Dungeon Master

These graphics are blowing my imagination away!
These graphics are blowing my imagination away!

Let us delve now, traveler, into the adventure-packed realm of Dungeon Master! Our four players will be Paul, Matt, Nick and Jason. I, Scott, will be the DUNGEON MASTER!

Scott: You stand in front of the cracked stone edifice, gazing warily into the utter blackness of the doorway. This is the dungeon that you’ve heard so much about. First, you must wander the HALL OF CHAMPIONS and select a player character!

Paul: Why?

Scott: You need someone to represent you as you wander around the dungeon killing monsters and finding treasure! Trust me, this will be great.

Paul: Fine. I’ll take…uh, “Iaido.” I’m a fighter.

Matt: I’ll be “Zed.” I guess I’m also a fighter, although specializing would be wonderful if I get the opportunity.

Scott: Ok, let’s mix it up a bit. Nick—why don’t you play as “Elija” the wizard?

Nick: Sure, whatever.

Scott: Great! Jason, how about you?

Jason: I’m “Syra,” a woman.

Scott: Right, but what class are you playing?

Jason: Woman.

Scott: You know what, let’s just get started. What are you armed with?

Paul: I’m a fighter. I have a falchion.

Matt: I would appear to be wielding a club, so hopefully I’ll have the opportunity to find a more useful weapon. While I appreciate that blunt objects are better against some kinds of undead, the club is rather unwieldy and is primar—

Nick: I have magic I think. Wizard.

Jason: Boobs! And being a whore! Ha ha!

Scott: Yes. Right then. You walk through the ancient corridors, the faint drip of water hitting the stone floor the only noise aside from your anxious breathing. It seems as if you’ve been wandering for some time when you come across a metal gate. To its side there is a small stone button in the wall. Beyond the gate, you can just make out what appears to be a figure wrapped in bandages.

Matt: We move forward cautiously.

Scott: You bounce off the door, each taking a few points of damage!

Paul: Wait, what? We just took damage from walking into a door? That’s retarded. Don’t be stupid.

Scott: Look, that’s what happens, ok? Maybe you should look at the button.

Matt: I’ll press the button.

Scott: Good idea! As you press the button, the metal gate raises upwards and the figure becomes more distinct. It’s a mummy!

Paul: What? Why? Why is there a mummy here?

Scott: I don’t know, but he’s standing over what appears to be a water skin, a club and an apple!

Jason: I’ll pick up the club and the apple.

Scott: The mummy turns and begins to advance!

Jason: I throw the club at it!

Scott: The club misses and falls to the ground at the mummy’s feet! He still hasn’t done anything yet, but he probably will soon!

Paul: I’ll hit the mummy with my falchion. There, 16 points of damage.

Scott: The mummy is destroyed! He leaves behind some corn.

Nick: Corn?

Scott: Yes, corn.

Nick: Like, corn corn?

Scott: Corn.

Nick: Corn, the vegetable?

Scott: Corn.

Jason: I take the corn!

Scott: You continue wandering through the dungeon. Here and there, you see a coat hook. Suddenly, you come across another door!

Matt: Does this one have a button?

Scott: Yes, this door is made of wood and has a wooden button in the wall.

Jason: I throw the corn at the button!

Scott: The corn bounces uselessly off the wooden button and onto the floor.


Scott: I agree. Rocks fall, you all die. Except you, Matt. You’re already dead.

Matt: Your inside joke does not surprise or entertain me.

Jason: I pick up the corn again! HEY-O!

Bassin’s Black Bass


Never has there been a video game more accurate to the human condition: you are named, and from naming, your existence is birthed (my character was named “Sad Old-Bastard”). You go from tournament to tournament, attempting to struggle to a respectable place in a competition whose relevance is… yeah, comparable to that of a bass fishing competition on a SNES game; you float around in a boat as a timer slowly ticks down the minutes to your miserable, lonely end to your miserable, wasted existence; bland boating moments are only interrupted by blander fishing moments, where the filthy, washed-out green-blue of the water is all you can survey from your stupid boat with your stupid rod and you stupid fishing hat.


I have looked Death in the maw today. I am now at peace with all. I am also hungry for braised fucking salmon. Go figure.