Ultimate Victim, For Real This Time

UltimateV-SmallIt’s time.  My latest story-baby has been held upside down and its bottom smacked by Jeff Bezos.  You can now buy Ultimate Victim: Three Tales of the SJW Superhero direct from Amazon.com, including the origin story which left Uncanny Magazine literally speechless, figuratively speaking.

I’m afraid I had to withdraw my submission to “Uncanny Magazine” from consideration.  It is clear to me that my story, “White Privilege”, although moving and powerful and so very, very brave, was a snowflake the Uncanny blizzard was just not prepared to accept within the cold and frigid confines of its drifts.  While the personal satisfaction of seeing  my story-child gracing the pages of the illustrious diversity hire of the magazine world would have kept me warm during those long, cold winter nights in (((Mom’s))) basement, I could be on Amazon selling at least six copies of this wonderful tale of social justice and the warriors who cry out in pain as they strike out at you.  Six whole copies!  That’s enough to pay for two days of my diabetes medication, and seeing as I’m running low this month after loaning what I thought was my excess to one of my D&D players (thanks, Chet!) the uncertainty was literally killing me.  So I’m taking my story-ball and going to Jeff Bezos’ house.

The good news for you, gentle reader – dear, sweet, gentle, and generous reader of refined taste and excellent style (I love that outfit you have on today, it really sets off your eyes) – is that this means you don’t have to wait any longer.  You can go to Amazon.com and buy not just one, but THREE, short stories of biting alt-right satire featuring the sort of superhero Marvel would invent if they had any creativity and didn’t rely entirely on writing the normal men (read: straight, non-trans, clean limbed, and alabaster skinned) out of the continuity while drinking their milkshakes*.

I don’t really have anything else to say in this post.  That footnote doesn’t deserve its own paragraph, and it would look weird not to have a paragraph between that asterisk and the actual footnote.  So let me close out by complimenting you one more time in the hopes you will feel like we’ve established a rapport that will help you decide to buy my latest story, Ultimate Victim: your head doesn’t look nearly as large in person as it does in all of your photographs.

*A couple of those ladies have milkshakes that would bring this boy to the yard.  They may be Fake Geek Girls, but it’s not like my waifu pillow is any less fake.  Heck, my pillow is a fake girl, but it knows just as much about geek culture as Tom Brevoort‘s little assistant editor harem there, so I’d call that a tie.  Oh!  We could have a Fake Geek Girl threesome – one fake girl, one fake geek, and all three hundred and twenty five pounds of my Adonis like majesty.

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The Soft Neg

Letting chicks down easy is an important skill that natural lotharios like your host learn early in life.  I’m going to show you how to give women the soft negative when it comes to a seat at your D&D table.


Women ruin everything.  (Looks at Western Civilization since the adoption of the nineteenth ammendment.)  As my long time fans know, I have a standing policy of “no chicks” at my table.  Now, You may wonder how I pull that off given that most of my game time is spent at conventions and the local game shop.  They have all gone full retard, and a guy has to be smart to get around their ill-conceived two-minute hates and McCarthyite rules of conduct.

The good news is that for all their insistence that they are just as good at D&D as the toxically masculine and Adonis-like visaged dudebros who run OSR compliant D&D blogs, they really aren’t.  They are so bad at D&D that they had to push for a thirty year evolution of the rules from the challenging and rugged OD&D to the limp-wristed feelz heavy version WotC pooped out most recently.  They made significant inroads with Third Edition, turning AC into pure addition problem as you would expect from the “subtraction is hard” set.  But even at that, having to hold all of those modifiers in your pretty little head all the time was just too much.

So here we are.  After a grueling day at the sausage factory you’re ready for a sausage party.  You don’t want to have to watch your mouth lest Brenda in accounting whinge to Debbie in HR about your off hand comment about women ruining everything.  Where does she get off?  It was half muttered while trying to get rid of ransomware Brenda accidentally downloaded when she clicked on an obvious piece of spam about how she could still have children in her forties.  That ship done sailed and sank after hitting an iceberg called, The Wall, at 40 knots, Brenda.

It’s not that you don’t like women, it’s just that they have their time and place, and that time and place is not everywhere all the time.  You like your big swinging richard, too, but that doesn’t mean you need to play with it ALL the time.  Sometimes a guy needs a break.  So you retreat to your DM screen and some chiquita notices your broad pecs and thick biceps and tried to muscle in.  Or one of those damaged slabs with the shaved side of the head thrusts her manly jaw and sits down at your table to prove a point, because women have always been denied a place at the table.  Oh, what a recipe for fun that crowd cooks up.

Anyway, you can chase them off real easy.  Just whip out your Moldvay and play by the book.  Grab a ruler and ram good old fashioned D&D down their throats.  Skip the blah blah and the relationships and go fun on wargamer, and watch them pale and make excuses to leave the table so fast you’d think they were late for a candlelight vigil for the latest diversity truck victims.  Those broads don’t want D&D, they want relationships.  If the only relationships you give them are spatial relationships between their pawn and xer henchmen and the goblin warband, they get flustered.  They get bored.  They get gone.

Those drama queens can’t handle math and they can’t handle tactics.  Tactics like scaring them away from your D&D table by playing D&D instead of the touchy-feely HR games that WotC pinches out after grunting like a wounded sow.  They won’t even realize that you played them like a rainbow haired and pinch faced fiddle.

So if you want to rid your table of the people making D&D worse, all you have to do is play actual D&D as God and Gygax intended.

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Pages of Hilarity

I added some functionality to the old bloggeroo.  Up there under the stars, bars, eagle, and d20, you’ll see a couple new links.

  1.  The Saga – This takes you to the table of contents for my recent waltz through institutionalized mental health treatment.  It’s a gripping tale of one man pushed too far, broken, plunged into the depths of the underworld, and returned with incredible super powers, ready to take on his dark mirror self and win the heart of the buxom princess.  Or take on the buxom mirror self and win the heart of the dark princess – either way is good with me.
  2. Writing – Sometimes, one blog just isn’t enough.  Other times, it’s just enough.  For the latter, you’re already here and you don’t know it.  For the former, there’s the stuff that Uncle E. Reagan thinks is worthy of few of your hard won shekels.  Find it all at this page.

You probably already noticed it, but just in case, have a Filler Post to point out the links.

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Game Can Save Your Game

If you really want to take your tabletop RPG to the next level you need to learn game.  Game is not just for banging cheap and easy sloots, it’s a complete reframing of your entire life, and it can do for rolling dice what it does for knocking boots.  Think about it – your players are a lot like chicks.  They show up unexpectedly, they expect you to put a lot of time and effort into preparing to entertain them, while they do little more than show up, and while they might talk about being grateful, they very rarely reciprocate the effort.  A few of them might put in a little extra work to ensure that you’re having a good time, but most of them are like hot chicks in the sack – they figure you should be grateful they showed up at all and expect you to do all the heavy lifting, and then blame you if nobody is having a good time.

The best ones show up with a little something they thought you might like, too.  The best ones throw themselves into what you have planned.  The best ones don’t sit and wait for the fireworks, they respond to what your doing.  They turn themselves over to your tender ministrations and don’t complain when things get a little rough.  In fact, most of them secretly hope you’ll have a strong pimp hand and push them hard.  Push them real hard.  Sometimes, they’ll give you a short break and ask for a second session immediately following the first.  That takes stamina, but if you’ve got the right mindset you will rise (heh) to the challenge and keep that pimp hand strong.


Here’s how you get into that mindset.  Treat your players like you would a date.  You don’t beg for hints about what they would like to do.  Instead, you plan something that you will enjoy and then invite them to come along for the ride (heh).  Sure, you’re not a control freak here – you are going to present some options, but by and large, you’ve got a plan for the night, and you’re here for you.  If they don’t like it, they can find some other chump who will bend over backwards to give them what they feel they deserve.  Meanwhile, you’ll be doing your thing and having the blast you deserve.  And before you know it, they will be having a blast, too.  You’ll be blasting them in the face with thick, gooey streams of fun that will make them laugh the whole time.  Do I need to add a (heh) here?  I don’t think so.

Players, like sloots, are a dime a dozen.  You adopt the abundance mindset.  You start spreading rumors that you have no room at your table and players will pre-select like you would. Not. Believe.  They’ll be beating a path to your door.

Take me, for example.  I’m a horrible person.  Arrogant.  Bloated.  Crude.  I have a partially subsumed twin staring out from my forehead.  And yet, every time I go down to the local game shop, my table is darn near full.  Why?  Because I faked it until I made it.  I project an aura of unflappable control over my table, and have a firm vision for how D&D should be played.  (Moldvay FTW!)

Which is not to say I’m a complete jerk – not at all.  A lot of the spineless dopes on the left who were never weaned from the validation teat of public schooling take exception to my utter certainty about things, but they don’t count – we’re talking about real people here, not SJWs.  I’m fair and even handed to a fault, and while players can sometimes grow frustrated with my even keel and refusal to sacrifice my long term vision for their short term laziness, they respect me and in the end have a lot more fun at my table than if I just threw out freebies like it was the first of the month at the inner-city welfare office.

Remember that your players are lucky to have you around, and don’t be afraid to pack up your books and screen if you aren’t enjoying yourself.  You don’t owe anyone at that table your time.  Be strong.  Be adamant.  Adopt the gorilla DM mindset.


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The Dungeon – Fifth Edition

fireballIt’s the fifth edition of The Dungeon, an FLGS round table game of testosterone fueled D&D the likes of which is not suitable for modern, estrogen fueled players regardless of the tackle they stuff in their box.

Somehow I’ve cobbled together a ragtag band of misfit players who keep coming back for more.  Four of the players are getting pretty good at this, but we had two new guys show up, one of whom lacked that all important Y-chromosome.  Word got around about the challenge level at my table and that we don’t dick around with things like motivations and politics and whatever lace and doily, pinky raised form of D&D they play at the other tables.  As usual, the player’s motivation was to prove that she was just as good as any man at old school D&D.

Le sigh.

It’s a game shop.  Fat bastard’s game shop, fat bastard’s rules.  Chicks wanna play, chicks gonna play.  Eh.  The party needed the extra PC.  Due to some miserable CHA scores in the new party, there just weren’t many NPCs available.

Also.  She had a yonkin’ set of honkers.

This probably seems like a setup for a ‘girl D&D’ tirade.  You probably expect a lot of gross-out humor explaining how menstrual cycles and D&D just don’t mix, complete with plenty of live-in-the-field tales from last night’s session featuring our resident babymaker bumbling her way through Moldvay while clinging to disproven (read: modern) methods of play.  That would be hilarious, but it would be a lie.

She did…fine.  She needed a little help from the old hands, but most new players do.  She accepted their help gracefully (for the most part), and made reasonable and practical suggestions.  She didn’t have her nose glued to a cell phone, constantly posting and checking to see if her, “OMG! Girl OSR!” posts were getting enough likes.  She didn’t feel a need to compensate for her sex or represent her sex or any of the usual jutting-jaw habits that women have adopted after imbibing the bleak pill of modern feminism.  She was just another gamer.

In the end, though.  She didn’t enjoy herself.

As the party entered the Dungeon, I informed them that three townsfolk had gone missing.  Clearly she would have preferred a long, drawn out blah-blah with the missing townsfolk’s family and gathering clues and other not-D&D time wasters, but she went along with the brusque manner of introducing this.

Two kobolds had set up shop near the entrance to the earthen walled goblin tunnels.  The reaction table surprised her.  The dice informed me the kobolds were neutral – pay a gold and pass unmolested.  Fight and they would ring a gong that would alert the goblins to the presence of raiders.  They paid the gold, the kobolds warned them of a pit trap down a newly installed passage.  (The PCs were using the map drafted by the party TPKed in the last session.  Player knowledge is the name of this game.  How that map fell into the new party’s hands is an exercise for the reader.  You are creative, you should be able to come up with three plausible justifications.)  That was our role-playing for the session.

The rest of the session was a brutal fight with two owlbears, a trip to town to heal, and then a few wandering goblin patrols.  Not much to tell, really.  Just a solid couple of delves with acceptable casualties and a bit of gold to show for it.  Nothing really to complain about.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much to brag about either.  Her lack of enjoyment rubbed off on everyone at the table.  Afterwards, she explained that it all felt really cold and clinical.  It was all about the numbers and the logic puzzles, with none of the drama and in-game relationships that she wanted out of her gaming.  I explained that what we do at my table is real RPGs, not fake RPGs like storygames.  Ever the helpful soul, I pointed her towards titles like DungeonWorld, and Maid, and something with anime characters on the cover.  You know – not-RPGs.

Or she could continue playing D&D wrong, but if playing D&D the right way isn’t what she wants, it doesn’t make sense for her to keep playing it.  Even turning D&D into something it is not won’t work.  She won’t make D&D better for anyone, she’ll just make D&D worse for everyone.

Especially at my table, because I reject Satan and all his works.

And trying to turn D&D into a storygame is the work of the debbil!





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Field Operatives – You Are Surrounded

One thing I forget to mention in my last post:

We Are Legion.


Please, speak freely.  We’re taking notes.

All you Girl D&D players who think the battle is over?  Who think that tabletop gaming is your safe space where you can let your rainbow armpit hair down and let your coffee stained antifa shirt fly free?  Who think that anything goes and gender doesn’t exit except that one of the 58 genders is responsible for all evil everywhere in the world?

This ain’t over.  It ain’t over until the Alt-Right says it’s over.  We are everywhere, and the only reason we haven’t made ourselves known yet is that we are studying our enemy.  We want to know you.  We want to understand you.  Because we understand that knowing you is the first step to beating you.  Keep fighting the imaginary boogeymen of the alt-right.

In the end, we will drive you boastful losers with your misery Olympic mindset from the tables and back into your parent’s basement where you can engage in any sort of gaming degeneracy you want.  Like three kinds of saving throws or bluff skill checks.  Or thirty minute shopping sprees.  Bleurgh.

You never know – you may have played with old E. Reagan Wright at one of your local conventions, and not even known it.

For you edgelords out there who have fallen on the storygame grenades for the good of Western Civilization, don’t be shy with Uncle E. Reagan.  Shoot me your experiences rubbing chunky elbows with the mutant muh feelz gamers who protect their fragile self-esteem by hiding between recent edition D&D rulesets.  The man behind the E. Reagan mask knows how important the defensive shield online anonymity to all of us.  All identifying information shall be scrubbed, and together we can laugh and mock the people making tabletop RPGs, and Western Civilization by extension, suitable for decent human beings once more.

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Support Uncanning Magazine!

This is my funniest post of the year, and I don’t even have to write anything.  Uncanning Magazine is seriously running an issue full of stories written by people with extra chromosomes!  Gah!  I would have pitched something*.


Physiognomy is real, yo.  Just look at that horse face.  Oh, and a horse, too.

I can’t tell you how disappointed I am not to be included in this.  If only they had read my submission (White Privilege, the SJW Superhero) before closing submissions, Uncleknee Magazine would have known that I am completely retarded in every way.  It’s true – you can ask anybody at the group home where I lived for a few weeks.  They’ll tell you, “Unnnghggnn, mmmrrrrghgnnn muh guh mug guh.  I love Pathfinderrrrrghkg blur blub gknegn.”  Then they’ll rub their sausage hands through your hair while smelling of tartar sauce.

Just like me!

Anyway, I backed it using my Clark Kent Kickstarter account, because supporting my next publisher is super important.  I’ll give you the link to the Kickstart-her, though, because they don’t give it to you at the UM website.  (Sigh.)  And this is going to be great.  You should support Uncancan Magazine today!


*My years in prison taught me it’s better to be a pitcher than a catcher.

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