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March 31, 2002
I felt like I had to make a statement against terror, to show evil that we are not bowed and we will not be cowed, so, one week after being mugged on my way home from bowling, I went bowling again and rolled my goddam career high, 153. I have titled that game "Fear Gets Its Ass Beat". That is a very dramatic title. I found a tennis ball in the gutter on the way home, so I bounced it around while I waited for the train.

I had a few days off last week, and I have a few days off this week. You can go to the website for Devil's Lake in Wisconsin and try to visualize a very small version of me climbing around on the rocks in the pictures. If you then proceed to visualize a very small version of me battling a bunch of wizards on top of the mountain, please bear in mind that the sheer force of my charm gives me a +2 for initiative in combat against magic users. And if you then proceed to visualize the outcome of that battle, please bear in mind that the purple mage is a punk ass.

PART SEVENTEEN IN AN EXCITING NEW SERIES THAT I WOULD WRITE IF I HAD A WEALTHY PATRON

An elvish ROGUE is preparing for combat. A DWARF, chomping a cigar, confronts him.

DWARF: Lookin' good, rogue.
ROGUE: Thanks.
DWARF: Shame you're going down in the fourth round of combat.
ROGUE: The hell I am. I can take that guy.
DWARF: Probably could, most days. Today, though, he hits you with the north wind in the fourth.
ROGUE: The fix is in.
DWARF: Sorry, kid.
ROGUE: Yeah, well, count me out. I don't take a fall for no magic users.
DWARF: You do when I say so! There's a lot of gold pieces riding on this encounter. You better play ball, kid. You don't have a choice.
ROGUE: I've always got choices.
DWARF: Not if you want that bag of holding...
ROGUE: You're offering a bag of holding?
DWARF: Sure, kid. We're a classy operation. We take care of player-characters who play ball with us.
ROGUE: I've always wanted a bag of holding. I could keep my scrolls in there. And the whole cooked turkeys I'm always finding.
DWARF: A lot of influential dragons are interested in what happens today, kid. Dragons with access, if you know what I mean.
ROGUE: Fine. I'll go down.
DWARF: Good boy. You won't regret it.

The ROGUE enters a clearing, which is jam-packed with excited spectators. From the fringe of the clearing, the DWARF, surrounded by a number of handsomely-attired dragons, gives the ROGUE a thunbs-up. The ROGUE nods. Then, the crowd parts and the PURPLE MAGE enters the clearing.

ROGUE: You?!?
PURPLE MAGE: Me!
ROGUE: Nobody said anything about this encounter being with the goddam purple mage.
DWARF: (calling out) Play ball, kid!
ROGUE: But the motherfucking purple mage...

The PURPLE MAGE begins casting a lightning spell. The ROGUE's body shakes, tense. On one side, a bunch of dragons...and a very nice bag of holding. On the other side...his pride.

The air crackles with electricity...

All it takes is one wealthy patron, people. Look under your couches. Surely, between all of you, you could come up with at least one.

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