You know, if I keep starting my columns with confessions and admissions, Morrus is going to start charging me for therapy. Still...

I can't run games the way I used to.

For most of my gaming life, DMing was far and away my priority, and my favorite role to take on. And I started that life early--got the good ol' Red Box as a gift in 1983, and never once looked back.

Of course, to be fair, what I was doing when I was nine years old was "DMing" in much the same way that going into the back yard to piss on a tree is "gardening." At that age, I so completely misunderstood some fundamental aspects of the game that, the first time I tried to run a friend through a module (Keep on the Borderlands, naturally), I handed him the map as a visual prop and just had him encounter every room or area in the order they were written in the book.

Yeah, I had me some learning to do.

But the point is, I started out running. My very first D&D game was me as the DM, and my dad as the one and only player. (Poor guy.) Even as I and my gaming style matured (the latter more than the former), even as I progressed through the editions, even as my ideas of what made for a good game changed, I was the DM most of the time. I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that, from 1983 to 2004 or thereabouts, my DMing-to-playing ratio was around 4:1.

(Or, if you'd prefer, rolling a 5 or higher on a d20.)

From late high school/early college on, planning and running my campaigns was one of the highlights of my week. I loved crafting aspects of the world. I meticulously created hints and clues to drop that would help steer the campaign on to future plot points. I cackled internally--sometimes not so internally--when I came up with really devious twists or intricate story ideas. I had specific storylines/plot points that took six months to a year, real time, to resolve. I had campaigns where a relatively minor event that occurred in the first session proved instrumental in the last one.

(I'll sit back now and wait for someone who knows nothing about my DMing style to shout "Railroad!" To which I will roll my eyes. For a DM who knows his players, knows what he's doing, and--most importantly--knows how to be flexible and roll with the unexpected, there's a huge difference between "railroading" and "plotting." But that's a topic for a different column.)

The point--if I haven't already taken too long to make it--is that I DMed all the time, I loved DMing, I looked forward to DMing, and I couldn't see myself not DMing.

Then, round about 2004, my writing career shifted from "mostly World of Darkness with some D20 work" to "Mostly D&D work." And I found not only my urge to DM, but my ability to DM, beginning to wane.

I still love playing D&D--in fact, I'm having serious DTs these days, because I'm not getting to play nearly enough--but the key word there is "playing." Between late 2004 and today, I've run only a single mid-length campaign through from beginning to end. (It was a 3.5 campaign that I think it took about, oh, seven or eight months, and ended with the party about 15th level.) I've started two or three others that, I'm ashamed to say, I dropped. (Some of them were based on some really cool ideas, too.)

You see, DMing had become too much like--gasp!--work. I thought, the first time it happened, that it was just about me being really swamped, that as soon as my workload lightened a bit, I could go back to running like I had. But nope; even when I wasn't drowning under deadlines, the fact remained.

(And I suddenly realize that this is starting to sound like I'm talking about something else. "Don't feel bad, sweetie, this happens to everyone. Don't worry about DMing. We can just cuddle.")

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a "Poor me" moment. I love what I do, and I consider myself damned lucky to be able to do it. But it may shock you to learn that the life of an RPG writer isn't all lazing about in our silk bathrobes, with Playmates on each arm, sipping cognac and dining on chocolate-covered caviar. (Ew.) I may love my work, but it's still work. I still have to sit down at the keyboard and produce, daily, for hours. There's still a lot of mental effort that goes into it. I can't just decide "I'm not in the mood" or "I'm not inspired." (Try that second one with your boss next time you don't feel like coming in. Maybe throw the back of your wrist against your forehead, just for that added sense of verisimilitude.) And at the end of the day, I still want to unwind by doing something that's not work, just like anyone else.

I know lots of RPG writers who spend much of their free time DMing, and I honestly don't know how they do it. I can't. Oh, I'll get the urge to run a campaign, I'll get all sorts of ideas that I think are really cool--and then, after running anywhere from one to five sessions, I'll need a break. Because this is exactly what I do, day in and day out, and no matter how much I like it, it's using the exact same creative muscles as the job. I need the chance to do something else.

If any of you reading this are also RPG writers, I'd love to hear how you manage it. How do you put together a game without it feeling like you're doing more of the same? How--for you--is running D&D (or whatever game) different from writing D&D (or whatever game)?

Thing is, it's more than just the fact that prepping to run a game feels just like planning to write a section of a book. Part of it is my work ethic. (Not sure where it came from. I never had a work ethic in school--in fact, most of my D&D playing was happening when I should've been doing homework--and I still have no discipline when it comes to anything else. If I did, I'd be a lot lighter than I am now, for one thing. But work ethic I have, to neurotic levels.) All the time and energy I spend on putting together a game, I feel like I should be spending on material to be published. Like I'm wasting time or good ideas. Sure, intellectually I know that's silly, but the feeling's there, regardless.

And ultimately, it's always harder to enjoy the magic show when you've had a peek behind the curtain. I find it very hard to turn off my "writer brain" when I'm gaming, and there are times I wish I didn't grok the rules quite so completely. Whether DMing or playing, I have to make a concerted effort to go with the flow, not to analyze every little thing--but at least, when I'm a player, there's someone with the authority to tell me "You're lawyering again, shut up!"

(I actually do that with novels, too. I frequently find myself rewriting sentences in my head as I'm reading. Not all the time, by any means, but often enough.)

Yes, I know. Cry me a river, play me the world's smallest violin. As I said above, I love what I do. And if being unable to run a game the way I want to, or the way I used to, is the price for me being able to work in the field, it's a price I'll happily pay. Heck, I'd sacrifice your ability to run a game, too, if I had to. Just so you know.

But it doesn't mean it's not occasionally a disappointment--especially because I still have lots of cool ideas for campaigns that I'd love to run. (And despite what some people want to believe, a good idea for a game, or a campaign, or an adventure for one group does not automatically translate into a good idea for a published supplement.)

I could run published adventures, I suppose. (I might even use the maps properly, this time.) That certainly cuts down on the prep. But the problem is, it also cuts out the part of DMing that I used to love, and that I still miss. It's coming up with the world, the NPCs, the clues, the plot twists--you know, all the "writerly" stuff--that makes (or made) DMing fun for me.

Ah, well. There's always playing. Anyone want to run a game for me? Or two?

Or six?

Mouseferatu

I have a confession to make¹. Despite the fact that I've been working as an RPG writer since late 2000, and playing RPGs since 1983, I'm really not all that interested in "gaming theory." I don't follow the Forge or subscribe to their theories or definitions, I'm not really into the experimental indie games, and I'm not interested in innovative mechanics for their own sake.² Obviously, I want everything I work on to be interesting both mechanically and in terms of game-play, but I prefer to judge on a case-by-case basis, rather than labor under any Overarching Theory o' Everything.

¹ Dear ENWorld: I never thought this sort of thing would happen to me...

² I'm thinking of starting a betting pool on how long it takes for someone on teh interwebs to quote this out of context, saying "Ari Marmell doesn't care about mechanics!" Anyone want to participate? I've got my money on "7 seconds."

On the other hand, over the past two years, I've been learning a new system for both professional and personal use.³ And in so doing, I've pretty much by default been thinking about--yep--some RPG theory. Specifically, the notion of "agency."

³ Yeah, there was a small RPG released a little over a year ago. A few of you might have heard of it in passing.

If you’re anything like me, you get at least a faint twinge of dislike any time your DM brings in an NPC to save you from a bad situation.⁴ I understand that sometimes it's necessary--the DM is introducing an important NPC, or else he's realized that he badly miscalculated the difficulty of a certain situation and, since it was his own mistake, is taking steps to prevent a TPK. I understand that, and thus I do my best to tolerate it--but it still drives me nuts. I want to succeed or fail based on my own actions, and my own luck. <sup>5

4</sup> If you're a lot like me, you're sitting at home in your underwear right now, writing a column about player agency in RPGs. But please don't tell me if you are; that's just creepy.

⁵ Well, okay, and the actions and luck of the other players. Bunch o' attention-hogs, stealing my spotlight...

It's part of the same feeling, I think, that causes most players to object when the DM takes control of their characters, or has the PCs sitting on the sidelines while the NPCs kill the villain. It's all about agency.

Dictionary.com defines agency ⁶ as "a means of exerting power or influence; instrumentality". In other words, it's an individual's ability to influence or affect his own circumstances.

⁶ After nine other definitions, granted.

I firmly believe that it's the sense of personal agency that causes players to become involved in, and to care about, the events of a game session. Success or failure is less important than the sense that "Hey, I made a meaningful choice, or at least had the chance to."

This, of course, is news to almost none of you. I think anyone who's played for any length of time is aware of this, even if they haven't really given it any thought. So what's my point? What am I getting to?

Two words: Skill challenges.

I can see through my monitor that some of you are starting to turn away at this point. I'd ask you not to. Even if you're playing Pathfinder, or an earlier edition of D&D, I think you'll find the suggestions below to be useful.

I think the creative motivations for adding skill challenges to D&D should be commended. It's a notion that, in theory, works for all sorts of players. For people who want the immersive RP, it encourages DMs to include more such scenarios into their adventures, and to give them a greater impact on the success or failure of said scenarios. For people who prefer just to roll, it gives a mechanical framework for accomplishing non-combat goals.

But it was a new framework to D&D, and I don't think I'll offend anyone at WotC when I say that a lot of people feel it needs tweaking. There have been a lot of threads on various forums about exactly that. I think, however, that even those threads have been a bit off-target, because ultimately, the problem with skill challenges isn't mechanical⁷. It's conceptual.

⁷ Not saying the numbers are necessarily perfect. I'm saying that, for purposes of this discussion, they're irrelevant. Numbers can be tweaked.

Boiled down to their absolute simplest, combat and skill challenges are the same, right? Players rolling dice to determine success or failure. And yet, lots of people feel that skill challenges are "just die-rolling," whereas combat is far more interesting.

Why? Agency.

It may sound heretical or foolish to say, but the rolling of dice is, on a conceptual level, ancillary to combat. What matters most--and what usually occupies the most time--are the choices. Do I move here or there? Do I cast this spell or that one? What sort of attack do I make? Who do I attack? Is it worth not making an attack this round so I can heal Mongo before he bleeds out like an ice cube in a bonfire? Do I risk the opportunity attack from the orc next to me so I can shoot the wolf who's turning the wizard into hors d'oeuvres?

Choices. Meaningful choices. The DM has set a goal--in most cases, kill or be killed--but how you go about achieving that goal is all you.

And that, I think, is where skill challenges (and, for that matter, traps and hazards with specific listed countermeasures) fall down. Where's the fun in a situation where your only meaningful options are "Roll either Diplomacy or Intimidate"? If it's a one-roll check, that's one thing, but for a whole scene? Is it any wonder that at least some players drift out?

And yes, the DMG specifies that the DM should allow for multiple secondary skills, to expect for the PCs to try funky or creative solutions, and to allow them to do so. But it's a passing mention--one that's only emphasized in a smattering of the published skill challenges--and, more to the point, it presents such creative uses as a lesser option. It makes them less effective or harder to use than the skills the DM has already identified as "primary," since they cannot, in themselves, grant successes. Essentially yes, they're permitted--but they'll never do as much good as the ones the DM (or author) decided on ahead of time.

I think that's a mistake, in terms of emphasis, and I prefer not to run skill challenges that way. Very simply, once the PCs know what they're trying to accomplish, their job is to tell me how they're doing it, with few if any preconceptions--and almost no prior decisions as to what will or won't work--on my part. Now, I don't pretend this idea is original to me. It comes in part from friends, in part from stuff I've seen online, and possibly--I honestly don't recall--in part from some suggestions put forth in 4E playtest material.

In one of the first 4E games I ever ran, the PCs were attempting to rescue the children of a town from a band of redcaps (Feywild goblins). These redcaps were lairing in the sewers beneath the town--sewers that didn't actually exist in the real world, as they were part of a Feywild planar overlap with the real world. So once the PCs had killed the Big Bad and had the kids in hand, the sewer (of course) began to disappear.

The skill challenge was to herd this band of panicked kids back through the winding passageways of the sewers and to the exit, before the entire thing vanished from the mortal world. And during that skill challenge, I saw:

• Diplomacy and Intimidate used to keep the kids moving in a halfway orderly fashion.
• Bluff and Religion used to reassure them that they would be okay, and thus make them easier to handle.
• Insight to determine which kids needed the most attention to keep from falling apart.
• Perception and Arcana to determine which parts of the sewers were likely to fade out.
• Dungeoneering and Perception to find their way back the way they'd come.
• Athletics to get the kids past obstacles, and to physically herd them together when the stragglers began to drift.

At no point did I tell any of my players what they had to roll, and several of the skills they decided to use, I'd never have thought of including in advance. Every single action they took was their own decision. And every skill they wanted to use, I let them--if they could explain to me why it was useful in that situation. And that's the key to making this work--a reasonable, believable explanation.

Does that mean all skills are equally useful in all circumstances? Of course not. The Insight check and Religion checks didn't gain them any successes--but I decided they granted a substantial bonus on the next Diplomacy or Intimidate check, and if the players had suggested different uses for those skills, uses that seemed to have a more immediate impact, who knows? I might have allowed them to grant successes.

And some skills might not have been useful at all; I'm hard pressed to think of a way that the PCs could have used Streetwise under the circumstances. But if someone had tried and offered a convincing reason, I'd have considered it.

The difference? Agency. It was the players deciding what their characters were attempting. They had choices to make that weren't limited to options I'd determined with in advance: What skill do I use? They had creative/tactical decisions to make: How can I best make use of what skills I have? Would I rather keep using a tactic that I know works, or try to come up with more creative options and possibly face easier DCs, or gain the DM's "creative thought" bonus? (Obviously, they have to know there is such a thing, but I strongly recommend it.)

Of equal importance, it reduces or even eliminates the "This is Bob's scene, because he's good at Diplomacy, so the rest of us will stand back and twiddle our thumbs for half an hour" hurdle. It guarantees everyone a way to participate, gives them a reason to do so, rather than hang back in fear of adding to the collection of failures.

And damn if it didn't work. Not only was everyone as emotionally involved in this challenge as they'd been during any combat, but when one of the PCs badly failed a check and they lost one of the kids, the players were actually upset at me.<sup>8

8</sup> That's "upset" in the RBDM sense, not in the "I actually want to hurt you outside of the game" sense. I think.

Yet the actual mechanics--roll a skill against a DC set by the DM--hadn't changed in the slightest. It was all about who was making the important decisions.

There's nothing wrong with the DM designing a skill challenge where he expects certain skills to be used, or where certain skills are the obvious choice--just like the DM might design an encounter where, perhaps due to terrain and positioning, he expects controllers and ranged strikers to be more effective than melee combatants. If you're trying to convince the duke to lend you an army, Diplomacy almost has to play a part. And, similarly, this isn't about making all skills equally useful in all situations, any more than all attacks are useful against all opponents. If the skill challenge is about climbing a cliff during a hurricane, Thievery is just not likely to help. But just like a good DM wouldn't prevent a melee combatant from meaningfully contributing to the aforementioned fight if she found a way to do so, a good DM shouldn't prevent a PC from fully contributing to a skill challenge with an unanticipated skill. This is about giving every PC an opportunity not only to contribute, but to decide how to contribute.

I think every good DM knows that s/he needs to let the players have an effect on the adventure, and to make meaningful choices. But I don't think a lot of DMs apply this knowledge on the small scale, to things like skill challenges (or other grouped skill rolls, for systems that don't use the skill challenge framework). I know that, until relatively recently, I often failed to do so. Yet I've seen firsthand just how big a difference it makes, for the players to really feel like they're doing something, rather than just rolling whatever die they've been told to roll, or using whatever skill seems to be the DM's preferred option.

If you've had little luck with skill challenges so far--or are playing a different system, but are interested in running a non-combat scene where PC capabilities still have a major impact--I'd encourage you to give it a shot, explain to your players what you're doing, keep an open mind when it comes to what they want to try, and see what happens. <sup>9

9</sup> Since completing the first draft of this column, I've had the opportunity to read through the section on skill challenges in DMG2. I think they've done a great job of improving on the skill challenges, of further emphasizing the need to allow creative solutions, of showing them as far more than just collections of skill checks, and even increasing the degree of player agency. They've clarified or eliminated nearly all of my prior objections—except, unfortunately, what is ultimately my primary issue: that I feel making skill challenges more freeform needs to occur at a baseline, fundamental level. As long as skill challenges predefine "primary skills" that are the only way to gain successes, then "outside the box" thinking continues to be a less effective, and therefore a less attractive, option.

Mouseferatu

So, this being my first column for EN World, a quick welcome and introductions are in order.¹ Many of you know me already, either as "Ari Marmell" or as "Mouseferatu." I've been playing D&D since 1983, I've been working as an RPG writer since 2001, I've got a Creative Writing degree from the University of Houston, and I've been haunting these forums since they belonged to Eric Noah. Now, some of you may be asking, "That's all well and good, but what in all that qualifies you to write a monthly column, a type of writing that you've never done before in your life?"

To those folks, I say: "Look! A shiny thing!"

When Morrus first asked me to write this column, I started giving some serious thought to all sorts of topics I might cover, from campaign settings to the impact of fiction on RPGs (and vice-versa) to rules kludges and tweaks. Oh yes, I actually had a veritable list of ideas from which I figured I'd draw my first column.

And then, at the last minute, I decided to attend GenCon again this year.

Ah, GenCon. The chance to experience wonders such as the agonizing pain that comes from being a complete idiot, and only bringing new shoes to wear; or the humiliation of spending the entire first day catching up with friends, professional acquaintances, and employers, only to go back to your room that evening and discover that, at some point since you left the hotel, you've sprouted a whitehead on your left cheek roughly the size of a Brussels sprout.

In any case, I considered putting this off for a month or two, even though it meant the topic wouldn't be as timely, since I thought that starting off a regular column with a relatively negative, rantish installment might not be the best way to make a good first impression. But I decided, what the heck.²

Let's get to it.

Six Years and Counting

I think it's six, anyway. Maybe seven? It's possible my memory used to be better, but if so, I've forgotten when.

The point is, I first attended GenCon the year before it moved to Indianapolis³, and I haven't missed one since. So obviously, I'm a fan of the convention, and I don't want anyone to think that the opinions I'm about to express mean otherwise. I've had fun every year I've gone, I had a blast this year, and I'm hoping to go next year as well.

But it also means that, while I've not been to GenCon nearly as often as some of you, I have been a sufficient number of times⁴ to become aware of certain habits, patterns, and behaviors that really, really need to change.

No, I mean really.

Don't worry, I've no intention of getting into the old stereotypes of "Gamers need to bathe! Haw! Haw!" and "Nobody knows how to meet girls!" I'm not going to sink that low in my first column.⁵ These are other things that drive me batty just a little more each year. So with that understood, I present here:

Ari's Rules of GenCon

Obviously, these rules are just my opinion, and I cannot force anyone to abide by them.

Yet. But just you wait…

Rule 1: Remember Traffic

I don't mean outside on the street. I mean inside.

Do not stop in the middle of the freakin' walkways!

Believe me, I know. One of the whole points of GenCon is to go and marvel at the cool new toys, the minis, the books, the weaponry (both padded and genuine), the jewelry, the artwork, and even the booth babes.⁶ I'll be the last person to deny anyone the opportunity to loiter and gawk. Heck, those are two of my favorite pastimes, and not necessarily in that order. But for Pete's sake, move over to the booth! Or at least take a step or two in that direction! Don't stop in the exact center of the path. Yes, it's crowded and there's not much room to move, but there's some. Take advantage of it.

(This goes triple for stopping in the middle of intersections. If you don't know which way to go, step to the side and then peer around in wide-eyed bewilderment.)

I'm not exaggerating in the slightest—and those of you who have been there know this—when I say that one person stopping in the exact center can cause slowdowns that extend for half a dozen aisles. Seriously, people, I had blisters and severe foot pain throughout most of the convention (as per the aforementioned shoe debacle); lame as I was, I should not have been having to slow down for the rest of the traffic. And while occasionally those delays were caused by amblers, as often as not they were people trying to get around other people who'd stopped cold in order to stare at or take a picture of something.

And vendors? This goes for you as well. If you're standing outside your booth or table flagging down customers or passing out free samples or fliers, do it next to the booth! Don't step halfway out into the walkway; you may get more people to stop, but I can guarantee⁷ you, you're irritating more people than you're attracting.

Rule 2: One Question, One Answer

I attended several seminars and forums in which the speakers opened the floor for questions⁸. And the overwhelming majority of said questioners were just fine. They were at least reasonably polite, and if they weren't crazy about the answer they got, they might ask for further info or clarification, but they didn't kinetically abuse deceased equines.

There were a couple, though, who just seemed unwilling to let it go. If you've asked for product/service/information X, and the speaker has explained that either

A) X is currently in the works, but they don't know when it'll be available, or

B) X is something they'd like to do, but they don't know if it'll ever happen because of reason Y, or

C) They're not going to be doing X for reason Y or Z,

Then please, please don't keep going on about how much you want X, or how much you'd appreciate X, or how much you feel you're owed X, or arguing about why they should be doing X right now.

See, you're not just annoying the speakers when you do this. You're annoying the people around you in the audience, too. You're not "making a point," and you're not looking cool for "standing up" to "the man."⁹ You're just wasting everyone's time, and making the company folks that much more defensive about the next question, which is probably something harmless like, "In this economic climate, what do you think are the ramifications of publishing collector's editions of your books printed on gold foil with condor-skin covers?"

Rule 3: Costume or No Costume

Okay, this one, even more than the others, is just a personal pet peeve. Unlike the others, you're not necessarily putting anyone else out if you break this rule. But I'm including it anyway, because it drives me up the wall, and because, hey, my column, not yours.

Look, I don't personally do GenCon in costume, but I have no objection to people who do. If you want to wander around dressed as Driz'zt, or a faerie, or Captain Reynolds, or Sailor Dwarf Planet, or a stormtrooper¹⁰, or even a Magic card¹¹, more power to you. So long as you don't mind people staring and occasionally asking to take your picture¹², have a ball.

But if you're going to wear a costume, wear a costume, not half a costume! And no, I don't mean that I'm being a stickler if you have the wrong shoes. I'm talking about the people who wander through the dealer's room dressed in a hooded cloak, a leather jerkin, blue jeans, and Converse All-Stars. The only time you should be wearing steampunk goggles and a scarf over your mouth when you're otherwise dressed like a broke college student is either

A) When you're trying them on to buy, or

B) You're planning to rob a convenience store.¹³

The whole "half costume" thing? You look goofy. I mean, even coming from a gamer who's attending GenCon, and while standing next to a grown man dressed as Naruto, you look goofy. I can only assume that either you're utterly oblivious, or really just that lazy.

I realize that there are those who would say, "Ari, aren't you just doing to them what people outside the gaming community do to us, in terms of mocking them for stylistic choices you don't agree with?"

And the answer is, yes, I'm aware of a certain level of hypocrisy here, but—and this is the important part—I don't care. It's silly looking.¹⁴

Rule 4: Push the Lever!

Every other rule in this column is negotiable. This one is not, and I would be delighted to see violators thrown out of GenCon. You ready? Here it is.

For the love of everything good and pure in this world, flush the damn toilet!

My God in Heaven. Were these people raised by Sleestaks? I should not have to risk splattering myself with someone else's post-consumer Red Bull or Mountain Dew—to say nothing of anything else—because they were too lazy to push a lever! I mean, it's not like they hide the damn things. It's right there! Shiny metal, a different color from the bowl and everything! (And even the automatics have push-buttons.)

And this goes double for missing. The bowl's not that small, damn it!

I wish I was joking when I say that one of the stalls I was forced to use had a streak of—oh, let's say, solid waste residue—on the wall! I can only assume that some unfortunate Con-goer was in the midst of cleaning himself when he was grabbed from below by one of the infamous Indianapolis Sewer Krakens¹⁵ and dragged through the pipes to a watery and foul-smelling grave, because frankly, that's the only excuse.

I'm going to start a fund, taking donations to pay for someone to invent and market a cheap electronic bathroom stall door that, once closed, will not open until its sensors say the toilet has been flushed and the seat is dry.

Anyone want to contribute¹⁶?

Okay, I think I'm done. That is, I'm sure I can come up with plenty more, but I think those are the ones I needed to get out of my system. I apologize again for starting off with a rant like this. Come back next month when I promise you a column far less ranty, far less irritable, and in which, rather than offending a portion of my readers by commenting on their con-going habits, I will instead endeavor my best to offend them entirely over their opinions on RPGs.

Footnotes:

¹ Or maybe they should have gone at the end, in which case they're out of order.

² So what, you may ask, changed my mind? To you, I would answer: "Look! A shiny thing!"

³ A move which, as you all know, was intended as Phase One of a malevolent scheme in which the fandoms of RPGs and Nascar would be slowly merged into a single Over-Fandom whose levels of obsession would allow a slow takeover of the entire free market and capitalist system.

⁴ For values of "sufficient" equal to or greater than "one."

⁵ Mostly because you've all heard them already.

⁶ Or is that "People of Boothful Employment" at this stage?

⁷ Not an actual guarantee.

⁸ As opposed to opening it beneath questioners, which must have been a temptation on occasion.

⁹ I am "aware" that this "sentence" has too many "quotation" "marks."

¹⁰ Although you are a little short for one…

¹¹ Yes, I actually saw this. Not the monster or character from the card, the actual card.

¹² Possibly as evidence for the restraining order.

¹³ Ari does not condone the practice of robbing convenience stores.

¹⁴ Again—my rant, not yours.

¹⁵ A species that, for all its many faults, still teaches its young to flush public toilets.

¹⁶ Arrangements pending. Don't send money yet—unless you really want to, and, uh, don't care about any actual results.

Mouseferatu