Razor Boy

We don't need no wool socks where we're goin'. I guess that's why it's called "The Land of Cotton."

I started DMing a 5e game with some fellow rookies about 6 months ago (not too long after I finished Sark's episodes of this podcast, which is not a coincidence). This is something we still come against as a problem. I have one player who can't tell the difference between flavor text and useful stats. I think she's starting to come around through repetition. She keeps saying she'd do a lot better if she didn't smoke weed during our games, but nobody's twisting her arm or anything... I also spent a lot of time with each player agonizing over every detail of race/class/background/etc. The best thing to happen was that one of the characters got killed in the second session. The player rolled up a newer, much better character in about 20 minutes. It's really easy to get bogged down in the details and forget that you're still just playing a game. It helps not to be too precious about your character, or else you could spend the whole game hiding behind a shield. Also, we started by running the Phandelver starter set. After 3 or 4 sessions, I could tell that the story was not really fitting with the kind of game I want to run and the kind of game they want to play. After that, I started diverging more and more from the script. We're all having much more fun. So don't treat the text as gospel, it doesn't need to be.

Don't fall on your sword, just call on the Lord.

Yo soy el rey del cañon de verde. Yo soy el león de montaña.

The Electric Mexican-American is filmed in front of a live studio audience.

As Howard continues to explore his identity as a trans-millenial, I'm beginning to notice things about myself that make a lot more sense in this context. Guys, I think I'm trans-Gen-X. I was born in 1984, so I'm getting kinda close to the cutoff point anyway. But I identify much more strongly with the previous generation. To whit: I recently got rid of my smartphone. (Mostly because I'm hella cheap, but I don't miss it much now that it's gone.) I'd say at least 75% of the jokes I make are actually just Mr. Show references. (I used to be in a band called Fuck Mountain, based on the "King Shit of Fuck Mountain" line.) The other 25% are references from early Simpsons seasons. (Alright, everybody tuck your pants into your socks.) I moved to the Northwest and started a band when I was 21. (That was Fuck Mountain. Even ten years ago, Portland still felt like the 90s. The wave of twee bullshit has only just started to break.) I'll take sarcasm over irony any day. (There's a difference.) I still buy CDs and rent DVDs. (Sometimes VHS if I'm getting into the really deep cuts.) I still record demos on my tape machine. (Tascam 688. Soon to be featured on CBB with some plugs themes, fingers crossed...) So I guess Howard can have my spot in this generation if I can take the one he leaves behind. I might be biologically millenial, but I don't have the privilege of a cis-generational person. Thank you Howard for showing me that I can be the person who I feel like I really am.

Shampooin' Shamu, 'swhat I love to do.

Sometimes I wonder if these are anagrams or something, voblex.

Right?!

Heavy hangs the head that wears the cat-in-the-hat hat to an Indianapolis rave.

I am large, I contain multitudes. And a chile relleno.

Behold the Lovecraftian nightmare that is my F.U.P.A.

You guys all rewound it, like, 4 times when she laughed at my screen name right? I might have also texted a couple of people about it...

One hundred and ten cornets, please and thank you.

Welcome to Comedy Big Bang Theory, bazinga!

If you came for college radio alt-cumbia hits, you may be disappointed.

Jacksonville's just a big hole full of money.

We are all a fever dream in the mind of Dick Wolf.

We're all here like Paul Scheer.

He who controls the pumpkin spice controls the latte-verse.

This is yours to lose, Gallagher 2.

Focus on the foci, getcha selves crosseyed, errybody gonna die.

Girly girls and burly boys gon' be fuckin dogg.

A plaster cast of Master Blaster caused a Mad Max ass-disaster.

Thanks, friend!