First Who Came for Who?

We’re going to need to change that poem…


This has been going on for decades, so I can’t even pretend to be sad or surprised about it.  We had some hope with the Trumpinator, but it was always just that – we literally grasped at a straw haired man on the off chance things might change.  They still might, but for now the abusive spouse that is the Tolerated Right is just doing that whole “now look what you made me do” that they do.

Enjoy me while I last, fellow crimethinkers.  The heroes on the social media frontlines have fallen.  My quixotic quest to force my political views down the throats of every D&D player (and every YouTuber LARPing as a D&D player, too) cannot be far behind.  And you know that the Vichy Right won’t shed any tears lest they lose face with their lords and masters on the left.  So be it.  The fond remembrances of the right people among the Right People is enough to fill my three sizes too small heart.




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A Derngern Fer Yer

Here’s some D&D news you can use.  It’s a dungeon featuring a couple of guardian spiders and four of the nastiest little goblins you’ve ever met.  The set up is that the goblins snuck into the PCs camp and did them dirty to lure them into the Dungeon of Leviosa!  There’s a backstory about a mage killed when his golem went berserk and dragged the both of them into the lava pit, but that’s all set dressing.  Some of the rooms have smashed wood furniture or ragged carpets or broken glass crunching under feet and rusted and busted silverware, but it’s all just a mess.

Thanks, Dyson!


The deal is that the top of this twisting dungeon holds the only real item of interest – a fountain that trickles out a potion of levitation that only works inside this dungeon.  It runs slow, so it takes ten minutes to fill a flask large enough to work as a proper potion, but that potion lasts a full 24-hours.  Nice!

The villains of the piece stash four vials in that first room on the right and whisk up the obvious hole in the wall to the top level where they wait to roll rocks down on anyone foolish enough to climb it.  If no one does, if they run the gauntlet, they will face a merry chase as the goblins float up and down the central chamber, use the obvious and hidden trapdoors, and generally strike at range.  They have casks of oil that they can toss down to slick the bridges and force DEX checks for anyone running across them.  They have rocks

They also have guardian spiders down at the bottom entrance to help soak the party’s expendables and edibles before they even realize what they face.

As usual, I hide the best loot near the front door – clever or lucky parties can snatch the big prize of 1,350 gold pieces without facing any real danger.  That’s always good for a larf.

You gotta play the goblins with all the cunning typical of that long-nosed breed and you can milk the little bastards for a whole evening of combat and puzzle solving.  Dropping rocks, firing arrows from cover, oiling up the catwalks.  They may even have a box of giant centipedes they can rain down on the poor bastards.  When the party finally manages to get their hands on the little blighters, a prospect made far easier once they find the fountain of “Who’s Running Now?” at the top, it’ll prove to be one of the more satisfying bits of vengeance they ever mete out.  When I ran for my regular crew last night, the party was nearly salivating at the thought.

Although the potions only work in the dungeon because, you know, magic and limitless levitation can break a campaign, I do let them sell the inactive juice to an alchemist, for research purposes, in exchange for extra cash or for one single-use draught of levitation juice.  I also hand out a lot more XP for killing these goblins because the five you get for a reg’lar greenie doesn’t factor in the extra challenges of the environment you see here.

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Endgame: Spoilers

sploieI try to live by the maxim, “Don’t give money to people that hate you,” but most people hate me after ten minutes of interaction so it’s not so much a maxim as it is a muzzle-loading blunderbuss.  Living by this tenet means that I’m not really up on my Marvel Avenginators characters, but since this movie that comes out soon looks like a kulturkampf touchstone, and I’m ALL about touching those stones, I figured old E. Reagan better get in on the steamy action so that he looks like a normalish guy during the water cooler meetings down at the old cube farm.

A gaming buddy of mine works nights at the local cinematrix and for a fifty under the table said he could get me into a sneak peak at Endgame.  The theater was really dark, and there were only a few other scattered and awkward looking single dudes in the place.  Kind of like when you go see a Hobbit movie at one in the afternoon on release day.  If you don’t want the ending of the movie spoiled, then do not read further.

It starts off with the redhead and the masked guy no longer up to the usual hijinx.  They were really sad because so many of their friends had been forgotten, including the orange alien and the yellow flying lady.  Then the big purple guy showed up, and he really brightened their day with some serious hijinx.  He whipped it out and the three of them went to town in an epic Chuck Tingle style threesome.  Just about the time I was beginning to wonder at how degenerate the culture had become that a straight-up gayed-up movie like this would threaten to break a cool billion beans at the box office,  that’s when the Fry Guys showed up.

On a related note: that’s also when I realized that I’d spent the last two hours watching a porn parody of Ronald McDonald and friends complete with Really Big Macs and Mayor McDickCheese.  It was called…Endgame, you see.  That’s where the confusion came from.

An hour later things wrapped up with a floor sticky even by movie theater standards, and a post-credits sequence revealing that Ronald McBoneAll, the Buttburglar, and Grimace the Booty Shaker all died of AIDS and went to hell for their dirty, dirty lifestyle choices.  The Fry Guys found Jesus, repented, and went to heaven.  They still died of AIDS, but they went to heaven because they learned to control their demon-inspired lusts.

At the end of the day, the important take home lesson here is that you have to be really careful when slipping a guy a fifty in a back alley to make sure that you’re really getting what you pay for.  You’d think they’d teach that in public schools.  Maybe they did and I was just sick that day.  Well I certainly learned my lesson from the gay porno version of McDonaldland – always check to make sure things are clean before you slip in through the back door.  Because once you’re in there, it’s too late to pull out without getting exposed to a lot of crap.

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Vox Popoli, Vox Victus

sdlWell, well, well, isn’t this a fine how do you do?

It turns out all those people who refuse to admit to listening to Vox Day because sometimes he says mean things about people who want to put their families in gulags are finally starting to listen to Vox Day in earnest, and the world looks brighter and warmer.  That could be the morning sun beginning to dawn or it could be the flames of devastation.

I’m good either way.

What the hell are you going on about this time, E. Reagan?

I’m glad you asked, but pace yourself, we’ve got a crooked road to walk to get to the starting point of today’s blogging journey.

Now that I’m a big time mover and shaker in the world of online niche alt-comic reviewing, all my weeb friends been hassling me to give Nick “Skeeta” Rekieta a listen.  He’s a lawsplainer on the Youses and the Tubses whose been reporting on all the legal doings and shenanigans in nerd culture for a while now.  Sometimes, while mopping out the quarter booths at the adult emporium just off the freeway for spare change, I’ll throw on the headphones and give him a listen – when he isn’t talking about weeb stuff like gay voice actor (but I repeat myself redundantly) drama.

So it was with some sense of God’s favor shining upon me when I randomly discovered this juicy little bit of dish at the 58:00 mark of last nights episode.  I was so gobsmacked I nearly dropped my mop!

For those of you who can’t stand the sight of Nick’s nose in profile, allow me to sum up the meaty, juicy, veiny part of the episode for you to deep throat:

Frog God Games, they of the modern-classic and savagely brutal mega-grungeon “Rappan Athuk”, has been under the PoundMeToo gun for years following a Duke Lacrosse style Abigail Williamsing*.  Every time they try to work with anybody, the harpies sing their sweet song and the thirsty betamob swarms in to Shut. It. Down.  This time the swarmers bit off more than they could chew by going after a deal between FGG and Steve “Yes, That Steve Jackson” Jackson Games.

FGG has been building a Lost Lands supplement to use with L’il Stevie’s Fantasy Trip(ping Balls, yo), and that project earned a cool hundred and fifty large against a Kickstarter goal of merely fifty large.  It’s a neat little pitch, and despite my One Ruleset to Rule Them All stylings, it’s a product I might pick up just to mine for ideas for B/X.  That kind of success cannot be allowed to stand in these modren days, don’t you know.  Alert the flying monkeys!  Break out the rhetoric machine and fire up the -ists and -isms and prepare to fire the word “Nazi!” on the PoundMeToo command!


From the Lost Lands Kickstarter.  Don’t you wish you had backed?

It looks like FGG was a bridge too far for the Narrativists.  FGG looks to follow their predecessors Dicky C. Meyer, Vic Mignognag, and the Supreem Darke Lord his ownself, and (according to the vidya above) are lawyering up to remind the fishmouthed harridans plaguing the RPG swamps that the real world and the internet are actually the same place and all that tortious interference they engaged in to bring about the blessed Rainbow Utopia was still tortious interference subject to the law in these dark, pre-Utopian days.  They’ve even hired expert nerd-champions Beard, Bulloch, and The Two Partners I Can’t Remember Esquire to represent them.

Nick specifically fires a shot across the bow of the usual-est of usual suspects by name checking:

  • BJ “Rolling Stone” Hensley
  • Stacey Dellorfanose
  • Jessica “Ironic 70s Cowgirl” Price
  • Christopher “Who?” Helton?

Which brings us back to the Real Lesson to be learned here.  These people want you dead, your children raped and enslaved, and they think it’s funny.  Vox has been telling you blockheads to fight back and make the rubble bounce for years.  We know that Ya Boi Jawbreakers listened to him – he quoted the three laws of social justice often enough, and called up the legal team of “Fear the Beard et. al.” in response to Mark “The Human Squeegee” Wade messin’ where he shouldn’ta been a messin’.  And now that Zack’s boots are gonna walk all over Waid, Vic gets the message that he should take the PoundMeWeebs to court, and that leads to FFG launching an anti-brigade, who inspires the Dark Lord to go after IndieNoGo, and now the circle is complete.  The master has become the master once more.

Ironically, the eleven million dollars that Critical Role managed to fleece from the hobby also proves that we nerds have more money than sense and are easily parted from both.  Mayhaps even more blood-sucking lawyers will get the message and start openly courting we aggrieved and put-upon grognards to rally to our defense when the Cat Lady Hordes threaten, on their signal, to unleash SOY!

Hell, we’re gamers for God’s sake.  We live for this sort of word combat, rules jiggery, and lawyer pokery.  Once the gloves come off, the Fake Gamers don’t stand a chance.

I hope all of you little guys appreciate the way these four Big Damn Heroes are stepping into the breach.  The legal fights of The Vox and the Three Little Voxes ain’t cheap, and they ain’t easy.  But every time one of these gets launched, it sends a signal to the Fake Nerd mobs and grifters that maybe we aren’t such soft targets after all.  They might be able to weaponize the thirst of the typical unlucky in love D&D fans against us, (the success of Satine Phoenix is all the evidence we need for that,) but with each legal notice, they receive word that we are capable of punching back.  And every big case like this prevents a dozen trickle-down cases from ever seeing the light of day.  The next time you get through a

So support your local edgelord today.  And, though I say this though teeth gritted so hard I’m likely to break one of the seven I have left, thank a lawyer for stepping into the breach and defending us from evil.

*  For those of who you aren’t well versed in American history, that’s a reference to the first accuser in the Salem Witch trials.  The E. Reagan Wright team only LARPs at being a disgusting chowderhead, we’re actually some erudite worksmithing motherfuckers.


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Senpai!? *waves hands furiously*

Three days before the spastastic trainwreck of a response to the SNL bit we laughed at yesterday, the You Know Who York Times ran this opinion article:


And Annalee Newitz knows what the cool kids are up to because OH MY LAWD!

Everything is coming up Lesbian Milhouse.  Good news, lads – Bowtie McSweatervest here is here to explain to us what the cool kids are doing these days.  Next thing, I’m going to be giving you advice on how to avoid contracting Stage Six diabetes*.

These are not serious people.

If you read the article, there’s nothing in it but a long autobiographical “What about meeeeeee!” tale of a woman(?) turning to tabletop games because the competitive nature of the online sphere ground her down and it had nothing to do with the complete failure of Gawker, for which she served as editor-in-chief, nor the derth of love for io9, which cancer she was also responsible for.

Let’s look at the tale of a compulsive journalist and liar (but I repeat myself):

I started playing Dungeons & Dragons right around the time I completely gave up on Facebook. It was a little less than a year ago,

Cool start bro.

Until then, I had played a little D&D as an adult, but I hadn’t joined a group that met regularly.

So…you started before a year ago.  You couldn’t even get through two paragraphs without contradicting yourself, Annalee.  What is it with these people?

[I] played D&D in the 1980s with a group of geeky guys every day at lunch throughout the sixth grade

Ayo – hol up.  I’m more insulted you thought we wouldn’t notice your brazen liars.  This is ridiculous.

So here’s the question – what we have here is the fakest of journalists pretending to be the fakest of D&D players and no doubt hoovering up a lot of that sweet, crude Soros cash to do so.

What’s the deal here?

Easy.  Trad D&D, the manly version preferred by high-T kings, had to be destroyed.  It was an element of the hard-core, hard-mode, Western Civilizational model of building, challenging, and striving to make a better world.  They couldn’t ban it without making it more popular, as the Satanic Panic of the 80s proved.  They couldn’t let it wither on the vine, because its primary fan base is autists who compulsively enjoy things FOR-EV-VER!  They tried to supplant its popularity by inviting a bunch of fat chicks that love Anne Rice waaaaay more than she deserves into the hobby, but women are fickle and soon moved on from Vampire: The Fattening.  They tried to kill D&D with a death by a thousand story-game cuts, and that failed because the people who write storygames are hideous child-touchers who mistake nepotism and cults for talent and fans.  The only thing left to do was contact Big Tabletop and spread some of that sweet lucre around to ensure that the latest edition would inject storygame faffery into the core D&D game itself and slather that soup sandwich with a heaping helping of Everybody Gets a Trophy.  As they so often do, they weaponized our own thing against us.

It was a two pronged approach – blandify the game and convince the SJW freakshow that burning it to the ground was a way to strike the root of tuh patriarchy.  Annalee is one of those modren meme-cancer vectors that’s won “prestigious awards” like the Nebula prize for Narrativist Literature Wearing Spaceman Outfits:

I was about to become an Aarakocra cleric, a bird person with a divine connection to nature who could call down lightning, raise winds, grow plants from the barren earth and heal the dying with a touch.

So creative.  So magic.  So Chinese Menu gaming.  Let’s keep it real, guys.  Multiple choice D&D isn’t Real D&D.

Despite their best efforts, the remnant remains.  Though we walk through the wilderness, clinging to each other and supporting the shrinking number of un-pozzed RPG producers, in the end we shall prevail.  Real D&D will still be practiced, d4 thieves and all, long after the Annalee Newlocusts move onto to greener crops.

They can have my Reaction Table when they pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

*I have a double case of Stage Three diabetes.  My body doesn’t just fail to produce insulin, it consumes to produce black bile.  I’m like a vampire that only sucks your blood to get at the insulin.

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B-Shap, Red Pill For Hire

Everybody’s favorite intellectual and physical midget be passing out wake-up pills and raising You Know Who Questions like he’s being paid by the same guys to make the alt-right look good who pay Richard Spenser to make the alt-right look bad.


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Post Your Own-Goal

So the late-night trainwreck and cringe factory called Saturday Night Live did a bit on D&D, and in a rare moment of honesty portrayed D&D nerds as nerds.  Which set off fans of the brand.  (Actual players said, “huh,” and went back to playing.)  Some freakzoid on the Twit Machine rallied the Legion of Goons to prove SNL wrong by poser-posting with a six dollar set of dice, and the results were as painful as they were predictable.  Mashable did the heavy lifting to show the world that #NotAllNerds.  I’ll save you the click:


Last time I saw a show like this the carnival barker charged me one thin dime and I had to walk through straw to see it!

As you look upon my dorks, ye mighty, and despair, bear in mind that his is the tip-top culled from the list by the Mashable Clickbait Farmers.  This is as good as it gets, folks.

Look, I get it.  Everybody needs a little validation from time to time.  Heck, sometimes I park my car downtown and visit my gynecologist not because I need to, but because parking validation is the only way a hairy dwarven welfare-queen like me can get it.  It’s understandable, but this right here – begging for

And note well that it doesn’t matter how “popular” hobbies dominated by gamma nerds get.  Mass culture hates gamma nerds for good reason.  We aren’t secret kings.  We aren’t secret queens.  We’re awkward weirdos, and publicly thirsting and begging for the Chad McCoolJock seal of approval doesn’t help that image out at all.

SNL gets it, and they don’t understand a damn thing about people.  If they did, they’d write skits that make people chuckle once.  That’s how low a bar you are failing to clear with these kind of shouts of, “BUT I’M COOL NOW, THO, RIGHT?”

No, chief.  You are not.

And that’s okay.

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