Are you ready for some ROLE-PLAYING!?! Yeah, today is Super Bowl Sunday and we kinda went off about how we didn’t give a shit and were going to have our own Super ROLL Sunday. And maybe, just perhaps, all our talk about nymph queens and the Fey Realm, armor class and vorpal swords, elves and spells sounded like a bunch of nonsense and nerdery. If our inside chatter about fantasy role-playing sounded like rubbish to you, than you now have about 0.02% of the frustration that we non-football people have been putting up with for the last several weeks. The only reason there isn’t a Super Bowl for people who like to roll dice and pretend to be Barbarian/Rogues is because you can’t place bets on a D&D game. If you could call a bookie and wager your week’s wages on a dungeon crawl, all of a sudden there would be corporate sponsorships and network contracts. Kids who carry dice bags around in high school would get scouted for university scholarships and professors would let them breeze through class because of their high “Detect Traps” scores. Cheerleaders would dress as dryads and succubi, which wouldn’t be a terrible thing. And ESPN would run coverage like, “I don’t know, Jim, he’ll have to roll a 17 or higher if he wants to get a critical hit on that Mind Flayer. If he can’t do double damage on this round, it’s looking like the ol’ brain suck for one of this season’s most promising paladins.” Sure, football is a celebration savage brutality and tribalism, but take away the point spread and it all goes away. If people can’t drop money on games, all you’re left with are mobs of well-drilled fighters wearing matching tunics over their padded armor. And any decent 8th level wizard with an Overland Flight spell and a wand of Fireball could cook those losers in four rounds. TWO, if he’s Hasted.
Hey look, our Mailman’s been here!
Steve Lowe, part time Batman and all-around great guy, ousted some trouble-makers from a chip shop with the help of Buzz Lightyear a.k.a Shane Lee. When duty calls, these fancy dress heroes are ready for action!
A grateful Aria Nouri poses here with the guys who came to his rescue. “The youngsters had been drinking, but nobody thought about throwing a punch at Batman.”
“C” is for Cookie. “R” is for Ransom Note. And if you want to see your precious golden cookie emblem again, Balsen Biscuit Company, you’ll pay up . . . in COOKIES!
Behold, the weapon in question! A six-year-old girl offered to shoot bubbles at a friend at school with her Hello Kitty Bubble Gun. She got suspended for being a violent threat. It’s like the Prophet Carlin said: “They want to ban toy guns . . . AND THEY’RE GONNA KEEP THE FUCKING REAL ONES!“
C’mon, Hello Kitty’s not a threat! Sure, she packs a wallop with that ICHIGO PUNCH!, but as long as you’re not a bad guy or school administrator, you’ve got nothing to worry about.
“Oh Golly Mom, why doesn’t Jeff ever call me? He knows I’m just waiting by the phone!”
“It’s because he knows you’re on the hook, Marie. He can skank around all he wants because he knows you’re in his back pocket.”
“Aw gee. But how would he feel if I did that to him, Mother?”
“That would make you a whore, dear. I much prefer you as a sweet little doormat, Marie. Now when Jeff does call, don’t forget to put out like we discussed.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Watch Marie and Jeff struggle with the rampant evil that is parental support in Going Steady? (1951)
From Skullard’s Postcard Collection: Okay, no cheap jokes about some guy offering his weiner to a woman who looks for all the world like his mother. No comment on how the woman opens her mouth wide at the approach of the meat or how her bun is so wontonly open and receptive. How about some more serious questions like, for example, isn’t that a LOT of apples for that size table? Are they really going to eat all those? Why’s the guy grilling some buns, but her buns are raw? (Luka sez, “YOU’RE buns are raw!”) Shoud he really have his iced tea so close to the heat? And where’s she supposed to set her glass, huh? Like I said before, that’s a small table. Are those chips Sour Cream and Onion, or just regular? Where the fuck’s the mustard? And when did Steve Cox pose for postcards?
