Showing posts with label Funny Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Funny Stuff. Show all posts

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Why Not Waterdeep?

Last night I was talking with a friend of mine about Dyvers as a setting for an adventure that he was getting ready to run and he said something that has been kind of stuck in my craw ever since: "Why begin in Dyvers? Why not Waterdeep?" Why not Waterdeep indeed.

I'll tell you why not fucking Waterdeep. 

Waterdeep is a bullshit town without good music, easy sex, or ready access to drugs. It's a puritanical nightmare covered in a veneer of scum that barely covers the city, and by extension the whole setting. It's the fucking Branson of fictional cities. I don't want to go to god-damned Branson. I want to go to Vegas where I can be covered in cheap whores and expensive liquor while snorting cocaine off the craps table. 

Fuck Waterdeep!



Actually, now that I think about it there are a few things there that I like . . . Never mind. 

Friday, July 31, 2015

Where Do We Go from Here?

"I'm leaving," he said as she walked in the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"When will you be back?"

He gave her the briefest look over his shoulder and said, "I can't believe you would ask me that with his dick still on your breath."

"John!"

"Don't yell my name in outrage, Suzan!" He practically spit her name when he said it. He'd rounded on her now and fire burned in his eyes. "You've been playing me for a fool for so god damned long that you think I am one."

"Oh," she said as she crossed her arms, "this again."

"This again? You killed my monk and played in Mike's campaign without me!"

"Jesus," she said as he smiled and leaned against the wall, "my Mother said I shouldn't marry you."

"She also told you that you should put a quarter between your knees and eat bananas from the side because that's how good girls do it."

Suzan smiled, "Yeah, Mom was dumb sometimes."

He walked over and pulled her tight to him, kissing her hard and taking her breath away in the process. "I'll be back in a couple of hours dear heart." His voice was soft and Suzan was tingly from the kiss that curled her toes and made her head swim.

"Not too long, okay?"

"I'll try not to be gone so long this time, but you know how hunting can be."

She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes. The hunts had been more frequent lately, more dangerous too. Last month John had gone into the south forest with Max Elmore, Jane's husband, only to come back alone and bleeding terribly from the hip. They still hadn't found Max's body. "Do you have to go?"

John smiled at her, his beard making the whites of his teeth stand out even more than usual, "You know that I do."

"But your leg isn't healed all the way yet."

"Suzan," he said as he looked towards the door, "you can't start this."

"But your leg," she whispered, "you still have a limp."

"I'll be fine, dear."

"Isn't there anyone else that can go this time?"

He smiled, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "Not this time, no." 

He was out the door before she could stop him. She ran to the door and watched him grab his rifle and head towards the forest. She wanted to scream they still haven't found Max's body. She wanted to cry out and race from their home to his side. She wanted to tackle him and drag him kicking and screaming back inside their home. She wanted to rip her clothes off and bare herself before him, pulling him into her bed and keeping him there but she stopped herself. He was already at the top of the hill before she could tear her gaze away from him. I can't watch him go or he'll never make it back. She ran into their room and fell on the bed, her eyes wet from tears that were already streaming, and cried out, "THEY STILL HAVEN'T FOUND THE BODY!"

They never found John's either. 

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

1d10 Reasons You Should Have Done Something Else . . . Like Drink. A Lot.

Last night I got an e-mail about a series that I have been slowly making my way through. The e-mailer was attempting to explain to me that I'm wasting my time by doing things in a different way. "Of course you could figure out what's in each of those kits," she wrote, "but really a dice roll is all that's needed. You should really just stop."


In honor of this e-mail I decided to create a list with all the things that I should be doing instead of what I'm actually doing. You're welcome to use it yourself whenever you feel the urge to do something and there might be something else worth doing instead.

1d10 Things You Should Have Done Instead

1 You should have finished that other series that you've been working on instead of the one you're working on now because I totally liked it better and this one blows donkey dicks on the side of the road for gas money. 

2 You should have just rolled dice for the answer instead because the game should only be played as it was written - and by game I mean Dungeons & Dragons; by which I mean Basic Dungeons & Dragons; which, as everyone knows, means Moldvay Basic Dungeons & Dragons.

3 Instead of talking about what's wrong with it you should have come up with a solution to the problem that isn't the one you wrote about because I don't like the way you write about rules in games that involve Dragons or transgendered princesses who are actually the villains because that's totally a bullshit move designed to play into the stereotypes of transgendered fantasy princesses that we've all seen a million times before and that effectively disenfranchises them from the wider fantasy community.

4 You should stop attempting to change the game from what the game designers wrote and instead should begin contemplating what they actually meant when they wrote, "You have mastered the art of defense in combat . . ." (Collins 1:100).

5 You should stop focusing on the inaccuracies in that article and instead should focus on the fact that when you kill imaginary creatures that you're actually acting out your racial hatred for the Other. Haven't you ever been to the South? Have you never seen racists?

6 Instead of writing that bit of flash fiction you should have been busy writing about the state of alignments in modern role-playing games as opposed to the traditional view of such things in an essay that includes quotes from the more popular role-playing enthusiasts without questioning or arguing with their logic no matter your own opinions. 

7 You should stop doing cross blog projects with other bloggers that you like and respect and instead should focus on doing this other cross blog project with bloggers that you don't know because of your vast / inconsequential popularity.

8 Instead of putting out three blog posts on the same day, each with word counts over 1,500, you should focus on a single blog post a week that is no longer than 400 words that doesn't use adjectives or nouns.

9 You should have read this book that I read but you haven't yet because it totally means that until you do that anything you have to say on the subject isn't valid or meaningful to the conversation. Never mind that you're the one who initiated it and that has been investigating it by using primary documents - this book written by someone who likes to drink gin and mercury cocktails and hasn't read any of the original documents or even knew anyone involved says that you're full of shit.

10 You should have replied to our e-mail as your lottery winnings in the Irish Lottery, of which there is a substantial sum, cannot be paid out until such time as you have replied to our letters with your e-mail, social security number, bank account number and passwords, the name of your first pet, and your mother's maiden name. This is an urgent matter that you must attend to immediately or else we will be forced to send you yet another e-mail regarding this lottery that you did not buy a ticket for and which does not actually exist. 


Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Never Enough Time, Until There's Too Much

Drinking.

I'm drinking while I write this tonight, though it won't post until the morning, because today was a day for such things. I am wild in my own thoughts wrapped up in the terrible possibilities that come along with my own ill chosen words. "He's such a fucking cunt," was not where I expected the conversation to go and yet there it was. It hung in the air between us like a wet fart in a crowded elevator. Her jaw hung loose as she stared at me and my blood ran cold knowing that with that single line - with that word I so rarely use - that I had just begun a fight that would run all night. Oh and how it has raged. My, God, there have been tears streaming from beautiful blue eyes as she told me where I could expect to find my dick in the morning. 

Riposte.

Our words formed a gulf deeper than the Mariana Trench which we filled with insults, recriminations, and threats of sexual embargoes. Our voices rose up and exploded like thunder as each tried to shout the other down. There are no winners here; we are all lost with pride dividing us. 

Coule

Words are meaningless when she cries. Everything else falls apart as we cuddle next to each other on the couch. Whispered, "I'm sorry," escapes from our lips as we watch the news. Mike Huckabee has announced he's running for President of the United States. We listen to his speech and as the crowd goes wild she cups my chin in her hand and turns me to face her. "I'm sorry," she says, "you're right. He is a fucking cunt."

Monday, April 13, 2015

Hot Java Burned My Lips So I Had to Tweet





































Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Old Words Cluttering Up Our Understanding of Each Other

My wife is six years younger than me and at times that can be a bit of a problem because our cultural reference points are so far from each other and yet, by far, the most difficult thing is our mixed lexicons. Last night was a prime example of this when we were discussing a friend of her's from college. My wife was lamenting her friend's situation and during the course of looking at some of her photos on Instagram she made the comment that the girl was looking so "ratchet."

Now for me a ratchet is something you use to tighten up a bolt so I gave her a look and gingerly asked, "She's a mechanic?"

"What," my wife asked with a look that bordered on smelling a fart. 

"You said she's looking so ratchet."

A blank stare met me. And then it lingered before she finally said, "That's not what ratchet means."

"Oh?"

"It means that she looks all messed up," she said as she waved her hand about her face. "Her hair looks like hell. Her make-up is smeared. Things are just not right in her life. You know, ratchet."

"We call that fucked up in this house," I said in my best disapproving tone, "and I'll hear  no argument from you."

"God, you're so old."

Emmanuel and Phillip Hudson dressed as Ratchet Girls

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Dealing with Problem Players the Dyvers Way

In the last week you've spent nearly every spare moment working on this weekend's adventure. You've built an elaborate maze for your players to explore, bought enough snacks to feed a small army, and now you're watching one of them screw it all up. Oh, he's a nice enough guy away from the table; good to his mother, takes care of his children, but at the table he's an asshole. For some people it's difficult to ask problem players to leave. After all, they're your friends and you just couldn't ask them to get out - let alone confront them over their behavior! It might hurt their precious feelings. 

What about your feelings?

This is a guide for dealing with the problem players in all our lives. What you'll find below are the ways for dealing with friends, family, and the strangers that have made your games a nightmare that I have been using for the better part of the last decade. Just follow my advice and it'll all work out.

1. He's Actually a Really Nice Guy

By far the most common problem player is your asshole friend. In this case we'll call him Denny. Denny is a great guy away from the table. He pays his bills on time, is a loving father, and can tell a hysterical dirty joke at the drop of a hat. But when this son of a bitch sits down at the table you might as well forget about playing tonight. Oh it starts innocently enough. He bitches a bit about work and then the game starts and you're thinking, "Great, the game will fix everything." Only it doesn't because now Denny is criticizing every decision that the other players make. They're rolling wrong. They've built their characters wrong. His last group was filled with real players. Everyone else at the table is miserable and just when you think things can't get worse he starts in on you. 

Now your instinct is to cut the guy a break. Everyone has an off night. But this isn't an off night for Denny, this is every week. Every time you get together he ruins it. So what are you to do? Tell your buddy to get lost?

Yeah. 

You tell your friend that if he can't stop being an asshole that he isn't allowed back next week. It sucks because he's going to be mad. But when the alternative is allowing him to grind your games into a suckfest week after week, driving the rest of your players away from the table, what other option do you have? Do you really want to suffer through every game session because you don't want to hurt his feelings?

Look, if he's really your friend then talking to him about his behavior and how it's affecting the group will cause him to change his attitude. But if it doesn't, then he didn't give a flying fuck about you, the group, or the game. In that case fuck that asshole. 

2. She's Just Really Concerned About the Wider Effects of the Game on the Social and Political Reality of Our World

The second most common problem player is the one who takes the game way more seriously than everyone else at the table. Now this doesn't mean that if your game is about the psychological effects of rape and everyone at the table is down for role-playing that experience that you're doing it wrong. Rather it's about the kid at the table who is playing in a fun game of kill the dragon who starts trying to raise the awareness of the group to the plight of colonial natives as derived through your portrayal of the lowly (and totally sexist) bar maid. If as a table the group is down for playing in a game that looks at the world's issues through the lens of a role-playing game than that's fine. BUT when everyone else has come to the table to kill imaginary creatures, find treasure, explore dungeons, and have a good time playing together doing so makes you a dick.

So how do you deal with this type of player? Just lose their number so you don't have to deal with them any more? Fuck no. You tell them that it's fine that they have all these issues they'd like to raise awareness about but your game isn't the place to do that. When they tell you about how "You just don't get it, do you," you tell them to get the fuck out. 

See while playing role-playing games can touch on deeper issues by placing them into the narrative when everyone has agreed to explore those issues; forcing others to explore those issues by insisting that the narrative is present when it hasn't been agreed upon or brought in by the Game Master is a dick move. You're not a socially aware gamer who is trying to bring up the consciousness of the table. You're just a dick who needs to get away from the table because you're ruining the game for the rest of us.

3. They're Just Having a Good Time

The next group of problem players comes from those obnoxious guys who keep derailing the game. Oh, they tell the occasional funny story but by and large its just them talking to hear themselves talk. Did you see that game last night? Have you seen this movie on Netflix yet? I'm pretty sure that the girl at Taco Bell wanted me . . . On and on they drone about everything under the sun except the game. Now if you were running a boring game it might be understandable but you haven't even been able to start because these jackasses keep on braying about whatever comes into their heads. The best part though, that comes at the end of the night when they look at you and say, "Why didn't you run tonight?"

"Why didn't I run tonight," you want to sputter; but you don't because they're just having a good time. You spent your week coming up with a game and they just ruined it. Instead of being quite you have to speak up. You have to tell them that the reason you didn't get to run is because they're a pair of assholes so self-absorbed that they went out of their way to talk over you and to completely ruin the game for everyone else. And it will definitely hurt their feelings when you do. But you know what? Fuck their feelings. They didn't care about yours. 

4. What Do You Mean, I'm the Problem?

Sometimes the truth of why you're having a terrible game is because you're the problem. You're arguing with every decision the players make and punishing them for going off your script. You're a shitty Game Master.

"But what if I don't know if I'm a shitty Game Master?" you ask. Answer these questions.

1. Do you punish your players for going against your story?
2. Do you view your job as Game Master as the Joker to their Batman (or vice versa)?
3. Do you cheat your players (by adding hit points, increasing save DCs, ect) so that you can "win?"

If you answered yes to any of those you're a shitty Game Master and need to put the dice up. Stop blaming everyone else at the table and let someone else run for a change. 

5. Get the Fuck Away from My Table

Life is difficult and oftentimes unfair so why should any of us put up with the players who want to ruin our games. I refuse to let those sorts of people ruin my gaming experience and as a result I've had a tremendous amount of fun. If you follow my advice then you will be able to as well. So go out and tell those problem players to get the fuck away from your tables and start having a better gaming experience today.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

She Keeps Telling Me That I Don't Understand

In Bed: The Kiss by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec 1892


Timmy was nearly my height, though slightly shorter and far thinner. He looked like one of those hipster children you find wondering the streets at night smoking clove cigarettes and trying to sound far more interesting then they really wore. Only unlike those kids Timmy hated cloves and preferred to chain smoke menthol camels as he paced and talked his way through life. On a cold night like tonight it made him look like a human steam engine barreling along without a track or hope. "She keeps telling me that I don't understand what she's gone through," he was saying this night, "like it's impossible for me to know what it's like to have shitty parents or to watch someone die and you can't do anything about it."

I watched him hit the end of the sidewalk and turn back as I sipped whiskey directly from the bottle. Have you considered that she might mean something more than just her terrible life story?

"You make her sound like she's a character in a play."

We're all characters in a play, Tim. Always have been.

He stopped pacing, "How much have you had to drink."

Drink? I'm a teetotaler and your suggestion that I might be imbibing the devil's brew highly offends my delicate sensibilities, I said as I took another sip. Go on with you diatribe before I rise up from this bench and address your uncouth manners with pistols at dawn.

He smiled, "She doesn't believe that I can understand what it's like to have people use you for what's between your legs."

That's a rather unkind assessment of what you're packing. 

"I know, right? I told her that I'm a highly sought after male specimen and that there were women throwing themselves at me on a daily basis."

So you lied to her in the hopes that she wouldn't remember how desperate you were to get her pants off?

"Well yeah."

Did she fall for it?

"No," he said with mock outrage as he lit another cigarette. "Instead she just roller her eyes, took off her pants, and laid down on the back seat of the car."

That one has a giving soul.

"She does at that," he said with a laugh, "I only wish that laying with her was worth the time and effort."

Rather an uncharitable characterization of the only woman who's allowed you to pull that disgusting thing out of your pants without laughing at you. 

"I know, but you just don't know what it's like to constantly be told that you don't understand. I understand plenty - more than she's likely to ever encounter."

Don't be a fool. He stared at me with a bit of shock in his face. You're talking about a woman that's going into the army and we're at war. She's going to see more terribleness in the coming months than you've ever dreamed of - no matter how many opium dens and crack houses you explore. 

He attempted a half-hearted waving me off and said, "I know. I know. I tried to get her to stay. I told her that she didn't have to go off into the deserts all the way across the world to kill people when her leaving was killing me here."

I handed him the bottle as I said, What did she say to that?

"The only thing you're killing is my vibe."

Bitch don't kill my vibe, I sang.

"This isn't funny. My heart is breaking and I don't know what to do."

Hearts break, I said as he handed me back the bottle. It's an inevitable side effect of being alive and human. You find a woman who'll let you do all the horrible things you've been reading about in the Penthouse forum for the last decade and then she has to go and let you develop feelings for her. 

"A damned, dirty trick."

It is at that. 

Now you start thinking about taking her home and asking her to stay for longer than the night. Only she'd rather be climbing into the arms of some Fabio impersonator who has about as much personality as he has chest hair because his arms are muscular and his steroid shriveled cock is hidden behind those tight leather pants. 

"Are we still talking about me?"

I'm sharing too much again, aren't I?

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Not a False Word from These Lips.

Painting by William Hatherill

 "You're bleeding again," she says as she starts cleaning my shoulder with a wet towel. "What happened to you?"

Vampire bats.

A little laugh, then, "There are no vampire bats here. What happened?"

I was walking along the path down by the lake and listening to the rednecks down by the docks have sex when I saw a woman in front of me. She was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Tall, slender, and with the sort of blonde hair that only comes from Hollywood and doesn't exist in nature. She's wearing this white, silky thing that makes her look like a ghost in the moon light. 

"Really," she said with a note of danger entering into her tone. 

Really, I say solemnly.

There she was in front of me walking along the path and this great wind comes from ahead of us and blows her robe off. Do you know what she was wearing?

"What?"

Nothing more than god gave her at birth. I was shocked.

"You were, huh?"

Absolutely. Now she turns about and sees me with her robe and starts smiling at me. She holds her hand out towards me and starts bekoning me towards her. So I walk over and start fumbling over my words. 'Ma'am,' I say, 'you seem to have dropped something.'

Can you believe that? Me! At a loss for words because some blonde filly stands naked in front of me!

"Get to the point," she says with just a tinge more anger than she means to let out. 

Right. So she looks at me and starts talking in this strange language that sounds like music and starts trying to take off my pants!

"What?" she practically shouts.

And I say, 'Hold it now! I'm a married man!' and she stops. 

"But how did you hurt your shoulder?"

I fell on a rock trying to take my pants off. 

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Because She Said This Over Dinner

The wife wearing GOD'S TEAM ON HER SHIRT and playing D&D


Me: "I can't believe you've never played Halo!"

The Wife: "I can't believe you've never taken a dick up the ass. Do you want to keep going down this path."

Me: "No Ma'am. You win."

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Off the Record

This morning I recieved an e-mail from a reader of mine with this really fascinating story that involved a semi-famous role playing games author, a transvestite, two pounds of cocaine, and a deserted alley in Chicago. The story was absolutely hysterical and the guy told me that I couldn't share any of the details with the world. 



Thursday, May 1, 2014

Hey, What's Up Girl?

I'm always amazed that people feel like there need to be rules for social interactions in Dungeons and Dragons. It's as though there is this fundamental disconnect with reality and these authors delude themselves into believing that by distilling the fluid and enjoyable morass of social interactions into a handful of carefully constrained dice mechanics that they will somehow bring order to an incredibly disorderly process. In other words, you're not going to master talking to the opposite sex by dictating a set procedure for dealing with them. 

See, in the real world, when you want to talk to someone you have to say, "Hello" first. If you don't then you're going to live in misery and loneliness. Fuck that noise and take the first step. Baring that, write her a sonnet.


Monday, April 14, 2014

Two Quick Hits

1. I love seeing one of my posts get shared on a forum and not seeing a bunch dicks be all, "Fuck that guy, I hear he has sex with women. Yo, mother fucker best recognize that if she ain't on top he's subjugating her and that's a sexist dick move!"

Maybe that's just the sort of conversation that goes on in my head. 

2. I've invented a new drinking game: download the The Steve Austin Show podcast and take a shot every time Austin says "Mother Fucker." I've died twice from alcohol posioning in the last two days. I should probably stop playing but I really want to hear what happens after the first five minutes of the show . . .

Friday, March 28, 2014

Perfect Timing.


Screen cap from my Google+ feed tonight.

 That's some funny shit right there!

Friday, March 14, 2014

Borkum 27, the Drink that Hates You More than You Hate Yourself.

So you have a death wish and want to make the Borkum 27 I mentioned in Where for Art Thou, Hipster Child, but don't know how to since I made it up for that last post? Well, you're in luck because I've got the answer.

Supplies

  • Two 1 liter container that can be shut air tight.
  • 1 Package of Borkum Riff pipe tobacco - I prefer the Bourbon flavor
  • 1 liter of Vodka (quality matters so stray towards Vox and that price range as opposed to cheaper vodkas)
  • 1 funnel
  • 1 box of coffee filters

Okay, Got It. Now What?

Take all of the pipe tobacco and shove it into the bottom of the container, poor your vodka on top and seal the container. Put it somewhere away from the light and let the entire concoction infuse for 27 days.

That's Done. Now Do We Drink?

Not quite. 

At this point you need to take your second container and place the funnel in its mouth. Open a single coffee filter and center it in the funnel. Then open another coffee filter and lay this one on the side of the funnel; repeat this process until you've covered all the sides of the funnel. Finally add a second coffee filter over the center.

It can seem like you're going to a lot of effort here but trust me keeping the tobacco shreds out of your infused vodka is well worth the effort. 

Now pour your infused vodka into the funnel. Never let the liquid get over about two-third of the funnel's depth. By keeping yourself from going higher you prevent the possibility of over filling the funnel and having it flip out, and thereby ruining nearly a month's worth of waiting.

After you've filtered the concoction you're finally ready to drink.

So Should I Drink This? 
It Smells Like Death.

Fuck no.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Spring is Here, Even if it Is 17 Degrees Outside.

The Avengers in Marvel Illustrated Swimsuit Special #1
Get your swimsuits ready and - why is Iron Man wearing swim trunks? What the what! Tony you rich bastard, stop being a drunken slob and show those super powered punks what your pale, sallow skin looks like. 

Put them to shame rich boy!

Nevermind the Title, We've Got Fish to Fry

Last night I was reading about a game of Dungeons and Dragons and one of the characters died of hunger. Now that wouldn't be such a surprise if the party had been out in the middle of the desert, but they weren't. Instead the players were camped out near a river with giant fish swimming in it and they were too chickenshit to get in there and get those fish. The guy writing about it even went so far as to say that unless they found an inn soon they'd all be dead of hunger.

I sat there staring at my computer screen trying to figure out a way to respond to that statement that wasn't me screaming, "You fucking mouth-breathers! You're sitting on the edge of a river with gigantic, fuck-off, fish swimming in it. Grab a tree and tie a rope to it. Make a hook out of a caltrop and cut the dead guy up to use as bait! Don't fucking look for a damned inn and starve to death for no reason!" It shouldn't have elicited such a response from me. I should have just laughed at their foolishness.

Ho, ho! Look at those fools. They've got everything they need and they're still complaining!

Look, I grew up fishing and watching my neighbors gut deer in their front lawn and I realize that can make my internal voice a bit skewed against their ignorance, but I can't be the only one who threw his hands up in disgust at that bullshit.  Honest to god, kids, kill the fucking deer, catfish, and dog but don't starve to death.

What a bullshit and needless way to die.

Let it go? Fuck no! We're eating the shit out of this bitch!

Closing Comments.

Due to the influx of spam comments on Dyvers I am closing the comments. I'm not currently doing anything with this blog, but I don'...