Dungeons and Dragons and Not Hating Myself for Five Freaking Minutes.

I wasn't all that much of a nerd growing up. It wasn't because I lacked the interest and natural proclivities of being one. Instead, it was because I grew up in the cultural wasteland of rural Oklahoma. This was the barren land of getting possessed if you so much as perused a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, and Pokémon sent you to hell for nebulous reasons I still don't have a firm grasp of.

(Luckily for me, I started playing Pokémon before my parents were told it was a one way ticket to damnation stored in a Gameboy Color cartridge, and when they looked over the books and games I had, they were as baffled as I was about which content specifically was supposed to make me the star of the next Exorcist.)


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