In a couple of weeks time, I’ll be greasing myself up in nerd-butter and questing along the final steps of self-loathing. I’m playing Dungeons and Dragons for the first time and thus it becomes official: I’m a loser.
What exactly is Dungeons and Dragons? It’s a ‘board’ game, for lack of a better word. It’s not really played on a board or at least, the board seems optional. Instead, it relies solely on the imaginations of the players and the host. Each game has a game master who decides the events that will ensue which typically comprises of environments to be explored, puzzles to be solved and imaginary battles to be bested.
Finally, each player takes on the role of a character who they create themselves in a series of intrinsically complex characteristics and skills that’s about as in depth as actual DNA. Mine is a Dwarf whom I have aptly named Biscuitbeard. Because he likes biscuits. And let me tell you, he’s already quite the dude; he plays a lute. And speaks solely in trochaic tetrameter.
This got me thinking what my life is going to become now that I’ve forsaken dignity. I suppose the most obvious change will be my abandonment of personal hygiene. I can’t fully embrace the stereotype of geek-lore if I’m not making everyone else in the vicinity nauseous from my body odor. This has numerous advantages, mostly centered around the time and expense involved in showering. I could theoretically have an extra 25 minutes in bed each morning without having to get up and shower. That’s 25 minutes of potential dreaming about my new Paladin that I’ll shortly be creating on World of Warcraft. Not to mention saving on the atrocious expense of soap.
What else will I be permanently fasting on? I suppose relationships will be the next to go; romantic and platonic. It’s fine, really. This means I no longer have to wonder whether we’re at the stage where it’s acceptable for me to ask for their wifi password. I’ll also be enjoying a lot more cake by myself, each time quietly chortling that this piece isn’t a lie. Nor this piece. Or this.
Finally, I’ll probably grow my hair long along with a beard. One can’t be a social recluse with respectable grooming. Plus this has the added advantage of when I dress up as a wizard at Halloween (and then presumably just in general), I won’t need a fake wig or need to glue-on facial hair. Oh yeah, I’ll start making a lot of “your mom” jokes too.
Anyway, I don’t need your pity. Biscuitbeard and I will be rocking out in Azeroth or whatever universe we’ll be submerged in, pretending to drink kegs of beer, exploring make-believe dungeons and avoiding the fire of a deadly unreal dragon. In hindsight, maybe I do need your pity. Please..?
If you’re wondering why I’m doing this to myself, well, I am too, to be honest. But I have this gap on Sundays with very little else to do so this seemed like a good way to fill it. It was either this or joining a gym or doing some charity work or something, and I’m sure as hell not doing that. It’s not as if I’ll be alone either; there’s four other pathetic losers who will accompany me on this path of self-destruction. We’ll be like Lindsay Lohan, but with less cocaine.
I’ll report back later on how it went and in the meantime, let me ask you this: How many people does it take to change a lightbulb? Just your mom.
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