Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas

8 - Moral Panic!

July, 1986

In the 1980's, America was ravaged by crack, a crime wave and an AIDS epidemic. But there were some who believed the country was facing an even more pernicious threat to civil society, a sinister force that lured our youth into Satanism, demon conjuring and ritual murder.

I am talking, of course, about Dungeons & Dragons, which caused a "moral panic" among hysterical religious groups. I remember it well because that's why Tom and I started playing in the first place. We weren't interested in murder or demons, per se, even though there were plenty of times when a demon might have come in handy — murder, too, now that I think about it — but because our adolescent reasoning process, if such a thing can be said to exist, told us that if grown-ups were freaking out about it, it must be pretty cool.

We tried it, and we liked it, but we could not begin to see what people were so worried about. The game was entirely harmless. If anything, the religious community should have embraced it, since it was by far the most effective abstinence-only program this country has ever seen. There's a very good reason we've never heard the phrase "Dungeon & Dragons-related herpes."

Tom's D&D character was a mace-wielding cleric named Bondor the Wise and mine was a sword-swinging fighter named King Zintar the Great. They were both evil. Because it takes a special kind of dweeb to make his character good.

Our Dungeon Master was our schoolmate Eric. He was a thoroughly decent guy. Smart, reliable and obsessively organized. He always wore a Flyers jersey and would not shut up about The Rolling Stones. He was even more socially inept than we were, which was saying something.

Eric would guide Tom and me — along with a small, rotating cast of faceless nerds — through his carefully crafted campaigns while Tom and I sharpened our comedic skills, competing to see who could make Eric spit out his Dr. Pepper with the greatest frequency. I don't remember who won, but I do remember Eric's mother complaining that she kept running out of paper towels.

There were certain themes that kept recurring throughout the adventures he created. One was bureaucracy. For some reason, we always had to deal with receptionists, accountants and middle managers, all of whom we had to slaughter before we got to engage a basilisk or umber hulk.

Another was horrible, horrible puns — self-elf book, cross-bro, satyr-day, O-wimpians — which would always come into play whenever we needed to solve a word or logic puzzle. It wasn't that he didn't know they were bad; the badness was the entire point. It is no accident that we didn't ask him to join us in our comedy career.

And without fail, whenever Bondor and Zintar would encounter a beautiful damsel in distress, she would, at some point, try to kill them. Which, on a metaphorical level at least, was more or less consistent with real life.

We had a lot of fun, but it was a colossal waste of time. The reason, of course, is that nothing actually happened. We weren't in a dungeon, we fought no monsters, we cast no spells, we disemboweled no persnickety office mangers. We were at a dining room table, eating greasy pizza, rolling dice and surreptitiously popping our whiteheads.

I mean, it's not like you can regale people with your youthful tales of D&D derring-do. And if you've ever had the lack of self-awareness to try, you know that they just stare at you — with fearful eyes and a rictus grin, praying for you to finish — like you're a five-year old breathlessly recounting a long, rambling dream he just had, and can only sort of remember.

In the years we spent in entertainment, Tom and I were able to generate exactly twenty-four seconds of usable material out of Dungeons & Dragons, co-writing a credit tag involving the game. In it, a washed-up '70s sitcom star said, "You know, a girl once said she was going to play with us but... she didn't show up."

That, by the way, was completely autobiographical. The girl's name was Dina. We rode the same school bus and on the ride home one day, I invited her to join us. She made a big production of being excited at the prospect.

Dungeons & Dragons! Wow! I've always wanted to try that!

And then... she stood us up, breaking our collective nerd heart. It was just as Eric said: beautiful women will always betray you. Or even, as in Dina's case, so-so looking women.

At the end of the credit tag, none other than Alice Cooper commiserated with the '70s sitcom star. "Cheer up, King Zintar the Great," he said. "Let's go slay that dragon!" That's right, Alice Cooper said the name of my D&D character on national television! You're welcome, teenage self.

But that is literally all we have to show for the countless hours we devoted to that fucking game.

Once I got to college, I stopped playing entirely. And perhaps not coincidentally, lost my virginity shortly thereafter. But Eric kept right on playing. Which is why Tom and I were so surprised when he called and asked us to come visit him at the University of Wisconsin... to meet his girlfriend.

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The flight to Wisconsin was tremendous fun. Yes, I know how improbable that sounds, but let me explain. It was a few weeks after Tom and I made our fateful decision to become writers. After several "false starts" — which was a nice way of saying, "Tom forgot to show up" — we did some actual work. Since Tom and I were both college students, we decided to write a spec. script about two college students. College students who bore a more-than-passing resemblance to Tom and myself. The one based on Tom was named "Tom" and the one based on me was named "Aaron."

It's called creativity, people.

At thirty-five thousand feet above the earth in the economy class cabin, Tom and I brainstormed story ideas for our first-ever script. The process was, in a sense, no different than what we usually did — broke each other up — but this time there was a sense of purpose. There were also whey crackers and tiny bottles of Johnny Walker Red, which were disgusting, but the stewardesses took a liking to us and kept bringing more.

Why? Because they had overheard us talking about script-writing, which was a novelty on the Philadelphia-to-Madison route. They stood in the aisle next to our seats, ignoring other passengers, peppering us with questions about show biz and we offered up answers based on our twenty-two days of experience. We didn't know what we were talking about, but they didn't know that, and they hung on our every word.

Talk about a smart career move! We hadn't even written a script yet and already we were already impressing stewardesses! This was a very good omen.

The guy sitting across the aisle from us — a broad-faced, wide-shouldered midwesterner with a blonde mustache that was all but invisible — overheard our conversation with the stewardesses and asked us what we were working on. When we told him the premise of the show he said, "I've got a hilarious college story! You want to hear it?"

"Sure!" I said and eagerly uncapped my pen.

He then proceeded to tell us a meandering and truly revolting story about a prank he had played on one of his frat brothers. The climax of the story was when his frat brother opened up a shoe box containing a severed bull's penis. By the end of the story, our new friend had laughed himself hoarse.

In large block letters, I wrote the words BULL'S PENIS on my legal-sized yellow pad and underlined them a few times. I wanted him to feel that he had made a valuable contribution to our nascent career. (That, by the way, was nowhere near the worst idea that we'd ever be pitched.)

"Thanks," Tom said appreciatively. "That's really helpful."

He smiled, glad to be of service. "Feel free to use it," he offered magnanimously and I gave him a small bottle of Johnny Walker Red as a token of our appreciation. I had already had four and was feeling a little dizzy.

It was an intoxicating experience, and not just because we were intoxicated. It's one thing to be encouraged by friends and family, but being validated by complete strangers was another thing altogether, and we deplaned feeling not only important, but exceptional. That flight out to meet Eric's girlfriend was, far and away, the highlight of the trip.

The lowlight of the trip? Meeting Eric's girlfriend.

(Continued...)