Role-Playing Women

In my 30 years as a male exotic dancer, I like to think I’ve learned a few things about women.

Mystery-women[1]
Doc Brown was a cuck.  Somebody get that old man a Red Pill, stat!

Women like to think they are good at role-playing games, but my lived experience indicates that the only role-playing they are any good at is playing the role of a victim when the police come around after some nosy neighbor calls them upon hearing the sound of crashing dishes.  All of sudden Mrs. “Nolan Ryan” Wright gets weepy and teary eyed and explains to the cops how the twelve stiches I’m going to need are all my fault – that I was smashing the plates against my own head in order to punish her for burning the banana splits again.  Seriously!  How do you burn a banana split?

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Although, come to think of it, if we could assign that first one to female players, we’d get a lot more done in every session.

Anyway, in my lived experience, which is an alternative way of knowing and thus far more powerful than mere logic or reason as per the diktats of the day, all this storytelling fooforah came about as a direct result of women entering the work force and to a much lesser extent the gaming table.  Back when the hobby was weirdo beardo’s as far as the nose could smell, we could roll up characters in five minutes, send hordes of them to inglorious deaths, and laugh the live long day.  Like Patton, but with dice.

Once women started leaning in they wanted to know “what’s my motivation” and you wound up with game killing tables like the one shown here.

Monsters need killing, that’s your motivation, toots.  There’s something down in that crack in the ground and you don’t know what it is, and you want to find out, sweet cheeks.  You heard a rumor about gold in that hole, and you want it because it costs gold to take my familiar (the one eyed trouser snake) spelunking inside a hole different kind, missy.

That’s how men play D&D, but ever since the  “don’t need no man” crowd showed up in the hobby because it turns out they need men around to prove they don’t need men, it’s been a non-stop downhill slide to mediocre story time and trophies for everyone.  In other words, it’s womens fault all y’all are playing D&D wrong.

You want a trophy, hotlips?  There’s one in the dragon’s horde, go get it.  And don’t bother giving your character a last name, if you’re doing it right, she won’t live long enough to appreciate it.

#RepealTheNineteenth

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About The Alt-Right DM

At long last, a tall cool drink of alt-right water in the midst of a liberal and cuckservative desert. Inspired by the need for soldiers in the Culture War, E. Reagan Wright volunteered to stand up to the forces of progressivism before they complete their takeover of the once energetic, diverse and just plain fun hobby of role-playing games. A lone voice in the digital wilderness preaching to that quiet, right-wing remnant that has languished in the cold for years. E. Reagan Wright loves his Mom, guns, apple pie, football, and calling that lesser game by its rightful name - soccer.
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