helicopters should give you nightmares.

Spoilers (as though you could spoil something that was never fresh to begin with):  They make the wrong choice – side with the would-be usurper witch that commands yetis.  Then they betray her.  Because of course they do.

In some situations there is no right choice, and you have to deal with the consequences.


Moral relativist struggles with moral decisions.  News at 11.

You see this right here is why you need to take your light-hearted RPGs a lot more seriously.  The table is a proving ground, a testing ground, a practicing ground for the real world.  It’s a place to hone your ability to make moral lemonade out of just this kind of moral lemon.  It’s a way to practice seeing the clear path through the brambles of modern thought.  Gita here admits that you have a rightful heir, in the custody of his rightful guardians, in his rightful home, but can’t come to grips with any of that because…the other party has a vagina and that trumps stupid things like law and precedent and social cohesion and math and electricity and running water.

 I hope our DM learned something from this experience trying to herd a bunch of cats into making a choice.

And thus we see the root of WotC’s marketing strategy.  Sell a game fraught with decisions, loaded and dripping with them, to people used to being herded about and told what to do and what to think.  But to do that you have to jigger your product to take out all of that decision making.  Thus their current line-up of linear railroads in campaign form.  The illusion of choice without all of that painful thinking stuff to get in the way.

The sooner this cycle runs its course and we old timey nerds can have our niche hobby back, the better.  All this crater-brain posturing is salting the earth in the once fertile valley of D&D.

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B3, Phallus of the Silver Princess


Too hot for vidya, but for the great EGG!

My usual trips into the tripe mine of modern news media usually generates some solid content for this blog, but today we have a rare treat.  An interesting read from Wired of all places – Wired! – about the controversy that surrounded the initial publication of TSR’s Palace of the Silver PrincessIf you’ve never heard this story, it’s worth a read.  Personally, even having grown up in that little corner of these United States, there’s a lot of new information that delves a lot deeper than the, “ermagerd, boobies and fundies!” of the usual narrative.


A couple of fun thoughts on the matter:

For the last thirty years the fate of those printed modules has been held up by the tastemakers as a prime example of Christian thought policing and censorship.  Makes for an interesting read this week – specifically hot on the high heels of this year’s E3 where the new moral panickers have successfully lobbied for scaling the video game Dead Or Alive back from silly PG-13 to a rock-solid PG.  Covering up them tiddays is OK if the art being wrapped in a burqa is wrapped up FOR FEMINISM!

Note also the identity of the creator of this fine piece of Appendix N inspired gonzo weirdness published way back in the testosterone soaked days of toxic masculinity in which women were not allowed a place at the table.

Jean Wells.

That’s right!  A girl wrote the third ever module.  The phone calls have been coming from inside the house the whole time!

From Bill Willingham, one of the better and more evocative artists of the early days of D&D:

I was first to read the damn thing, and I was just shocked at how ridiculous it was. It was clearly the private fantasies of the author [Jean Wells, who died in 2012]. The Silver Princess character was also her persona in the Society of Creative Anachronism—a hauntingly lovely woman who destroyed hearts.

He also brings the heat with this classic Dad joke line that makes the perfect nightcap for the tale:

I call shenanigans. You call this an oral history. But you’re writing this down. This is an oral history in the sense that foothills are made of feet, or that a tiger shark is part tiger, part shark. Come to think of it, that could be a cool D&D creature.

That’s a compliment, by the way.  Dad Jokes are awesome.  Set-up, punchline.  Plot twist, clever new way of looking at things.  We used to just call them “jokes”, but that was before we called jokes “memes”.  And before ninety percent of standup consisted of fugly fat broads saying, “How about that period every month, eh girls?” or “How about that Drumpf?  What. An. Idiot.  Am I right?”

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We Need To Talk About This Blog

Sometimes old E. Reagan Wright sits down to blog after having one too many pink raspberry cosmopolitans and his tongue gets a little loose.  He gets to rantin’ and a-ravin’ about his passions and the saturation dial on his language goes from colorful to downright polychromatic.  He says things he doesn’t mean and doesn’t remember and would be shocked and appalled by.  So if you ever feel that way after reading a post, E. Reagan, he knows how you feel.

And to everyone who has read this blog that feels that way, let me just take a moment to say…from the bottom of my heart.

This blog isn’t for you.


Which means that you don’t get to have or express an opinion on it.  Even if you did keep the flame of this blog’s value smoldering through the dark years of pre-GDW d6 based Star Wars.  Even if you didn’t bail after the Prequels.  Even if the new management wants to outright replace you with a more fickle and less studied and less passionate and smaller fanbase.

You clap don’t clap matter clap and clap your clap resentment clap at clap the clap lack clap of clap gratitude clap shown clap you clap is clap a clap sign clap of clap weakness clap please clap stop clap hitting clap me clap don’t clap @ clap me.

And now my hands hurt.

This blog is primarily written for three or four guys, and everyone is welcome to come along for the ride.  Unless you’re hate mining for material to use to shame me into an apology for some bizarre thing I said four years ago.  It won’t work.  I have no shame.  And you don’t even belong here.  I have intoned the sacred words that negate any and all criticism from anyone save those three or four, no wait I forgot the Mixed GM make it five guys.

“This is not for thee!” I say again.

So you can’t criticize me anymore, CHET!


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