Disclaimer: At the behest of Arch Magister Aubrey Dragonlivers of Chipping Ongar, Essex, this post must be accompanied with some form of mandatory warning. Whilst I was researching for this article (two university students and a bag of White Widow), I was contacted telepathically by Mr. Dragonlivers.
He claimed that I would start a war that transcended seventeen dimensions if I were to go ahead and ridicule anyone who had ever played an RPG (Role Playing Game).
I naturally wouldn’t want to offend anyone involved in the whole ‘computer transvesticism’ scene, so if you have ever found yourself playing an RPG wilfully, or under duress, I apologise beforehand. Not that I actually mean it, of course.
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In the past, role play was a method of eschewing a humdrum fuck by getting your partner to dress up as your favourite dictator. This could lead to certain possibilities, especially if your partner was fucking repulsive. Though the act of coitus was accomplished, it was theoretically with someone else, providing good times all round.
Yet in the modern day, role play refers to a type of game played by those too brittle for the brunt of reality. The game allows them to transcend their pitiable corporeality by aligning them with a pixellated other, one who displays a number of skills their real form lacks. This allows them to escape the reality of being ‘fucking useless’.
Being the diligent journalist I am, I had to penetrate the seedy underbelly of the RPG gaming scene by going undercover. This included loitering around HMV’s game section in fishnet tights, microskirt and ermine coat, asking anybody with a middle parting if I could see their ‘rig’.
It wasn’t too long before I was approached by two students in matching Kevin Sorbo shirts; both introduced themselves as Olo Foxburr of Loamsdown and Ferdirand Grubb respectively. They were very receptive to my bribes of a large bag of hash in return for an afternoon of RPG at their digs.
My two insiders recommended Oblivion, a massive RPG which allows players to not only choose from approximately two thousand playable races, but also allows fine tuning of nipple protrusion, earwax mass and circumference of genital warts.
Aided by Ferdirand Grubb, my character quickly came together as a repugnant blue-skinned Orc with retinal-searing Hot Pink tonsure. I named my creation, “Glog The Bedshitter”.
My game started in a prison cell. This is where I had to concoct a reason as to why I was there in the first place. This is called roleplaying. I decided that my character had been placed there for decimating the populations of numerous towns. I was in captivity while awaiting my chosen method of execution, that being sewn into the gut of a horse.
Guards then turn up along with someone who sounds like Patrick fucking Stewart. After an interminable amount of questions, a secret passage appears and I’m out of there like a tick up a farmer’s Japs Eye.
I have to fight some rats, a few goblins and watch as Patrick Stewart gets killed. Soon enough, I’m out of there. I then travel to ‘Imperial City’ where I slit the throats of a few random people, prior to getting slaughtered by some guards.
[Game Over!]
In conclusion, I can’t see what the big ado is all about. Computer roleplaying really is a pile of shit, constructed as a crutch for those poor worthless fools who have no life to lead. I would rather remain addled and inebriated with my Ilse Koch pretensions any day.