Saturday, April 2, 2011

(Recommended Podcast) The HP Lovecraft Literary Podcast

I am not one for listening to podcasts... I am usually too busy dealing with the voices wandering around in my own head to add anymore. 


But these guys... Chad Fifer and Chris Lackey have created a fun and fascinating listen for anyone interested in the works of Mr. Lovecraft. Part dramatic reading, part synopsis and part analysis the podcast is instructive, informative and are frequently so funny that I like to think of them as 'the MST3k of the Mythos. ' They have great guest readers, great guests and some damn fine music.


And now their podcast has moved on to offering full dramatic readings of Lovecraft's works.


Give the talented men at the HP LOVECRAFT LITERARY PODCAST a listen folks.

(Recommended Serial Novel) "The Mythical Creatures Emploment Exchange" by Justin Davies


Fiona McAlister sprinted to the corner of the building and bent over clutching her sides. Lungs burning and blood racing, she listened for its crawling approach above the pounding of her heart.

It was there, right in front of her, in the darkness of the factory’s shadow. How could it have passed her? Its phlegm-rolling throat-breath inched closer, expiring rank carnivorous air over her face. Pulling her head back into her shoulders Fiona looked into its blood-lined yellow iris and saw her own fear reflected back. As the monster opened its mouth she closed her eyes. One, two, three, four, open.

Lying in her sweat-drenched bed Fiona caught her breath and tried to remember the nightmare. By the time she’d made coffee and showered it had already become softer around the edges and on reaching work, she had entirely forgotten the details.

A queue of shuffling cadavers greeted her at the Mythical Creatures Employment Exchange; most were pleasant enough, but Zombies always unnerved her with the bits of dead flesh falling off and blood all over the lino.

‘Don’t tell me,’ she groaned at Alice, her secretary, ‘they’ve nothing to do after the Dia de Los Muertos.’

‘That’s right.’ said Alice. ‘I’ve told them we’re over-subscribed, but they just won’t listen. Actually, it’s hard finding one with ears,'...


click here to read more

(Recommended Reads) "How Laziness Made Me A Better Person" by Trevor McPherson

Once upon a time, in my mid thirties, I realized I was in danger of becoming a boring middle class white guy. My life needed some sparkle, some drama. A little je ne sais quois, if you will. I decided the solution was to become an alcoholic.

Alcohol does not discriminate. It has made heroes, buffoons and celebrities of people at all income levels, on all continents, and every industry. Writers, actors, politicians, doctors, mill workers, cabbies, psychotherapists – alcohol really is an equal opportunity fucker-upper. I had every confidence I would succeed...

click here to read the rest

(Recommended Reads) "Ring the Bell" by Jason Warden

I ring the bell. My life is a shriveled, blackened husk of what it once was. Like an eggplant left to rot, the soft mushy portion of my soul liquefies, collapses in on itself, and splits wide threatening to spoil everything within reach of the putrescence.

She acted as my savior, the only one who could lift me up when life threatened to take everything from me. She did that, and for a little while I was happy. A feeling I knew nothing about before her...

click here to read the rest

Friday, April 1, 2011

Yet another DOCTOR WHO trailer - life is good

(Recommended Read) “Zoning Patrol” by P.J. Kaiser

The dark stairs stretched out before Monty, looking like they had been trod by a million feet. His head tilted at an odd angle, eyes focused on drops of blood, one after another, like a trail of bread crumbs leading up the stairs. Knowing where the trail would lead, his stomach knotted and a wave of nausea hit him. Monty glanced over his shoulder, wishing his partner would appear, but Willard had called in sick that morning...

click here to read the rest

The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Oh! Darling

The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions)

Oh! Darling


Al Bruno III

They were such a mismatched pair. First there was Jason Magwier- diminutive and scheming, his close cropped hair was dark brown, his gaze was as unblinking as it was mournful. Then there was Zeth- cool-eyed, muscular with his graying dreadlocks tied back with a bit of ribbon, his clothes were loose fitting enough to hide his two shoulder holsters and the blade he kept hidden up his sleeve. When he moved it was with an almost feline grace but his ebony skin was marked with old scars.

The men had many adversaries and a great number of them snidely dismissed Zeth as Magwier’s bodyguard. Both men would bristle at such accusations. After all hadn’t they both been saving each other’s lives for over a decade? Hadn’t they explored countless forgotten realms, fought against otherworldly unstoppable menaces and been banned from almost every poetry slam on the West coast?

All this was true and more, but it didn’t change the fact that at this moment, on the dark and winding street known as Route d'Abbaye, that Zeth was the only thing keeping Magwier from being throttled by his girlfriend.

“The Lunts?” Lorelei shouted. She wore cutoff shorts and garishly striped leggings, her hair was dyed burgundy but the roots were starting to show, “You brought me out here to protect the Lunts?”

Zeth was standing in front of the girl, the silver-plated maul he had slung over his right shoulder looked ridiculous.

“Erm...” Magwier said sheepishly, “ a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Goddess Damnit!” She dove at her lover, he dodged to safety, “The fucking Lunts?”

“Yes,” Magwier said, “but if you’ll hear me out-”

Lorelei was jumping up and down with rage, “Give me that hammer Zeth! Just for five minutes.”

Zeth shook his head, “No.”

“Give me that hammer or I swear I’ll turn you into a newt.”

“A newt... right.”

“A big black newt but it’ll be a newt!”

The windows of the brownstone houses of Route d'Abbaye were either barred or smashed open, some had lights burning in them but most were dark. A car passed by the trio but didn’t slow until it reached the building at the corner. It was a brothel, with pink curtains and a heavy brass door. It was the only building on Route d’Abbaye with a fire escape and Zeth watched it closely worrying that their argument might attract snipers or spies.

The unhappy couple circled each other. “Now, now,” Magwier said. “I told you Dr. Flesh is on a paid killing spree. I just didn’t have the time to specify his targets.”

Zeth rolled his eyes.

“You always do this!” Lorelei spoke through clenched teeth, “You give us little nibbles but never enough to let us see the full story.”

Magwier paused and stared off philosophically, “Maybe there is no big story. Maybe life is just a series of vignettes we can only try to make sense of.”

That only made Lorelei madder, she tried to kick him with her clunky boots but he was too fast, “I am not going to risk my neck for that clan of inbred, monkey-worshipping pigfuckers!”

Zeth snickered at that. He didn’t like Jason Magwier’s latest lover all that much but he had to admit the girl had a way with words.

“Please-” Magwier said, “I think you’re judging the situation too harshly.”

“The Lunts are a pack of criminals, corrupt sorcerers and Constables.”

“They’re not all like that. One of them is a Notary Public.”

“They killed my father, tried to assassinate my mother and have been gunning for me since I was twelve. And of course how could we forget the very bottom of the Lunt family gene pool- Jack Diamond? I guess this means that we’re going to try and save the man that beat me eight ways to Sunday and tried to rape one of my best friends?”

Magwier shrugged, “In a manner of speaking.”

“We should have killed him by now. I should have killed him.”

This was a familiar argument. Lorelei wanted Jack Diamond dead and wasn’t afraid to do the job herself. She wasn’t even twenty yet but she’d taken more lives than she cared to think about. She liked to think most had deserved it. “They’re evil,” she said, “and utterly ruthless.”

Magwier stopped so suddenly that Lorelei crashed into him, “Exactly. So who would dare try and kill them all? What if it’s someone worse? What if they succeed?”

It seemed like all of the street had gone quiet. Lorelei opened and closed her mouth several times before sighing with resignation, “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” Magwier said, “we’ve got the hammer.”

Now it was Zeth’s turn to sigh heavily, “So you did plan that whole thing.”

“Only in the sense that I saw it coming,” Magwier started walking, knowing they would follow, “next we recover the Xenon Splinter then we deal with Dr. Flesh.”

Lorelei asked, “And how are we going to do that?”

A carriage passed them by, the horses that drew it had seen better days. Jason Magwier flashed a cryptic smile, “Well, that’s a whole other vignette isn’t it?”

Then he crossed the street. His friend and his lover had to hurry after him. Lorelei caught up to him first. “Oh! Darling,” she said.

“Yes, my sweet?” Magwier turned, his arms already opening for a forgiving embrace.

And Lorelei laid him out flat with a single punch.

And Zeth was content to let her do so. After all, he wasn’t Magwier’s bodyguard.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

i09 Goes through the new DOCTOR WHO trailer shot by shot...

here are some of the tastiest morsels...



For more images and analysis stop by i09.

TOPLESS ROBOT made me watch the trailer for a SILENT HILL fan film - and now I can't sleep!

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GONE AND FORGOTTEN delves into the original SPIDER-MAN musical... poor bastard...


Of course, way-y-y-y back in 1975, Marvel (and Lifesong Records, a company which couldn’t sound more like a front for the kind of skeevy cult you’d find on episodes of The Streets of San Francisco or ChiPs if it had a permed guru in a white dashiki and Italian sunglasses talking to the cops at poolside), there was Spider-Man: Rock Reflections of a Super-Hero! An admittedly impressive – if inordinately obnoxious – rock opera based around the life and hardships of Peter Parker, narrated in intervals by Stan Lee and featuring the musical stylings of the Marvel Universe, if the flipside of the album art was to be believed (I bet The Falcon rocks the handclap. I seriously bet he does)...


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PLAID STALLIONS will show you fear in a handful of plaid!

I don't think he's ready for his closeup... I really don't...



For more 70's flashbacks stop by PLAIDSTALLIONS

CINEMATICAL dares us to watch THE TREE MAN and not be creeped out.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011


This is gonna be awesome! (and is that the 9th and 10th Doctor's TARDIS I see?)

Oh look, a new movie about Agatha Christie's Miss Marple... STARRING JENNIFER GARNER?????


In an apparent effort to make Jane Marple younger and less of a singleton, news has emerged that Disney is recasting the quintessentially English crime fighter as an attractive American in her 30s....


click here to read the rest at THE DEN OF GEEK

(Recommended Review) 1,000 MISSPENT HOURS ponders 'MANOS' THE HANDS OF FATE as outsider art...


I no longer remember where or when I first encountered the phrase “outsider art,” but given my tastes, it quickly became a very useful addition to my conceptual toolkit. Also known as intuitive art, visionary art, na├»ve art, and an inevitable constellation of borrowed French terminology, outsider art is exactly what it sounds like: art created by people operating in deep isolation from the mainstream of their chosen field. Outsider artists have little or no formal training, receive little or no support from the culture industries, and enjoy little or no prospect of achieving financial prosperity or critical approbation through their work (unless they’re dead, of course— then the critics start fawning and the sales to galleries and well-heeled private collectors commence). They may use improvised media, strange techniques of their own devising, or subject matter so particular to their own psyches as to be nearly (or indeed completely) incomprehensible to anyone else. Not infrequently, outsider artists are markedly eccentric if not downright crazy...


click here to read the rest



And be sure to spend some time perusing 1,000 MISSPENT HOURS, it is a fun and well written site.



Do I count as an 'Outsider Artist'?

CHAD'S ORACLES chapter eight


Chad’s Oracles

Chapter Eight


Chad was sitting on the front steps of the house on Kissimmee Avenue, waiting for her. It was almost midnight and he was dappled with shadows and starlight. “How did you know?” Thelma got off her bicycle and let it fall in the driveway, “How did you know I wouldn’t say anything?”

He looked up from his whittling; the shape in the wood was fluid, formless and weirdly beautiful. He pointed to the upper floor of the house, where light and music blared from open windows, “They knew.”

“Your Oracles?”

He grinned, “They don’t belong to me. Maybe I belong to them.”

“Oh really?” She had to fight not to return that smile.

“You’re like us, disconnected from the mundane world. You don’t fit in.”

“No. That’s not true.”

He shrugged and turned his attention back to his whittling.

Thelma said, “I have a family. I have friends.”

“Like Samantha?” There was a curl of wood at the edge of the knife; he stared at it contemplatively before letting it fall between his feet.

“Yes. And what did you do to her?”

“She was never sure of you. You never saw her socially outside of school. Were you ashamed to be seen with her in public? Did having a fat friend embarrass you? Or was it her reputation?”

“No! I just didn’t feel like doing the stuff she wanted to do.”

“When someone is your friend, sometimes you go anyway.”

“Who the fuck are you to judge me?” Thelma said, suddenly defensive. It was bad enough she had snuck out of the house at midnight leaving her mother alone in a valium-induced stupor, bad enough her father was on life support- now she had to deal with this? “I’m not a bad person. Not like you!”

Chad asked, “The only thing I’m guilty of is being too anxious. I couldn’t wait for you to join us. I shouldn’t have brought you here so soon.”

“You want me to be one of your Oracles?”

“Where else do you have to go?”

“What does that mean?”

He kept his eyes focused on his work, “You know. You know a lot more than you admit to anyone, even yourself. You might not be able to see the future but you understand it.”

“I barely understand you.”

“You know nothing matters. You told Samantha that you weren’t afraid of nuclear war.”

Thelma shrugged, “So?”

“You understand it doesn’t matter how rich or poor you are, if you die in a firestorm or a deathbed, if you have a dozen children and a thousand lovers. You can see how little it means because no one gets a happy ending. We all finish up afraid and alone.”

“Stop it,” she turned away from him. How could he know? How could he know the things she only thought to herself in the dark of the night?

Chad paused before digging in with the knife, etching a wild curve into the wood. That done he paused and waited for her to look back at him, “That’s why you’re here isn’t? You want to ask them if your father is going to get better. Am I right?”


“But you don’t want to know that because you love him.”

“I do love him.” Thelma’s hands were fists now.

He slipped the knife into his boot and then began running his fingers over the edges of the wood, “Then why aren’t you back at the hospital, waiting at his bedside? Knowing what’s going to happen won’t change anything.”


“You’re afraid of the ‘if’. It’s the uncertainty, the not knowing. It’s scarier than death, scarier then Hell. Don’t be ashamed it’s a perfectly human feeling. You know that someday you’re going to be standing over your father’s grave, the when of it haunts you.”

“You think you know so damn much,” Thelma said, “then tell me if he’s going to be all right.”

“I’m no Oracle.”

“Tell me!”

He tossed the carving her way, she caught it easily, “You can see for yourself. All you have to do is come inside and promise to share with me what you find out.”

The figurine was of a woman, her arms akimbo and her head thrown back. Shapes slithered over her flesh, tastefully obscuring her near nudity. At first Thelma thought it was robes that swathed her, then she thought it might be water. Venus de Milo doing the backstroke? But no, that wasn’t right ether; there was something unpleasantly organic about the shapes that enveloped her.

Thelma handed the carving back to him, he took it and then offered her is other hand. Sighing with resignation she gave it to him and allowed herself to be lead inside. The lower level of the house was as empty and dark as she remembered it, “Where do I start? I think you call it Eagoryl?”

“Let me show you something first.” He led her to the basement door and pushed it open. There was a light switch right outside the door, he flicked it on. When she hesitated he tugged her hand a little harder, “This is important.”

Once they were on the basement steps he somehow ended up behind her, nudging her forward. The first thing Thelma noticed was the stench, it brought to her mind images of swamplands and swollen garbage bags festering in the summer heat. The basement was flooded all the way up to the fifth step of the stairs; a single bare bulb suspended from the ceiling was the only light source. Thelma thought to herself that Delores Cotton would have been proud. Ripples had been stirred up by their footfalls, they chased each other across the dark, oily surface of the water.

A snout-like, pale mask had been hung from a nail set high up on the furthest wall.

“What is this?”

“Do you like the vizard?” Chad asked, “I made it myself. I think I got pretty close to the real thing but we won’t know for years yet.”


“It’s just another word for mask. The Hierophant’s face is always hidden,” Chad explained, “but not just the Hierophant, the chosen few will wear vizards of their own. They will do the Hierophant’s will on Earth. For all intents and purposes they will be the Hierophant, each of them, every one.”

“Kind of like how it is with Santa Claus.” Bonita walked down the basement steps until she could rest her cheek against Chad’s shoulder

“Santa’s helpers.” Chad laughed a little, “I like that.”

Thelma said, “You should have someone pump this out.”

Chad tossed the carving into the water, “They like it this way.”

“Maybe we should go back upstairs?” Thelma had expected the wood carving to float but it sank without a trace, “So I can get to know the rest of the girls?”

Another voice called out from behind them, “Chad? Is that you?”

He called back, “Yes Annie.”

“Do you need any help?” She drew closer, her bare feet patted across the bare wood floor of the lower level, “I can get the net.”

“Net?” Thelma asked.

“Who’s there?” Annie, her frizzy blonde hair pulled back, came down the cellar steps. She rested her head against Chad’s other shoulder, “Oh it’s you.”

“Yeah it’s me,” Thelma tried to sound calm but she was starting to feel surrounded

“Hey everyone! She’s here!”

Stupid! Thelma thought. How could I be so stupid?

The rest of the girls piled on to the stairs behind Annie, all grinning like they were in on some private joke. The wooden stairway was already creaking and groaning in protest when three hulking figures moved into place behind the Oracles. Seen now, Thelma realized the faces of these so-called ‘Squonks’ could never be masks or a trick of the light. Their heads were misshapen and hairless, with rheumy eyes and protuberant mouths. Their breathing was irregular and explosive, full of licked lips and spittle.

Chad asked her, “Are you afraid?”

“I’m not exactly comfortable right now.” Thelma tried to move up onto the same step as Chad but he blocked her, “What are you going to do?”

“Baptism,” he said, “the first step to any true rebirth. Get the lights someone”

Everything went black and as her eyes struggled to adjust she was shoved hard. Thelma grasped at the emptiness. Her fingers scrabbled at a sleeve, caught and then slipped away.

Click Here To Continue

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

PLAID STALLIONS is the apple of your eye!

THE HORROR DIGEST talks about one of my favorite films - BASKET CASE!!!

I really had no clue though that Basket Case was about separated siamese twins. Actually, I had no clue about anything happening in Basket Case at all. Funny? Bloody? Ridiculous? All of the above---and all this time I thought it was just about some monster stuck in a basket....



click here to read the rest

Monday, March 28, 2011

The title of the 4 episode of DOCTOR WHO's sixth season has been revealed... Neil Gaiman, what have you done?

From the Doctor Who News Page

Doctor Who Magazine have confirmed the title of Neil Gaiman's Doctor Who episode. Episode 4 of the new series, which guest stars Suranne Jones (Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa's Revenge) as Idris and Michael Sheen, will now be called The Doctor's Wife....



Idris is someone who is beautiful, and who bites, and who might just turn out to be an old acquaintance with a new face... [adding] it starts in void-space, with something – or someone – we have not seen since The War Games, and a knock on the TARDIS door...


I am going out of my mind with excitement here!

Don't forget to keep circulating the blog!

Just wanted to remind you my constant readers that if you are enjoying what you've found here be sure to share it with your friends or link me on your own pages or forums. I always love meeting new readers.

Also, don't forget to leave comments to let me know what you think. Want more LOCAL HEROES stories? Let me know. Hate the new serial novel? Let me know.

And of course if you'd rather leave cash you can make donations via my paypal button over there that links right to my account.

All donors will be listed on the Patron's Page and they will also have the satisfaction of know they helped me to keep gas in my car- and that isn't as easy as it used to be.

(Recommended Reads) THE WELL by Kari Fay

The city was renowned for its beauty. It was said that no man could leave it without weeping, for its magnificence would be so burned upon his heart that he would never be able to appreciate any lesser sight.

The buildings were made of sparkling white stone, with soaring columns and stained glass windows that gleamed like jewels. They stood upon wide, straight streets, avenues lined with green trees, and on spacious, elegant courtyards. Statues and sculptures adorned the city; wherever you turned you would see another awe-inspiring piece of art.

Except in one courtyard...

click here to read the rest

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Foreplay On The Edge Of Forever part three

Price Breaks and Heartaches

A journal of retail and failed romance

Chapter Six

Foreplay On The Edge Of Forever

part three

I don't mention life at Paper Shredder much because I barely noticed it, school and love occupied every aspect of my conscious mind. Even when I was stocking shelves or sweeping floors my thoughts were never far from the Peloponnesian War or the way Tallulah would squirm against me when I nibbled at the corner of her neck. So as you can imagine I didn't do a very good job stocking shelves or sweeping up most nights. Still though I showed up on time and could run a front register or a copy machine with equal ease so my status there was pretty secure.

Still though, some nights went by more quickly than others.


Tallulah had the night off so I was on double duty, book department and copy center; book department was mostly a matter of answering questions and taking care of the odd special order, copy center was always a lot more work than that.

A blue haired woman caught me by the arm as I passed, “I'm looking for a book called Borrower of the Night.”

“Oh,” I turned away from my shelving. “Let’s see if we can find it for you. Do you know the author's name?”


“Do you know what the book is about?”


I rubbed my chin, “Is it a hardcover or a soft cover?”

“I don't know!” irritation was starting to creep into her voice, “Why can't you just look it up on your computer?”

I should mention for the benefit of those readers with a properly functioning prostate that in the more innocent time of November 1987 bookstores did not have computers. Such ideas were the stuff of science fiction and consumer fantasy.

“I'm sorry Ma'am we don't have a computer but I'll see what I can find in books in print.” I headed over to the microfiche reader and started searching for the title she had mentioned.

She harrumphed, “I thought you said you didn't have a computer.”

“We don't.”

“Then what is it you're using.”

I looked up from the deep blue glow of the screen, “This is a microfiche reader.”

“What the hell is a wigwam-niece?”

“Well according to my computer,” I sighed with resignation, “The book you are looking for is by Elizabeth Peters it should be over in the romance fiction department.”

The customer strode off as I reached around and switched off the 'computer'. Someone rang the bell at the front counter of the copy center so I headed there pausing every aisle or so to hi to a co-worker; when I did that to the plainclothes loss prevention officer his face turned all kinds of colors.

There was already a line forming, the first customer wanted to buy a Cross pen, the second needed four copies of their resume, one of which they dropped off with my manager, the third customer was a familiar face.

“Daniel?” I said, “How have you been?”

“Albert. Adrian told me you were working here.”

Daniel was the best friend of Adrian, who was one of my best friends even though I hadn't talked to either of them for months by this point. I'm not sure how it all worked out that way but it made for healthy drama and saved me loads cash on Christmas and birthday presents.

I decided to be polite and professional, “How is Adrian these days?”

“He's over there shopping.” Daniel said with a jerk of his thumb.

Adrian was over by the science fiction books with a girl on his arm; she was pretty darn beautiful with a proud chin and hair the color of honey. If my love life hadn't been going so well I might have felt a twinge of jealousy. Of course in a matter of a few years I would feel more than a twinge.

I hope you readers appreciate foreshadowing like that, lord knows I could have used a little back then.

“So what can I do for you?” I asked.

Daniel handed me a copy of the Advanced Dungeon and Dragons Dungeon Master's Guide, “Adrian needs some copies.”

“Oh sure, what pages do you want?”

“All of them.” Daniel said.

“What?” my heart sank.

“All of them. We did the math and it’s cheaper than buying a new copy. Your prices are very competitive.”

“Do you know how long that is going to take?” I explained, “I’ll have to lay each page down flat on the glass take one copy, then repeat the process about 200 times.”

“Ok.” Daniel said with a shrug, “I mean you’re going to be here anyway so at least you’re being productive. When should I expect it to be done?”

Now reading this safe and secure in the era of hot and cold running torrents and the ensuing lawsuits you might be surprised to learn that back then Paper Shredder had no real policy regarding the duplication of copyrighted material. The rule was that if the customer wanted it copied, and didn’t want to use the self service machines, we filled their order- no matter how long it took or how much misery doing it caused. During the weekdays Tallulah had her own frustrations with ‘frugal’ college students making her copy textbooks at 4 cents a page. I made a few mental calculations and told Daniel, “It should be done by tomorrow.”

Daniel snorted, “Tomorrow? Well you are getting paid by the hour aren’t you?”

With that said I took down his information, taking care to deliberately misspell his last name for comic effect. (Take that Daniel Lunt!)

The three of them headed up to the front register, Adrian and his girl never even stopped by to say hello. I tried to remember what I might have said to make him that upset but when it comes to Adrian all my insults kind of blur together.

For the remainder of my shift I copied the pages from the dog eared book and tried to make sure none of the copies got out of order. I made good time but every once in a while I paused to look over a familiar page or passage- there was the Wand of Orcus and there was the random monster and dungeon generation tables and who could forget the D&D to Boot Hill conversion rules?

I bet half of you have no idea what I’m talking about. Oh well.

The point is that while I might been feeling a few wistful memories of long nights wasted with graph paper and oddly shaped dice I was sure I would never play another role-playing game again; not D&D, not Top Secret, not Chill or Lords Of Creation or Champions.

After all I was - God willing- on the cusp of becoming sexually active. I was sure once my first orgasm swept through my body I would lose all memory of what THAC0 meant.

The irony of course is that the hobby of role playing is a lot like sex. When you're young you can go all night, but you aren't always very discriminating about who you do it with and you're not all that skilled. As you get older your start to find the things you like and then things you don't like. You develop a level of expertise at what you’re doing buut suddenly you don't have the time for it anymore, at least not like you used to. Work, responsibilities and family all take their toll. Suddenly you find yourself approaching the act with a combination of longing and ambivalence. Sure you still really want it but you don't really want to bother with the preparations and just thinking of the clean up afterwards makes you feel tired. You're not even sure if you can even remember where you stored all your accessories. Finally you wonder if maybe you should just say to Hell with it and check out what's on TV tonight.

Why yes sometimes my Dungeon Master and my wife do call each other up on the phone and just cry for hours.

Click Here To Continue