Gaming

MUSIC: “3 AM, I’m awakened by a sweet summer rain Distant howling of a passing southbound coal train…” OPEN on ROGER PARKER FOR NEW JERSEY STATE SENATE HEADQUARTERS. MUSIC continues. It is very late at night. It is raining, mildly, not enough to make a statement. The headquarters is in a strip mall plaza, with a big plate glass window opening onto the nearly empty parking lot. Inside, lights are going out one by one. ...

The ugliest dwarf in Sigil is practicing his tai chi in the center of the room. He moves without any real grace; his precision is the certainty of stone, rocks sliding against rocks, limbs held in place by muscle alone. His hands are enormous: strangler’s hands, with knuckles like pebbles thrusting up out of his weathered grey skin. He turns, and turns again, balanced on the balls of his feet. His brows jut out over his eyes. He stares, angry, at the world. ...

There’s a backstory, but it’s too late in the evening for me to write it up. This is for Jeff.

So here’s the campaign. This is Mike’s fault. It’s a little known fact, but once you’ve been President of the United States, you don’t get to die. You live on in eternal unlife after your death; sure, you leave a corpse, because everyone likes funerals, but your Ka goes on. Yes, Ka. Just like in Egypt. Look at the dollar bill; you think the pyramid isn’t there for a reason? You are bound to the country. You can speak to the current President, but each sentence you speak takes a year of his life. That’s the real reason why Presidents age in office. Once a President leaves office you lose your connection to them, but you’ll be there to welcome them to the afterlife, oh yes. It’s the only excuse you have for a party. ...

The Men of Action game, invented by Rob MacDougall: Pick a historical figure; let’s say Walt Whitman. Walt Whitman’s Men of Action! Describe the ensuing campaign. Go.

I’m not posting this scenario because I intend to run it. I’m posting it because I like to think. Truth? I’m better at coming up with concepts than running them anyhow. This one’s a freebie; steal as you like. It’s 1972. World of Darkness. Miami. Cuba smells like revolution and the Democratic National Convention smells like a boxing ring. McGovern has a legion of young, angry, active delegates behind him. They’d rather fight than think. Humphrey has the Machine, a political creature made of motor oil and money. To the Machine, the present moment is the last hope of traditional politics. ...

For the easily amused: Huey Long’s Men of Action.

I just wrote up a little fictional piece, but it sucked and while I know what I need to write, I don’t currently have the brainpower to write it. So here’s the straight dope. Jerry Russell is a right-wing talk radio host at KTLK, in LA. He has a medium-sized and devoted following; he pushes the talking points of his ideological friends and runs down the opposition like any good talk show host on any side of the political spectrum. He rules the airwaves from midnight to 4 AM, and has always been a little nervous about trying to go daytime. In fact, he’s turned down opportunities more than once because he’s afraid he couldn’t compete with the big boys. ...